#I hate drama and I’m ashamed to admit I actually cried when I was first told about this (I was menstruating tho…)

[bubbleteasing]

The veeeery first anon (not the one posted before this, but another one that I ended up deleting out of fear of the author being ganged up on) told me about it back when the author posted one of the earlier versions of the fic, the author only posted the name of my fic when someone commented something like “hey, is this inspired by lcamos?” and they admitted that, no, it wasn’t inspired on it but reading it ‘gave them the strength to post their story which they thought people wouldn’t like, until they discovered mine’ or something like that. That was good enough for me at the time, even though they lifted tags from my fic still… and the summary is also a piece of their story (like mine) despite none of their other fics using this system.

It made me sad at the time because some of the things I write about in the fic are things that… aren’t really a thing anymore (like nuns using saints names), but they still happen in my small little town. I take inspiration for my fics from my own personal experiences and it stings to see them being used like that. Oh well, cry me a river I guess 😭

I don’t care anymore though. If they want to keep posting it without giving me credit (again? I know they… sort of… did before) I’ll choose to ignore it.

I don’t want this to come off as aggressive though, because I’d love to encourage people to write whatever they want based on my fic!! Literally anything, the sky is the limit. I just don’t like them blatantly lifting tags and copying without giving credit.

[breathinginthevapor]

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Summary: When faced by the loneliness of staying on campus for spring break, you decide to pay a visit to your best friend Jacob. Only, it seems you’ve forgotten he’s with his parents, but luckily, Jacob’s roommate and fellow drama major, Tom, is there, and offers you some company. 

A/N: This is written for the lovely @bringmethehorizonandpizza ‘s writing challenge in celebration of her 21th birthday, so happy birthday, Anne! I chose the blurb “Can I sleep here tonight” and I personally think the result ended up pretty cute. Feedback would be very much appreciated!

Word count: 5200+

T/W: Swearing

Masterlist

It’s raining outside, pouring, even. The sky is dark, and the blackness creeps onto you, making you shudder. You’ve always hated being out in the dark, especially while alone, and not even the beautiful full moon can make you feel better. It feels like every shadow is lurking on you, and the yellow light from the street lights only makes it worse. You curse yourself far away for watching that serial killer documentary, knowing that your brain would process the horrific details and let them surface in a moment like this. 

The rain soaks through your clothing and hair, making everything cling tightly to your skin. If it wasn’t for your vehement hatred against umbrellas in general and your lack of raincoat because you were stupid enough to forget it last time you went home, you wouldn’t have been so surely catching a cold. 

But well, stubbornness and stupidity brought this on you, and a cold luckily won’t kill you. It won’t even be as bad as staying in your own dorm room, listening to every footstep outside your door and getting more and more scared while the extreme stress of all your unfinished assignments and loneliness lays just underneath the fright. 

Still, you are about to turn on your heel and run home when you finally reach the dorm, relief shooting through your body. 

As soon as you step inside the hallway, the smell of junk food, sweat and boy hits you, but more importantly, a warmth that makes you realise how your teeth are clattering and goose bumps covering your skin. 

A rap song you faintly recognise but wouldn’t know any words of plays behind one of the doors, and you can hear the sound of a shower a little down the hall. It’s still audible when a brunette walks out of the door, only clad in a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. He has a deliciously toned stomach, you acknowledge, a sight for sore eyes, for sure. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” the guy asks, just as you’ve realised who it is. You immediately feel your cheeks turn hot while you try not to look at his exposed torso. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem anywhere near as flustered as you. 

You wonder if it’s an actor thing, not being as easily ashamed as “normal” people, because Jacob’s exactly the same way.  

“Hey Tom,” you mutter, glancing at a shabby concert poster on the wall instead of him. You can’t make yourself look at him, not now, at least. 

“I was just- I wanted-,” you start, but you don’t know what to say, really. The reason for your visit seems both embarrassing and stupid now. 

And then, to make matters much, much worse, you start crying. At least the tears are a little warmer water than the rain that’s already slid down your face, but opposed to the rain, your cries make the whole situation far weirder. 

“I’m just really lonely, and I watched that creepy new documentary on Netflix, and then I thought Jacob would be able to cheer me up, but I’ve just realised that he isn’t even here, and I really don’t wanna go back to my dorm, but I guess it’s my only choice,” you sobbingly ramble, the hurried and uncontrolled way the words leave your mouth reminding you of the feeling of puking. 

Fortunately, you’re 95% sure you didn’t actually puke. That would have been the cherry on top of your bad day, truly. 

You’re absolutely certain that Tom will respond with something awkward and then close the door to his dorm room in your face, but instead, he walks to you and engulfs you in a warm hug. 

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling of your soaked shirt against his bare chest and the clear awkwardness of hugging a hot shirtless guy whose lower body is only hidden by a towel, it’s a nice hug. Especially because he doesn’t let go of you after the usual few seconds that such embraces last. 

You cry into his chest as he soothingly caresses your back, and miraculously, your eyes stop dropping tears, and your breathing slows down. You can feel your body heat rise, the warmth of his body affecting yours. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, the unfamiliar feeling of your lips moving against his naked skin causing goose bumps to rise on your skin once more. It reminds you all too much of your dark fantasies, the ones you’d never admit to anyone, the ones where your lips move against his skin just like now, but under much different circumstances.

He releases you and eyes you with a soft, worried expression on his face. Your focus shifts for a swift second to a pearl of water that runs from his wet hair down the side of his face, leaving a shimmering trail. His skin looks flushed, perhaps he rinsed it while showering, and his forehead and chin are a little spotty, but it doesn’t make him any less handsome. 

“I know I’m not Jacob,” he says, biting his lip and pulling your focus back from his facial features, “but do you wanna stay in my room for a while? I don’t want you to go home like this, especially not in this weather.”

You can’t believe how sweet he is, first letting you cry your eyes out against his chest and then offering you his company. It’s not at all helping you get rid of the crush you have on him, and perhaps it would be healthier for your budding feelings to go home, but you only have to think about laying alone in your dorm room for a second before you make up your mind. 

“Are you sure? It’s my own fault for forgetting that he’s with his parents, and I don’t want to intrude.”

He grins widely at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Of course! I’m sick of watching Friends on my own anyway.”

You laugh, feeling happier than you have in what feels like a terribly long time. At least ever since most of your friends, including both Jacob and your roommate, went home over spring break and left you on campus with long-ass assignments, nobody to talk to and one hell of a mess in your room. 

You’re also pretty sure your roommate had some sort of existential crisis before going home as she kept mumbling about breaking up with her boyfriend and how he would hate her for it and then if she had remembered to pack her favourite yellow dress, although she’s told you about a hundred times that she hates wearing dresses. Besides, you’ve never seen her wear anything that wasn’t black. 

Her mental state resulted in a terrible mess in your room, at you just can’t bear to look at the scattered school books, crumpled pieces of clothing or half-eaten packs of jelly beans anymore.

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll- uhm, I’ll put on some clothes,” he tells you once he’s closed the door behind you, clearly remembering how little he’s wearing. 

“I’ll just turn around and cover my eyes,” you stutteringly assure him, following your own instructions and adding a small joke to try to ease the tension, “I promise I won’t look.” 

He chuckles, sounding a bit more relaxed. You hear him shuffle around and then exclaim a muffled sound, similar to the ones you let out when you get stuck in a shirt or sweater. 

“Are you stuck?” you giggle.

“I was, but I’m good now,” he answers, sounding out of breath. “You can look, by the way, I’m fully dressed.”

You remove your palms from your face and turn around, sitting down on Jacob’s bed. Tom’s wearing a grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and he looks so soft it takes everything in you not to jump into his arms or squeeze his cheeks. You have to remind yourself that you don’t even know him that well, that just because you’ve heard so much about Tom from Jacob, it doesn’t mean that you’re, by any means, close with the boy. You wish you were.  

He crooks his head and looks at you with furrowed eyes, glancing up and down your body. 

“D’you want a towel to dry off? And maybe some dry clothes? I don’t want to overstep, but I’d also hate myself if I was the reason for you getting sick.” 

The apple of his cheeks grows to resemble, yes, (red) apples, as he scratches his neck and shoots you an uncomfortable glance. 

A lump forms in your throat, amazed at his hospitality and kindness. You nod, “You’re not overstepping at all. Actually, you’re being scarily sweet. Sure an alien isn’t possessing you?”

He laughs, “Yeah. Pretty sure. Just naturally this charming,” he winks at you. 

“That’s what someone possessed by aliens would say, though,” you point out, trying to ignore how flustered you got at his gesture. He shakes his head at you with a big grin.

“Careful now, if you’d like to avoid the flu,” he jokes, picking a green towel from the cabinet and throwing it at you. “Tee or sweatshirt?”

You shrug, already drying of your hair with the towel, “Don’t care.”

You’re barely able to catch the blue hoodie that flies through the air, inches from hitting you in the head.

“Shorts or sweats?” he then inquiries, holding both a pair of football shorts and a pair of sweats that looks identical to the ones he’s wearing.

“Shorts,” you decide, this time ready to receive the black fabric. 

“Do you want me to wait in the hallway while you get changed?” he offers, closing the cabinet and smiling softly at you.

You shake your head, returning his smile, “No no, just turn around.”

“You sure?” he checks, and you nod, assuring him that you are. He turns around, drying his brown locks in the white towel he’s already used in the shower as you quickly slip off your wet garments and put on Tom’s instead. 

When you pull the shirt over your head, the smell of Tom hits your nostrils, a delicious mixture of citrus, musk and washing powder.

“All decent,” you tell him once you’re fully clothed, and he turns to you again, walking to his own bed and sitting down. 

You’re facing each other, the narrowness of the room causing your knees to be just inches apart, so close that your bare legs can feel the warmth radiating from his. 

“Do you wanna talk about what upset you, or should I just ramble about something completely else?” he offers, a sweet smile on his lips. 

You bite your lip, feeling out of place even though you’ve been in the room to visit Jacob countless times.

It’s a nice and cosy place, much tidier than most boy dorm rooms. There are movie posters on the wall, both old, classic ones and newer comedies. It smells good, too, like masculine deodorant with only a tiny and actually not all-too-bad hint of sweat, perhaps caused by the few pieces of sports clothing discarded on the floor. 

Tom quickly rises from his seat on the bed to put it in the laundry basket when he notices you eyeing the stuff. He continues with quick, clumsy movements to clean up after himself, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” he sheepishly apologizes. 

You shake your dismissingly, “Don’t think you’ve been to Mark Smith’s room if you think this is messy.” 

His gaze is still shy, stuttering as he replies, “Do-do you- erhm- do you spend a lot of time in Mark’s room?”

“No,” you deny, noticing how his shoulder relaxes at your words, “Not really my type, to be honest. Just did a group project with him a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he mutters, sitting down again. 

“To answer your question from before, I’ve just felt really lonely during the break. Don’t really wanna talk about it, though.”

“Fair. Wanna watch a movie instead?” he proposes, and you nod. He stands back up, fetching the laptop from his backpack before dumping back on the bed for the third time, kicking his feet up and getting under the duvet. 

He shuffles close to the wall, patting the space next to him on the bed. “Do you wanna sit here? Unfortunately, my laptop isn’t as big as a telly, so you’ll see much better over here.”

You feel your palms grow sweaty as you nod, leaving Jacob’s bed in favour of joining Tom. You sit down on the duvet, legs touching through the cover and your shoulder bumping into his while the back of your hands almost brush, laying side by side.

“What do you wanna watch?” he inquires.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “Maybe that new Thor movie?”

His features brighten, an excited grin on his face. “Yeah? I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Then let’s do it,” you smile, your gaze switching from the screen to his face while he finds the movie.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him. Being so near to him makes you able to stare at him without getting interrupted, and you realise he’s even more handsome than you thought.

Or, maybe he’s not, because he surely looks almost angelic, perfect, even, from afar, but of course he isn’t any of those things. He’s human, and he’s got moles and acne and zits and scars like everybody else, but you can’t help but think that these small imperfections just make him look more attractive. Unfair.

Then, the opening music of the movie plays, and you turn your eyes to the screen again.

You’re completely captivated by the story unfolding for your eyes until the very end, only realising how tired you’ve become when you yawn while the ending credits roll. 

“Well, I guess it’s getting kinda late,” Tom trails off, looking unsure. His words immediately send you back into a different mood, replacing the content, relaxed one. 

“Uhm, yeah, I guess,” you mumble, looking down. You’re barely able to hold back the tears, every fibre of your body feeling uncomfortable at the thought of returning to your own room. 

“I- You… I completely understand if you say no, and you have every right to, but I was just wondering,” you pause, suddenly losing to courage to ask. 

“Yes?” he encourages you with a smile.

“Can I- Can I sleep here tonight?” you whisper, your heart sinking when his eyes extract into a surprised expression and a surprised sound, almost like a small gasp, leaves his throat. 

He runs a hand through his hair, but it gets stuck for a few second when he hits a knot in the tousled locks. He seems to fight it, his focus turning from you to his hair for a moment before he bites his lip, looks down and nods.

“Yeah, of course,” he assures you. “Of course, you can,” he repeats with a low voice, sounding like it’s something he tells himself rather than you. 

“Are you sure?”

This time, he seems more convinced, eyes meeting yours, “Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t.”

You shoot him a smile you hope looks grateful, and it’s quickly returned with a grin of his own. 

“Anyway, it’s not the first time you’ve slept here, is it?” he points out, changing both the subject and atmosphere to a more easy-going one.

You giggle, hit by memories of drunkenly dropping down on Jacob’s bed and not having the energy or self-restraint to get up again before you woke up the next morning with a massive headache and killer breath next to the Hawaiian/Filipino boy. 

“I guess it isn’t,” you agree. 

“Before Jacob met Alyssa, I thought,” he pauses, swallowing, looking at you expectantly like you’re supposed to know what he’s hinting at. But you don’t, and he seems to realise that as he elaborates, “That you two were… a thing.”

You can’t help but laugh, “Me and Jacob?”

Tom nods, confirming.

“Oh god, he’s like a brother to me, that would be disgusting!”

“Dunno, you just seemed really close,” he explains.

You shrug, “Well, we are really close, but we aren’t exactly each other’s types. There’s never been anything more than friendly between us, ever.”

“I think you’re everybody’s type, Y/N,” he blurts out, looking horrified afterwards. 

You can feel the heat rush towards your face, wondering what exactly he meant by that compliment. 

Because it is a compliment, right? It must be.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t- I-,” he starts, a panicked look on his face, before he calms himself down with a deep breath that you try to match to get your own heart under control. “Erhm, yeah, just can’t really comprehend how anyone wouldn’t think you were absolutely amazing.”

You can’t believe how courageous he is, telling someone he barely knows something so personal. And yeah, you already knew he was brave, having seen him perform in plays and knowing that he dreams to become an actor, a profession that takes insane amounts of courage, baring yourself to strangers every day, but this seems different. This isn’t a job or a dream or an artform. This is the real life, and it’s scary. At least you think so.

Though perhaps you aren’t as unfamiliar to each other as you have convinced yourself you are. 

You think back on all those mornings hungover with Jacob, and you can’t come up with one where Tom didn’t go with you to get breakfast, terribly chirpy and energetic while telling you about some prank his brothers had pulled on him once or a weird audition he went to. 

You recall some of those small comments he made when he studied in the room while you were hanging out with Jacob, seemingly keeping up with the conversation enough to add his thoughts every once in a while. 

And you remember those parties where you and Jacob managed to convince Tom to tag along, watching him dance surprisingly great (it took a while before you found out he had danced a lot growing up, even starring in Billy Elliot), loose fatally in beer pong and shy away from all the girls who made a move on him, shooting you desperate glances before you saved him from their drunk persistence with an apologetic smile to the girl and a tight grip on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you mumble while you feel your skin heat up, something it does an awfully lot today. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

He offers you a small smile, “Just telling the truth.”

No need to say, you blush even harder.

But before you can reply with a compliment of your own or at least explain to him how much his words mean to you, he abruptly changes the subject, “We should probably get ready for bed. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, and I’d offer to lend you mine if it wasn’t, you know, terribly unhygienic and gross.”

You chuckle, “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll manage with my finger if I could just get a bit of toothpaste.”

“Of course.” 

You brush your teeth side by side in the claustrophobic miniature bathroom, once in a while catching each other’s eyes in the mirror before shyly looking away. It’s like a game, and you can’t stop playing, not when his words from before are repeated in your head over and over again.

“Have you asked Jacob if it’s okay with him that you sleep in his bed? I’m sure it is, and I’ll just take the floor if it isn’t, but I’d just rather that he knows.”

You nod after spitting out the toothpaste, “Just sent him a text.” 

Not even five seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text from your mutual friend.

Jacob: Of course! 

You turn your phone to Tom to show him that Jacob has agreed to your arrangement, but then you see Tom’s eyes enlarge and a blush creep across his cheeks and look at the phone yourself.

Jacob: Just don’t get frisky in my bed, lovebirds.

You can’t believe him. That really wasn’t needed, especially with the tension already so weird. You try to laugh, but the awkward cough-like sound doesn’t even convince yourself, and you abruptly go quiet, making it seem, if possible, even more fake. 

Luckily, Tom acts like nothing happened, asking you if you’re ready for bed. 

“Feel like I’ll collapse soon so it’s probably for the best,” you agree.

He smiles at your comment and returns to the dorm room, plopping down on the bed. You don’t know what to say, and the silence is thick and unpleasant as you lay there in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling. 

Then, Tom clears his throat and turns of the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you whisper back, feeling your heart pumping in your chest while you inwardly curse yourself being such a coward. Usually, you’re good at taking the first step when you’re interested in or intrigued by someone, but this feels different. Like a no from Tom would be much worse than a no from all those other sweet, pretty guys you’ve had a crush on.

But you take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves before speaking up with a low voice, “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“No problem,” he assures you, voice soft.

“I’m really glad you were here today,” you start, convincing yourself not to chicken out. “I feel like I’ve kinda gotten to know you a bit because of Jacob, and I know we don’t really talk that much just the two of us, but,” you take another deep breath, knowing that your next words will possibly make it terribly awkward for you to visit Jacob, “I wish we did. I just never know what to say because you’re this sweet, funny, hot drama major, and then I just chicken out.”

Although it’s dark, your eyes have gotten used to it, and you’re thereby able to make out his features when he turns around to face you, laying on his side. There’s a small smile on his face, his brown eyes glistens and his hair is a mess, but an incredibly cute one. 

“What’s my major got to do with anything?” he just asks, and you almost tear up. He clearly doesn’t like you, he wouldn’t have asked about something like that if he did, and you try to tell yourself that at least you know now, and that you can move on instead of spending most of your day thinking about Tom. It doesn’t really help all too much, though.

You chuckle half-heartedly, “Dunno, you’re just all so confident and brave, and that’s kinda intimidating, I guess.”

He doesn’t answer, and instead you lay in silence looking at each other, until Tom turns back to laying on his back, and you’re sure that you’ve ruined everything there was to ruin between the two of you. You mentally prepare yourself to the prospect of having to go home to your lonely dorm room, catching a cold in the rain and your only company for the rest of the break another stupid Netflix series while you cry your eyes out.

“You think I’m hot?” he then inquires, and at least he’s not ordering you to leave yet.

“Um, yeah? Half of the school does, to be honest,” you bitterly acknowledge, recalling all those times where you caught girls (and every now and then a boy, although the boys in general seem less interested) looking dreamily at him or slipping him their number or even those parties where you saved him from other students flirting with him. You get mad at yourself for thinking that you were better than those people, thinking you had just a slightly bigger chance than them, just because you know him and talk to him regularly, when in reality, you’re just as hopelessly crushing as the rest of them. Perhaps even worse because he’s an actual part of your life and not just a cute guy on campus. 

He laughs quietly, “Then I think you should get your eyes tested ‘cause you’re clearly blind. People don’t find me attractive.”

“It’s true. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how people throw themselves at you. I have to rescue you from at least two at every party,” you remind him.

“They’re just drunk. I could be a 70-year-old with a Gandalf beard, and they would be too pissed to notice,” he protests, making you roll your eyes. Fortunately, he can’t see as his gaze is still fixated on the ceiling. 

“No, they aren’t. And even if they were, what about that redhead in the cafeteria last week, or the boy with the glasses at the diner?“ you argue, his only response a muffled sound, seemingly agreeing with you. He doesn’t really have a choice, though, because everyone who was there with you at the diner when the guy asked Tom out jokes about it. Tom’s perplexed reaction made it almost too easy for you to make fun of him, really. 

Then, there’s another minute of silence before Tom faces you once more and slowly, almost carefully as if he’s tasting every word, asks, “Y/N, do you like me?”

Now, you tell yourself, you’ll get thrown out, and you’ll never get to hear another of Tom’s stupid jokes or clever comebacks to Jacob’s joking insults and you’ll probably also need to find another place to crash when your roommate is fucking another girl as she does at least once a week, and it’s just terrible. 

But you still answer his question truthfully.

“Yeah,” you whisper, closing your eyes to avoid seeing his face when he rejects you. 

“As more than a friend?” he checks. 

“Yeah,” you repeat, scrunching your eyes even closer together. 

Then he starts laughing, the act surprising you so much that your eyes fly open to look at him, although it’s still too dark to see his features properly. At first, you’re confused, but then you just feel even more humiliated. Are your feelings really so strange he has to make fun of them?

However, he proves you wrong when he turns on the light and stands up energetically, looking almost giddy. You can’t look away, and you’re just awaiting the deathblow, but it doesn’t come. 

“I don’t even know what to with myself,” he chuckles, the grin on his face so bright you’re sure it could light up the room, if the light wasn’t already turned on, of course. “I’ve been pining after you for so long, and I didn’t believe Jacob when he said that you wouldn’t reject me if I made a move, but this is, like, the dream!”

Your tiredness causes you to become confused, not understanding what he says immediately. And then, your lack of confidence and the long time you’ve spent thinking that Tom didn’t feel anything for you but friendship, forces you to tell yourself that it can’t be real, that he must joking.

“I’m sorry, am I coming on too strong? I’m just really excited,” he explains, this time calmer. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking the covers off and slowly sitting up on the bed.

“Are you making fun of me?” you then ask, because although it seems unlikely as Tom is one of the kindest and most considerate people you’ve ever met, the other alternative is even more unlikely.

“No! No, no, I would never,” he desperately assures you, sitting down beside you, his upper body turned against you as he bites his lip and looks you in the eye. “Why would you even think that?”

You shrug, and he takes your hand in his, and although his palm is sweaty, you can’t help but feeling that you’ve never experienced anything as amazing as the feeling of his palm in yours and his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

You look down at your joined hands, the realisation slowly hitting you. He likes you. Tom likes you.

“I dunno. It just never seemed like you liked me back,” you mumble, a thousand thoughts and feelings shooting through your head, driving you to the point of dizziness. 

He looks bewildered at you, like you’ve said something unbelievable.

“Are you telling me you haven’t noticed how I stare at you for literally hours and that I always tag along when you and Jacob hang out? Not to mention how I not even an hour ago blurted out that I thought you were everybody’s type.”

It makes sense when he puts it like that, but you still don’t think it’s that simple.

“Yeah, but then I told you how amazing I thought you were, and you just asked me why I mentioned your major!” you shoot back. “And you didn’t notice either how Jacob and I hang out here waaaay more than in my room, and that I always beg you to come party with us and that I’m acting like a creepy stalker all the time, watching over you like a hawk and becoming overly jealous and miserable every time someone flirts with you!” 

You almost spit the words out, wanting to point out that you’re not the only one who’s been oblivious, but it looks like it has the opposite effect. Tom looks taken back by your outburst, watching you with wide eyes, and you absolutely hate yourself for being too much, like you always are, and it’s just so typical you. 

But before you can do or say anything to save the situation, there’s a warm pair of lips pressing against your own. When you don’t react, too shocked to move any part of your body, the lips disappear almost as fast as they came and makes you wonder if it even happened at all.

 Luckily, Tom’s guilty expression and next words assure that the kiss was real, “I’m so sorry, I should have asked you first, I’m really sorry-”

“No!” you cut him off, only making him look more terrified, so you decide it’s probably best to tone it down a little and speak with a calmer voice, “No, don’t be sorry. I just thought I had scared you away and ruined everything with that stalker-thing, so I was a little surprised, that’s all.” 

His face slowly softens, a relieved noise leaving his mouth. 

“It was nice. The kiss. Dreamt about doing that for a long time, to be honest,” you sheepishly add, making him smile.

“Me too,” he admits, and then he kisses you again. He releases your hand and grabs your face again while you bury your fingers in the small curls in his neck. His mouth is warm against yours, and you can’t believe it’s really happening. 

You break apart first, panting a little as you rest your forehead against his, grinning.

“I really really really like you,” he admits happily, making you laugh just because you’re so tremendously ecstatic. The world feels light and so full of possibilities, completely opposite to how sad and lonely you felt a couple hours ago.

“I really really really like you, too,” you answer, and you can’t help but kiss him again, this time slipping your tongue through his lips, letting it taste the tip of his. 

And well, when Jacob a couple days later comes home to you and Tom making out in Tom’s bed and sighs knowingly, you must admit that staying on campus for spring break wasn’t the worst decision you’ve made.

[maddiicake]

Ramblings of a Madwoman

Because I honestly have no other idea what to title this as. To put it simple, that's what this entire journal is going to be. From start to finish--no stopping to think about whatever f-ed up stuff will be put into written text and to be immortalized for eternity (deleted after or not) here on the World Wide Web--nothing but unedited, freewriting, off topic sidebar-ing throughout the entirety of this Journal. So, we'll see where and how it ends.

In about a month, I'll have been on DeviantART for an entire decade (and about 8 years since Tumblr). And, I just want to make it clear: I've done a shit tone of fucked up things in all the years that I've been here. Of course, this was things that I mainly did to people. (Yes, people, because, let's face it, whether or not we have the comfort of anonymity behind the keyboard in the middle of our "safe space" of the internet, we're still people on the other side of the screens). But, yes, I've done and said fucked up shit to people during me time here. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Nor will I deny any of the messed up stuff that I've done, especially to said people, in the past decade. I'll spare you all the wall of novel-length text that consists of my usual self-deprecating self-flagellation, since you all know the drill by now. Plus, I would hate putting you all to sleep just at the beginning of this Journal.

I'm messed up in the head. Plain and simple.

In my younger years (earlier in the decade, right about when I first appeared on dA), I had something wrong with me--not sure what, but it was definitely something that I, unfortunately, would never fully realize until recently this year. I grew up sheltered in an overly Conservative and Bible-Thumping household. The neighborhood I grew up in was what my parents lovingly called "God's Waiting Room", because of all the old-timers living in the homes. Any kids around were ones that I wasn't allowed to socialize with because my parents didn't want them "influencing" me. So, needless to say, I didn't have much of a social life growing up. I only went to a real school for two and a half years of my life, and, during that time, I stuck out more than a sore thumb (Hell, I didn't even know what a "Cafeteria" was, because the only "Cafeteria" I knew of was the dinner table. So, needless to say, my first time experiencing "lunch" was very awkward). All in all, being sheltered and not having much of a social life when you're still in your single-digits you grow up having this narcissistic know-it-all, controlling, 'I'm better than you', 'I'm the only person in this world and everyone else doesn't exist' personality and you think that you can control everyone else to your every whim. Being put into a real school with other real life people and kids my age was, obviously, a massive culture shock. When you suddenly realize that other people are their own individual person and have their own free will, you start to become aware that you were educated and raised in a world that could be similar to solitary confinement.

"Oh, hey, (Saki's real name). What're you doing?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just trying to think of how I can get all my classmates together for our superhero team so we can go off and fight bad guys in my head, all the while thinking I can bend them to my will as if they're not actually other human beings."

"...Didn't Chris-Chan already do that?"

"Pfft. This is 2005! Chris-Chan won't be a thing for another few years."

Now, my parents weren't perfect. I was their first child, and the first-borns are always the "guinea pigs"  for new parents.  Of course, I never understood that my parents were humans until my 20s. They made mistakes with me, like thinking that not giving their young impressionable daughter a social life through the first crucial years of her childhood was a good idea.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining--that's always the initial reaction people get whenever they read posts like this from me. "Oh, Saki's just starting drama", "Kura just wants attention", "She's cray-cray and needs help, like srsly...". Believe me, I get it, I completely understand why one would think that I sound like I'm complaining. Because you, the reader, are just reading these little pixelated words that look black on your computer monitor/mobile screen. But, in reality, when up close, those pixels are just a collection of RBGs. You interpret what you see through your reading and comprehension of the words before you. Because you're not the author. You merely interpret what you're writing and filling the blanks with guesswork of what the writer is trying to convey through these little pixels making up words.

It's weird, y'know... They say that "hearing voices" is the first step into insanity. But, are you insane if you're fully aware of it? They say that psychos and sociopaths don't admit nor are aware of their disorder because of the narcissism that accompanies it. So... would you still be a psychopath or sociopath if you admit it and/or are aware of it? These are just a handful of the kind of questions that fill he chaotic Hell in my mind when nothing else is going on.

Lately, though, that hasn't been very often. For those of you, who follow me on Tumblr (by the way, if you still follow me there, you must have a lot of tolerance for me), you may have noticed the rather alarming on-and-off episodes I've been having over the past few weeks. Trust me when I tell you that former friends will assure that "This is normal for Saki/Kura. Just stay away from her. She's just a lost cause. You'll only end up hurt associating with her, much less talking to her."

"Saki... the things you have been saying aren't really 'normal'--"

"Oh trust me... this is the Keemster-level of a 'cycle' that she goes through. Why do you think we made her theme song that Keemstar Parody of All Star? LMAO. This is 100% Normal for her."

But, what is normal? 'Normal' is nothing more than a perception of what we're used to: routines, topics, lifestyles--whatever we are used to. When something occurs that is out of our routine, we immediately perceive it as 'abnormal' (or just not normal). Much life me experience, albeit rather brief, time I spent in an actual school. You feel that unnerving unease as the stranger in a foreign land.

Now, what I do and say isn't Healthy, that would be the proper use of the phrase you're trying to portray. But, my diagnosis came far too late. There's no undoing what is done. There's no chance at saving loathsome sinners, the chance they had was the life they had before and the punishment is this. There's no rainbows inside of demons.

People, who view others outside of their little bubble, call those 'abnormal' people "toxic", simply because that person has disturbing psychological issues. It's like: "Ewww! A mud puddle! Gross I can't believe I stepped in that! Now my $200 shoes are ruined forever because of that damn puddle!" Those people are treated as lower than dirt just because their perceived in such a negative light. It's a label those high and mighty ones quickly slap onto those, who can't help the disorders they have. Sometimes those people aren't even aware they have a disorder, yet those prissy princesses still sit with upturned noses and chastise with their prim: "You need help, srsly." with their venomous undertone of "I'm better than you." Is it really fair to be some uppity hoity-toity sociality; sneering through your little rainbow-soap window down below at those loathsome dirty little plebian peasants? Perhaps that may be "normal" for you.

Sometimes--no, actually, often; very often--I just want to pop that bubble. Let that sprinkle of soap sting their eyes as it dribbles into their corneas. Their screams and cries in pain while they lean over the sink to wash them out would be such a delight.

I would go into more detail about other things regarding this, but I'm not dumb enough to freewrite my thoughts out to the point there's incriminating evidence against me.

"...Saki, this Journal is getting a little dark..."

"It's called 'Ramblings of a Madwoman' for a reason. Besides, the little 13-year-old edgelord wannabes on this website get away with far worse. Trust me, I've seen them. Some of them are in their 20s and haven't grown out of that phase. Them going on and getting away with using their boyfriends, who has ties to the dark Web, to get the personal information (mailing address and all) of the people they don't like just so that they can have them killed. You'd be surprised how thin-skinned these little lefties are. 'Someone Disagrees with me?? -cue Mission Impossible montage of tracking that person down and killing them-'."

"But you're talking about killing people!"

"I have said no such thing! At least not put it in writing. What part of 'I'm not dumb enough to post incriminating evidence of myself' did you not understand, my dear?"

Yes... it would be nice to have a peace of mind for once day. It would be amazing to not have to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from another night terror (had one just last night actually). When people want you dead--and have gone out of their way to find your address so that they can kill you--, all you want to do is keep you and your family safe. People can't kill you if they no longer exist, right? It would be just so nice to be able to go on for the rest of my life without having to worry about being sought after and killed just because I disagreed with someone and told them they were being stupid and immature. Or just randomly responding to condescending Twitter users, who think I'm talking about a certain someone when I'm not. But, just knowing that people still continue to go after me for no apparent reason just causes those night terrors to persist.

I just want to keep my family safe. Selfishly, I want to be able to sleep without having to worry about people in other States and Countries somehow knowing where I live and can come and kill me at any moment.

"Why didn't you call the cops--?"

"Because I didn't know it was them at the time it happened. Their former friend didn't tell me about all the plots and things they said in their Discord server until two years later. So, they were able to get away with this because of the Statute of Limitations."

Regardless, that still won't put my mind at ease knowing that they're still out there and can pull the same thing or worse once again. I wasn't the only one they they did this too, either. Of course, that the YouTube Drama Channels for you. They do fucked up shit behind the scenes while putting on some "I'm a good person" face.

You can't trust people, who act nice publicly. They aren't the innocent souls they want everyone to believe that they are. They want something. They want something from you. And when they've squeezed everything out of you that they want... they'll toss you away with no hesitation because they're done using you. Using you to feed their little lambs, whose fleece are white as snow, while they sleep their way to the top.

They want me dead. They've always wanted me dead. They know where I live, and they'll take me out along with the rest of my family. They'll rejoice and be glad of course~ ^u^ "Ding Dong the witch is dead~!" They will sing as they dance together happily in the streets. "Huzzah! Hooray! The monster has been slain. No longer shall she continue to torment us because we have FINALLY killed her~!" They said so themselves: "I'm happy that people told you these things." That was back in 2015 (and I still have the screenshot and the link to the original post)... half a decade ago. Even back then, they wanted me dead. Their party planning for that day is still in preparation. But, they'll immediately set up once that time come when I no longer exist. "...Saki, you're not okay."

This is what happens to people when they've finally Snapped.

But, I want to get better. Don't get me wrong. I don't like that I've become this person. No, I don't believe in change--I don't believe people can change whatsoever. I just want to feel better and not have to worry about these things anymore. But, I know well that things will never be the same. All I can do is continue moving forward and hope and pray that I don't mess up once again and start the cycle all over.

[lovemesomesurveys]

-What was the last song that you sang out loud? I’ve had Dance Again by Selena Gomez stuck in my head.

-If someone has bad breath, do you tell him or her? No :X I’m the worst about that stuff cause people will tell you they would want you to tell them, but I just feel so awkward about it and like how do you even bring something like that up? I mean, I have done the thing where I get some gum and offer them some haha, but I don’t tell them their breath smells.

-With which friend are you most likely to share a secret? I share my secrets with ya’ll and Twitter, ha.

-Do you have an item that comforts you when you are sad/scared? No. Well, unless count my phone cause I can use the YouTube app and listen to ASMR, which is calming for me.

-When are you likely to hide your emotions? I do that majority of the time. Well, try to. I downplay them a lot. I’m not as good at it anymore as I used to be. These past few years my emotions started taking over and getting the best of me. When I’m in a mood, I shut down and just get quiet and standoffish. If you talk to me, I’m short and you can just see all over my face.

-Which is scarier: Dying of thirst or of starvation? Both would be horrible.

-Who was the last person to take your breath away? I haven’t felt that way from a person in a very long time.

-When you turn on the TV, what channel do you flip to? My go-to channels to check first are always E! and MTV. If nothing of interest is on, then I just scroll through the guide. It also depends on the time of day.

-Have you ever tried to help someone quit smoking? No.

-What was the last comment someone made on your music taste? I don’t recall.

-Where do you go/what do you do when you need to calm down? My bed. I’ll typically listen to an ASMR video and probably find a survey to ramble about it in and/or tweet about it. Okay let’s be real, before I do any of that I probably have a good cry first.

-What was the last mess you cleaned up? Uhh I mean, I threw away my paper plate and napkins I used yesterday after I finished eating.

- [TW] Have you ever had to talk anyone out of suicide? Yes.

-When you think of tomorrow, what feelings come to mind? Nothing.

-Who, in your opinion, has an amazing voice? Demi Lovato first came to mind. She sang the hats and helmets off of everyone during her Super Bowl performance of the National Anthem.

-Would you ever camp out on a beach, under the stars? No.

-What is the last thing you complained about? Not feeling well and about how achey I am.

-What was the last curse-word you said? Probably “shit.”

-When you fake sick to get out of school, what do you say or do to convince your parents that you are sick? I’m 30 years old and no longer in school, but when I was younger I didn’t really have to do that because I felt sick often enough.

-How did you recover from your last bout of tears? I cried them all out and then just did my usual activities (Tumblr, surveys, YouTube, watched TV).

-Do you still talk to your very first best friend? No.

-When was the last time something went terribly wrong? Blah.

-How do you console someone when he or she is upset? I’m soooo awkward when it comes to that. I just let them vent if they need to, but I struggle with what to say and do.

-Have you ever seen either one of your parents cry? I’ve seen both and it’s the worst thing ever to me. I hate seeing one of my parents cry.

-Choose one: Trip to outerspace, or trip underneath the oceans? Oh jeez, you just listed a couple of my biggest fears.

-How often do you feel overwhelmed? Often.

-How do you deal with everyday life? I...don’t. :/

-Do you have any secret obsessions or guilty pleasures? Nah. I’m not ashamed of any of the things I like.

-Aside from on this survey, what was the last thing you wrote about? Whatever I last tweeted. I forget.

-Who in your family do you act like the most? I have a lot of my dad’s personality traits. He’s moody, irritable, and easily stressed and overwhelmed. Sound familiar?

-What is the most romantically sweet thing someone has done for you? Ty did a lot of things. The thing that always stands out is one year during Christmas he drove to my house one night because had a present for me and it consisted of little things that I mentioned briefly that I liked and it was just really sweet cause it showed he was actually listening and paying attention. The fact he remembered and then went out and bought those things for me was just really, really sweet. He was so excited to give it to me. He didn’t want me to open them right then, he wanted me to wait until Christmas and send him a video of me opening them so he could see my reaction.

-When you go out to the mall, do people stare? When I go anywhere in public people stare.

-Have you ever been confronted by a mall cop for your behavior? No, but I did have one tell me to take my hood off haha. I just came in and it was raining and he came up to me like, “you need to take off your hood.” Like okay jeez.

-What just tears at your heartstrings? Hearing about a child dying or being abused. Animal abuse, too. Breaks my heart.

-Is there a show you swear that you will never watch? I don’t feel that strongly, but there’s a lot of shows I have no interest in watching.

-What was the last topic that you ranted about? I don’t remember.

-Is there someone that makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells? Sometimes. I’ve been told people feel that way around me as well.

-Were you ever afraid of one of your past teachers? No.

-Have you ever been in a physical fight on school grounds? No. Or ever.

-Have you written anything in a bathroom stall? What, if anything? Nope.

-Is your school like the drama capital of the country? I wasn’t involved in any of that when I was in school. I heard some stuff, but I wasn’t all invested in it like a lot of people.

-A homeless man asks you for 50 cents; how do you respond? If I have it, sure. I don’t usually have any change or cash on me, though.

-When was the last time you visited a thrift store? I don’t go to any.

-Can you handle constructive criticism? I can’t say I wouldn’t feel some type of way about it, ha. I’m just a sensitive bitch. Guess it would depend on what it was about, though. Like if someone was like, “hey, red doesn’t really look great with your skin tone and it clashes with your hair, you shouldn’t wear that” I wouldn’t care. I’d still wear it if I wanted.

Who is the most sensitive person that you know? Meeeee.

-Have you ever had a tooth (or teeth) pulled? Yes.

-You can have one famous person’s wardrobe; who do you choose, and why? I guess someone who was very casual like me and likes to wear graphic tees and leggings. I’d like to have their collection, ha.

-When was the last time you wrote someone a note? I have no idea.

-Do you tell your parents before you go somewhere, or just leave? My family and I are 4 adults living together and we all tell each other when we’re leaving and where we’re going. It’s just our thing. If something were to happen, we’d at least have an idea of where the other was headed. And it’s just common courtesy to us to say goodbye.

-What was the last thing you tried to get out of doing? I’d like to get out of my doctor appointment this afternoon. I’m still recouping.

-On average, how many surveys do you fill out in one day? It varies. Usually a few. Some days more than others.

-How many hours a day do you spend on Bzoink? I don’t use Bzoink.

-Which season do you dread the most? Summer D: It seems to go on forever and it just gets SO hot and miserable here.

-Do you ever brag about your achievements? I’ve never been one to brag. Not that I have anything to brag about, but it’s not a cute look.

-When was the last time that you watched the sun come up? Last week. We were at the airport before the sun was up and it was coming up after we just got on the plane.

-What did you do last Halloween? Watched scary movies and got takeout.

-Last Thanksgiving? Had a nice, big, delicious feast with my family.

-Last Christmas - if you celebrate? Christmas morning we got up early like we always do to open presents and then messed around with our stuff before pretty much resting the rest of the day. Oh, and we had our Christmas dinner that we usually do Christmas Eve, but my mom had to work until midnight that night.

-How did you celebrate the arrival of the new year? My mom and I watched the New Year’s festivities and counted down while the ball dropped. My dad fell asleep at like 9, so he was already out for the night and my brother was out with friends.

-Is there a foreign culture you’d like to learn more about? It’s interesting to learn about different cultures.

-Have you ever (purposely or accidentally) played with someone’s heart? I don’t think so. I’ve had it done to me a lot, though.

-Has anyone ever played with yours? Yes.

-Have you ever seen a famous painting and thought “I could have done that?” I admit that I’ve seen ones that were just like splatters and thought that. :X

-Fire drills: Did you ever wish they were real … just once? Yeah as a kid cause all that came to mind was we’d get to go home and not that it would mean there was an actual fire haha.

-What is the scariest thing about attending your school? I’m done with school.

-Are you a good judge of other people’s intentions? I think so.

What was the last thing that you felt strongly about? My faith.

-Shopping: best with friends, parents, bf/gf, or alone? Alone at home online, ha.

-What is one insecurity you have about your body? Everything.

-What is one part of your body that you are proud of? I like my hair currently only cause I recently got it colored and trimmed (finally).

-When was the last time someone told you to turn your music down? The night before we left for our trip. I was up late packing and my mom came in to ask me to turn my music down, ha. I didn’t end up sleeping at all that night. We left for the airport at 430. I didn’t sleep at all on the ride there or on our flight. I didn’t sleep until that night at the hotel. I honestly have NO idea how I did it.

-When you don’t know how to spell a word, do you look it up? Yeah, I just Google it real quick.

-Are you one to spend a lot of time in the bathroom? No.

-Have you seen the movie Super Size Me? Yeah, we had to in class. We watched it my sophomore year in my history class for some reason haha.

-Do you still eat at McDonald’s, regardless of that film? I was turned off to it for a little bit afterwards, but it didn’t last long. haha. I mean yeah, don’t eat it 3 times a day obviously.

-Do you ever consider the challenges other races go through? Yes.

-When was the last time you doubted your abilities? All the time. What abilities?

-At your favorite restaurant, what do you order? I always order chicken tenders and fries at any restaurant, ha.

-What was the last thing you wished for? I don’t wish for things.

-How many times a day, on average, do you look at the time? A lot.

[dreamgloe]

vanilla, letters & melt

prompt: vanilla, letters & melt (this prompt list here)

words: 4.56k

warnings: fluff, slightest bit of angst

notes: so this is really late but….better late than never, right? I’ll just keep it in the valentine’s day theme. ;) despite how long this took, i’m so happy to be writing some cute namjoon while writing some angsty namjoon (his chapter in ‘half of my heart’ has put me T H R O U G H  I T)

tags: @joonieblossoms

mini playlist: fools by troye sivan | call your girlfriend (robyn cover) by clara mae | sponge by clay best friend by ikon

-x-

There were only two sounds in your apartment. One was the loud crashing noises of the Netflix romcom you’d decided to play with a hard press of your forefinger. Afterwards, you tossed the remote to the floor, not caring where it landed. The second was the scraping of your spoon against the paper carton of Tahitian Vanilla ice cream from your favorite neighborhood spot.

You told yourself that you hated this holiday, that it was a consumerist weapon holding people hostage in the name of love. If anyone asked you, you were boycotting and Galentine’s Day was the only holiday worth celebrating. Celebrating womanhood with your girl friends with copious amounts of sparkling rosé was the only draw to this time of the year.

However, that was a damn lie.

Not only were most of your friends in relationships, you actually loved Valentine’s Day. Well, you did. You loved the idea when you were in a relationship, which you had been in until about a month ago. It wasn’t as if you were certain that Choi Sungwoo was the one for you but you did spent the better part of eight months committed to him, his work functions–which you hated–and to trying your best to not demolish his ass in Overwatch every time you played with him. He was funny when he wasn’t trying to be and he was never ashamed to hold your hand in public. The sex was great, you knew there were no complaints in that department.

But…obviously something wasn’t working for him when he told you that it was over. He admitted that there was someone else. He said that he had feelings for someone at his work and he didn’t want to continue to lead you on if he was interested in someone else. He also said he wanted a chance with this person. He didn’t want any “what ifs.”. You couldn’t hate him for being honest but you hated him on principle anyway.

He wasn’t even a coward, you thought to yourself, stabbing your spoon back into the ice cream. You paused, looking into the carton. It was missing something, and with that thought you walked to grab the chocolate syrup out of the fridge, the kind that hardened on top of ice cream. Flipping the cap and squeezing it all over the ice cream, you only stopped when the top was almost completely covered. Flipping the cap back into place, you didn’t even bother to put it back in the fridge.

You just didn’t care.

It was at that moment that you were glad your roommate, Namjoon, wasn’t back. To be honest, you weren’t even sure what he was doing. You were just happy that he wasn’t home to watch the sad scene of a gross ice cream concoction and some pretty abhorrent Netflix romantic comedies.

He’d also broken up with his girlfriend around five months ago but he’d been dating his girlfriend as long as you’d known him which was a little over two years. If it was a competition, you knew he’d won hands down. You liked her too and were sad for him when she dumped him.

And that was pretty big of you, too, because when you first met Namjoon, you might have had a teensy crush on him. Teensy being an understatement. Who wouldn’t? He was smart, kind, tall, and had one of the best smiles you’d ever seen in your life. But the two of you quickly fell into a friendship, one that you’d rather die than ever mess up.

Knowing he was sad, you did everything you could to cheer him up. Museum dates, pounds and pounds of barbeque. You even went with him to see all those foreign films he liked even though you hated them. You should have better taste, having studied French Literature. You met Namjoon in a Modern French Philosophy class for crying out loud! However, you’d always been a sucker for girl gang movies and romantic comedies. But…you couldn’t bear the crestfallen looks across your roommate’s face so you did your best to cheer him up even if it meant sitting through a handful of painful German films.

At the time, you couldn’t bring yourself to pry into why she broke up with him. He’d tell you if he wanted to. That’s what you told yourself. Namjoon had been busy the last month but he tried desperately to be there for you as well. He watched a handful of dramas and even the latest season of Alexa & Katie with you on Netflix. Two things he hated and he did them for you. For that, you were grateful but it didn’t stop you from shovelling your way through the pint of ice cream in front of you, knowing full well you had two more in the freezer.

Obviously, you couldn’t help but soften at the thought of Namjoon holding your hand and giving you tissues as you cried your eyes out watching fucking Alexa & Katie, a show aimed at middle school girls. He wasn’t the best roommate in the world but he was definitely one of the best friends you have ever been lucky enough to have.

Why did your bout of loneliness have to bubble up on a day that was both the epitome and antithesis of loneliness, though? Couldn’t the universe give you a fucking break? You were still holding the carton of ice cream in your condensation covered hands, spoon in mouth, feet up on the coffee table when Namjoon walked in. You’d been so absorbed in your ice cream that your surprise caused the metal spoon to clack against your teeth harshly, causing you to spasm. “Ow,” you said, more to yourself, “Goddamnit!”

“Oh…hey Y/N,” he said, lugging his messenger bag off his shoulder and then onto the ground as he approached the edge of the couch. You sighed loudly, putting the spoon into the carton and placing the whole thing on the table. “Namjoon….” you said, a hint of whine, “don’t just…er….enter the apartment like that. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“So sorry, Y/N. Next time I won’t exist in my own apartment,” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms while looking at you, not being able to help the small smile that spread across his face.

“Thank you,” you say, “I’d appreciate it.” You said it seriously but you couldn’t help the smile that eventually followed too. You played with the blanket it across your lap, smoothing it out. You didn’t expect him to be home. But honestly, where would he be? Both of you were single on Valentine’s Day. You should have thought of that. It had been months since either of you had been relationships, where would you both be going?

There was a moment before you spoke. “Care to join me?” you said, motioning to the nest of blankets, dvds, snacks, and strangely, more than one Apple TV remote. He heaved a heavy sigh before he kicked his shoes off and said, “If we’re doing this, I’m getting the wine.” After grabbing a bottle of red and two glasses, he finally sat down on the couch with a big plop, getting under the blanket with you. He poured you a glass, handing it to you now that you no longer were holding the tub of ice cream. The two of you did a cheers and he leaned back into the couch, hi shoulder touching yours.

He let you finish off the romcom you were watching before the two of your poured over old DVD’s. He’d convinced you to settle on Notting Hill, claiming it was one of the best romantic comedies of all time. You argued and said it was borderline boring, to which Namjoon just scoffed. However, you did your best to conceal the tears you were crying towards the end. Namjoon decided not to rub it in your face because you looked so sad. Soon enough, you found your hand in his. His was warm and it only made you cry more. “Hey…” he said softly, pulling some tissues from his pocket.

You were crying and it wasn’t just the movie. You were sad and lonely as hard as that was to admit to yourself. You missed sharing something with someone, you missed holding hands like Namjoon was currently holding your’s, you even missed playing damn Overwatch. You thought yourself a very independent person and you hated yourself for crying because you were alone on Valentine’s Day. The thought itself drew a choked sob out of you and with your free hand, you furiously wiped at your face.

Taking the tissues, you sloppily dabbed at your face, warm with tears and more than two glasses of red wine. “I’m literally the most pathetic person on planet Earth right now,” you said between sobs, “You don’t have to hold my hand, Namjoon. Thank you, but you don’t have to.” You waited for him to drop it but he only interlaces his fingers into yours more tightly. You looked up at him as he started to speak again. “I want to, Y/N,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What’s this about? What’s going on?” You couldn’t even be annoyed with him because he looked so concerned.

You gave yourself a few moments to breathe before you answer him. “It’s just….I don’t know if I miss Sungwoo or…” you said, trailing off.

“Or what….?” Namjoon asked in a concerned voice.

“Or if I’m just hopeless, awkward, and desperate for love!!!” you exclaimed dramatically. It only took Namjoon a second to get the FRIENDS reference. He laughed, intertwining his fingers with yours. The two of you still couldn’t get enough of syndicated FRIENDS reruns on basic cable.

He leaned his shoulder into yours as you took a deep breath. “But in all seriousness,” you continued, “I know it sounds dumb…but…it’s so nice to be liked, to be wanted or needed or whatever…” You looked down at your lap, blinking your eyes a few times.

“I get that,” he said softly, lukewarm fingers now starting to just slightly condensate in your grasp. Namjoon was rarely this affectionate towards anyone. However, in the last month, the two of you had spent a plethora of your time that you were not working on your dissertations, with each other. At your behest, a lot of it in front of the television with junk food, which contrasted to the time after his breakup. But you two had different tastes.

You liked sitting shoulder to shoulder with Namjoon on the couch, crying your eyes out to preteen multicam comedies on Netflix. But you weren’t sure why he’d put up with you. You just came to assume it was because he was concerned after your break up with Sungwoo.

“Ugh, sorry,” you say, shaking your head, trying to shake out of it, “Do you want to pick the next movie? I’ll even watch that Hebrew movie you were talking about? Fill the Void?” You paused for a second before continuing, “That’s the one about arranged marriage right?”

“The young woman married her sister’s widower,” he said, correcting you. You nodded and the two of you settled into the couch to finish the shitty romantic comedy you were watching. When you finished, the two of you had polished off the vanilla ice cream. You took the empty carton, grabbing your second tub and bringing it as Namjoon was loading up the foreign film. Taking another deep breath, you sat down next to him.

The film was slow but stunning and you couldn’t help but getting wrapped up into it along Namjoon. Shoulders still pressed together, you felt your eyes well up unblinkingly at the emotional scenes laying before you. In a lull, you couldn’t help but speak. “Maybe I should just have my family match me up like Shira,” you said, “Easy, relatively painless, percentage chance of heartbreak significantly lowered right?”

You were just bullshitting at this point, working your way through your second glass of wine, using the last tissue from Namjoon’s pocket to dab at some of the drink dripping from your chin. You were reaching the climax in your rant when Namjoon interrupted you. “Just stop, Y/N, okay?” he said, grabbing your shoulders, only shaking you slightly, “One day, a guy is going to be so lucky that you’ve let him be part of your life. Stop beating yourself up about it. It’s a dumb holiday. You are so very much worthy of love. Trust me, I know. So shut up and let’s finish the damn movie.”

He turns away from you and back to the tv, but you can’t help but stare at his profile. Serious and hellbent on concentrating on the subtitled movie. You eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘I know?”

He let out a large breath through his nose. “Fine,” he said, getting up, “I guess I’m doing this.” You watched him as got up, leaving you alone on the coach, and made his way down the hall in the direction of his bedroom. Less than a minute later, he came back with a stack of letters rubber banded together. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he said, as if he was annoyed.

As you started to ask, he pushed them into your hands. “Just read, don’t talk, okay?” he said, more forceful than you’d really ever seen him before. This time, however, he sat on one of the bar stools a handful of feet away as you slowly undid the two skinny rubber bands.

“Okay,” you said resolutely, as you carefully pried open the first envelope. It had been dated around five or so months ago, in Namjoon’s skinny, clear handwriting. You started reading, feeling your face crease.

Y/N, I took some time before writing this because that’s what you do when someone who has been a fixture in your life, no longer is. By the time I started this, I told you that Chaeha and I broke up. Chaeha told me that she knew my heart wasn’t with her anymore. What’s worse is that she wasn’t even mad. I denied it to her, told her that I only loved her, but she knew better. I don’t know when it all started but…I’m pretty sure you’ve always been more than a friend to me. Two weeks to come to terms with the fact that she was right. 

That was only the first letter. There were definitely more than ten letters in the pile and one by one, you opened them. He had written to you once a week since his breakup with Chaeha. A few of the letters were just Namjoon talking about his day, a short trip he took with his parents, the weekend getaway you took with your mutual friends. However, they all revolved around thoughts of you, even if you weren’t present at the time.

You could feel your eyes and face soften. On one hand, it was all too much and the other, not nearly enough. As you picked up the latest one, dated two days ago, you couldn’t help but look over at Namjoon sitting on the stool by the counter. He looked at you as if to encourage you to keep reading but there was something in his eyes that didn’t want yours to leave either. Always an eloquent speaker, his letters spoke volumes beyond what he could physically say.

February 12th, 2019, February 12th, 2019. Two days ago.

I’m sure if you ever read these, Y/N, you’ll have figured it out quickly by this one.  You’re so smart and that’s probably one of reasons we get along so well, why that Modern French Philosophy class was the best class I’ve ever taken at this place. Probably one of the reasons why Chaeha and I ended, even. The day I wrote about in the first letter, Chaeha told me it was you. I didn’t completely admit to myself but I’ve had five months to think about us and I can now confirm. I can confirm my feelings. I still am not sure when it all happened but it did. I fell in love with you along the way of our friendship.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the letter, trying to absorb all the information thoroughly but as quickly as possible. You finished, and turned to look at Namjoon over the couch. Your eyes growing softer, wider, and a bit wetter.  

Knowing what was going on but not really knowing how to comprehend, your words faltered in your mouth. “What is–? Why–? Really–?” you said, only being able to form a few short, questioning words. You were emotional and a little buzzed already and now ….you were pretty sure your best friend was telling you that he broke up with his girlfriend five months ago because he was in love with you.

Snapping your head towards the kitchen to look at him, you were sure that you probably looked pretty lost. The expression on his face was serious but not hard, his chin between his forefinger and thumb. You wanted to move, to be able to look him closely in the eyes as if that act could provide you with answers. To be honest, you were overwhelmed and for a moment you thought you might just burst into tears. Where was all of this coming from?

The only thing you could do was hold up the stack of haphazardly opened letters. Not as in “I want to give these back” kind of way but in a way that says “I want to talk about these but my mouth and brain aren’t making the connection with one another.” He sloughs out of his chair and rejoins you back on the couch. You turn to him sideways, one knee up on the couch. You jester to him with the envelopes on your hands but a tight grip on them. A grip that might imply you don’t want to let them go, that if you do…what you just read will disappear.

“I know,” he says, “I know…it’s a lot, but it’s not–” He looks into your watery eyes and you can just tell he wants to stay more, that he probably has this eloquent speech or explanation planned out. He always knows what to say to you, what to say to other people. Where you were often speechless and stuck in your own head, he had a way with words that rivaled many heads of state.

You sighed and swallowed. “Tell me, then,” you manage to say, not quite knowing what is possessing you, “tell me what these letters haven’t.” Your knee brushed Namjoon’s thigh when you readjusted yourself next to him, placing the stack of letters on top of where your leg brushed his. You tried to remain as calm as possible for him, so that you could listen to him, but you were shaking. You couldn’t help it and you did your best to conceal that fact, by holding your arms to yourself, even though you didn’t want to look as if you were closed off from the conversation.

Once he started, you could only listen. The way he put into words possibly years of feelings…your heart was fit to burst. He’d been your friend for so long and you had built a relationship on being friends and roommates that you were more than satisfied with. Well, at least…that’s what you thought until the one person it also included flipped your world upside down with his confession.

“…You know I loved Chaeha. I was with her for half a decade,” he said, almost as if he was pleading. You nodded because it was true. He loved Chaeha. You loved her too…obviously not in that way but you’d grown close to her in the past two plus years of being Namjoon’s friend. She’d never…she’d never even given off any vibes that she didn’t like you, that she didn’t trust you, or that her boyfriend of five years might possibly be in love with another woman aka you. That thought hurt you too.

“I know, Namjoon,” you said, “I know you loved her so much. But why? When? How? I–I’m sorry. I’m not the articulate one in this friendship.” You held onto your own fingers so tightly, you knew there might  be the possibility that they might bruise.

“I don’t know when it happened but here I am, fucking hopeless and in love with my best friend. Those five months taught me that Chaeha was right and that…she was right to dump me. I couldn’t continue to be in a relationship with her–even if I really cared about her because at the back of my mind, I was always thinking about you.” he said, finally shifting to face you, taking your shaking hands in each of his.

Never thought you’d see your best friend’s gaze falter, never thought he’d ever be at a loss. His hands were as warm as they were before but they felt different. This is what you were afraid of. Things changing between you. That’s why….whatever “little” crush you had on him when you first met, you pushed it aside. There was never going to be a way that you’d let Kim Namjoon slip away from your life. You had always recognized that you found him attractive but he was Namjoon, the PhD candidate with cartoon character pyjama pants and the guy who you’d let in the bathroom while you were in the shower so he could pee.

He still liked you after that and it confused you even more. “Not to sound like a broken record, but why me? What is it about me?” you asked. You were genuinely curious and confused. You weren’t a mess, per say, but you and Namjoon shared every streaming service and refused to purchase cable tv because you were on a budget. Chaeha had been beautiful, smart, and a fantastic career and life going for her. Why was your roommate looking at you like you held the fucking universe? Why was he taking a step closer to you right now? Why were his eyes bigger and glassier than you’d ever seen them before?

Why was it that when he squeezed your hands in his and he finally looked at you in the eyes, you could feel all the confusing puzzle pieces finally fall into place? Could he see the light bulb go off in your brain?

“What isn’t it about you?” he said, suddenly smiling more brightly than he had since he walked through the door, “One, you’re my best friend. Two, without you I would starve. Three, I realized you have always made my heart do this.” He took one of the hands he was holding and put it on his heart. It was beating rather fast. You could feel your fingers press into the shirt covering his chest, looking for some kind of anchor to keep you on this earth. Now that the two of you were closer, you could feel the light breeze of his wine breath on your face.

Of your own accord, you moved the hand on his chest to the juncture of his neck and shoulder in attempt to not pull him to you but still bring him closer. The only sound you could hear was the foreign film in the background and the sound of your own ragged breath. “What are you thinking?” he asks so quietly, that if it wasn’t silent, you wouldn’t have been able to catch it.

“It’s just that…the feelings I have…I have…I have pressed them so far down because of how much our friendship means to me, how much you mean to me…that I’m just trying to wrap my head around this,” you rambled. Your thumb rubbed at his jaw, reveling in the warmth and softness of his skin there. “Did you know…that I had a crush on you when we first became friends?” you said, not being able to help but chuckle at yourself a little.

“No,” he said, looking down at you.

“But you were with Chaeha and you two were really cute and I wanted to be your friend so bad that I–” you said but in a fast moment, were cut off by Namjoon’s lips against yours. You wanted to cry because you’d thought about it more than you wanted to admit. Repressing your crush on Namjoon was now going to take its toll in the form of big soppy tears that were pooling in your tear ducts.

Pressing your finger into his jaw, you used your hand to bring him closer, a sob stuck in your throat. You used a little more momentum than you had thought to and Namjoon ended up half on top of you as you fell back into the large, squishy couch cushion. His hands were soon around your waist and your arms slipped around his shoulders.

After coming up for air, you managed to get out “Sorry, I’m all emotional. This is all so good but a little much. I just…you overwhelm me…in a good way.” You tacked that bit on at the end because it was true. The very thought and feel of him right now consumed you.

“Please don’t feel pressured to say or do anything you don’t want to,” he said earnestly, “That’s the last thing I want to happen. Your friendship, regardless of this, means everything to me.” You smile, bringing his lips back to you. When you pressed him even closer to you, Namjoon eagerly maneuvered so that you were underneath him on the couch. His fingers brushed your bare sides while yours dipped under the collar of his t-shirt.

He melded to you like you had been there all along.

“I said it earlier but…Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he said, that big, happy doofy smile blooming across his face.

“You too, Joon,” you said, biting your bottom lip before pulling him in closer. The two of you remained tangled up together for several more minutes until eventually, you ended up on top of Namjoon. When you finally separated, the movie was over and you decided to clear up all your mess on the coffee table except for the wine.

As you reached for the tub of ice cream in order to take it to kitchen, you peered inside only to be disappointed. “Goddamnit, the ice cream melted!” you said annoyedly. But before you could walk to throw it in the trash can, a pair of arms looped around your middle as a chin pressed into your shoulder.

“So did I,” Namjoon said into your ear. You couldn’t help but chortle at the cheesy line. As cheesy as it was, it was still lovely. You wrapped your arms around his and leaned back into him as you help the condensation covered melted tub of ice cream. When his lips reached behind your ear, you leaned forward to place the tub on a surface, not wanting it all over the carpet.

Smiling at that moment, you promised yourself to never call Valentine’s Day a consumerist holiday ever again.

[okimargarvez]

GUILT

Original title: Senso di colpa.

Prompt: post 14x06.

Warning: character’ death.

Genre: angst, drama, romantic, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez, Penelope x Phil.

Note: oneshot 38 in Garvez collection.

Legend: ⚰.

Song mentioned: Le cose che non dici, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

This story is dedicated to @thinitta because we are in the same pain and ansiety while we’re watching CM each on the other side of the planet XD

GUILTY

Luke enters the room and for the first time he realizes he doesn't feel like smiling. All those images of puppies and animals, those weird puppets can't do anything against his pain. She is turned back; surely, she must have realized that someone has  entered, but she doesn't turn around  to see who. He stays for a moment motionless to look at her and then he reaches for the empty chair next to her.

-Hey.- she says, turning slightly around to give him a brief glance, her fingers still typing on the keyboard. She would like to ask him how he is, but it would be useless, because

she already knows. And she is in the same situation too.

So, he finds a single loophole. -How... how is Lou?- Penelope wears a dress invarious shades of gray, not too long and not too short. A tight and sad smile is painted on

the woman's face before she answers.

-He misses him.- silence. For a few minutes the regular ticking of Penelope's skilled fingers on the keyboard is the only sound filling the room; it almost made him sleepy, or maybe it depends on the fact that he has barely slept in a week. I would just like more silence in what I do but it's impossible, it's too dark, I sleep and then, nothing. Not even Roxy was able to cheer him up. The bed was still too empty, the apartment no longer seemed the same since Lisa left. He would have liked to hate her for leaving him when he has needed her most, but he couldn't blame her. This damn job had taken a good part of his life, he was too difficult to be around. She deserved better. She deserves to not being anxious every time he leaves home; to not be afraid to see his corpse one day in the morgue of the hospital where she works. -Luke?- the voice of the colleague brings him back to earth. He manages to capture all the worry on her face, but denies it, because it's so much simpler.

-There is a new case?- focus on work, again. It is the only solution to not going crazy. She

shakes her head and her blonde hair dance. For a moment he has a vision: a child with a darker skintone than his and those same light hair of her; but it is only for a fleeting moment. He shudders, feeling cold inside, although she keeps her “batcave” constantly

warmed up, and he knows it, because they joked about it more than once.

-No, nothing, for now.- and then she is silent. It is clear that there's something, maybe something more important, that she doesn't want to tell him. Penelope feels his eyes on her. She swallows. It is the second time in her life that she doesn't know what to say to get

out of this embarrassment. Then she makes the mistake of letting her eyes meeting Luke's. -You... you don't need to do anything, ok? - she stretches her hand to touch Luke's one, but she changes her mind at the last second. She feels the same fear as when the elevator doors had opened, and he'd appeared with Lou on a leash; she had wanted to hug him so bad and tell him that she was there for him, but she had been too afraid of being rejected in that moment. -You don't have to stay here with me. I can do everything, so you... can... you can stay with Lisa. I wont tell anybody.- and she strives hard to smile, but behind her glasses there is a veil of tears in her eyes. Luke stares at her for a moment, unable to say anything.

She. Penelope Garcia.

You are no match for Penelope Garcia.

She. The ray of sunshine of the BAU, the glue of the team.

She, so funny and weird. She, so sweet and sensitive. She, so selfless and generous.

He has no more tears to shed. He cried them all, hugging Lisa.

He feels the need to laugh hysterically now. She, Penelope, who still doesn't know that he's single again, alone like he's always been. But this is not true either, and he knows it. But for a few moments he wants to bask in self-pity.

She'll never lie to him if their roles would have been reversed. Not even if she had been in love with him. She always puts the wellbeing and happiness of others before her own. Why he could not do the same? His best friend and... he could now consider her as another best friend, after all that they had gone through. Two of the people he loved the most, together. Phil, who has never been a playboy, deserved to feel happy. And with Penelope he would certainly have been happy. Who wouldn't have been ecstatic with her?

Silence still fills the room. She even stopped typing and now is staring at him. The expression on her face is unreadable.

Why he lied to both of them? Still, he knew right away that there was something between

the two. Shortly after Lisa and he had made their story official, Garcia (and it is necessary

to think about her by her last name) had insisted on paying them a dinner, as an apology for having inadvertently interrupted their first date, and as a way for snooping and getting to know more about Lisa. Inviting Phil had been obvious, automatic. But why, why the vision of his friends laughing and joking had been so hard for him? She, who flirted in her usual way with Phil? Those smiles on their faces.

It wasn't about the fucking excuse he had given himself when his best friend was still alive.

It wasn't a behavior of a concerned "big brother". Also because he wouldn't had any need to worry. The answer was there, clear, written in large letters in front of his eyes. It had been there more than three years ago, when Morgan had put his hand on Penelope's shoulder, and earlier, when she had flirted with Stephen on the phone.

Jealousy.

Pure, simple, wrong jealousy. He didn't want her to be with Phil. With nobody, actually. And it was a selfish, macho, horrible thought, something that he would never have thought of being. He had never been that kind of man before. And nothing could justify him. In fact, he didn't want anyone to pat him on the shoulder, taking away any guilt from him. No, instead he wanted insults, shouts, hearing what he thought is his truth. I tell myself "do it sooner" but the remorse is glowing, here...

It's his fault, if Phil is dead. If only he had allowed them to know each other, maybe they would have been together, at that moment, maybe Phil would have stayed with her, so...

So, both could have been dead by now. BAM. Again, a flash, a horrible vision. That beautiful blonde woman lying horizontally, her hands clasped on her chest, eyes closed, forever. Flowers, various types of flowers, everywhere around her. He didn't believe it was possible, and yet, Luke feels a twinge in his already too suffering heart. A moan of pain escapes from him, but maybe she doesn't notice. Maybe.

Or... or they could both be alive. And happy.

What kind of love was his, if he didn't want to see them happy? Sick, wrong. Better be in denial. Yes, denying is definitely the best solution. Deny, again, as he had done from the beginning.... I go against the wind or I resist, I don't know...

-Alvez.- someone calls him. He painfully comes back in the real world. How long has he been absent? It's Penelope. There is no one else in the room. She knows that the only way to save him is giving him a shock. -Don't do that again, please.- and she is not crying, but the pain and terror he reads in her eyes are enough to make him nod, though he doesn't know whether he will be able to keep his promise or simply... he's lying to her. Again. For the third time. Like Peter with Jesus. Without any rooster crowing.

You think about it and you don't admit it, but it comes and runs strong, here, my brain spinning out, it's sick, who knows... and you try with the Gospel to dry your faults that not even the handkerchief that you have always used will absorb...

Then, suddenly, without any stimulation from the outside world, it is like if someone pressed a button in his brain, and he can no longer keep his thoughts inside. -It was my fault, Garcia.- she doesn't seem surprised at all. -I lied to you- still no reaction. -I lied to both of you.- and to himself, too, and to Lisa. -After that date, the double date... Phil kept asking me about you. All the time. He liked you, fuck, he liked you a lot.- Penelope doesn't look angry, nor even in shock. There is something strange, unconsciously noticing it. -And you liked him too. I didn't tell him. He died without knowing it, he died because I'm a fucking liar.- he can no longer cry but his eyes turns red and his vision is blurry. It seems like a century passed before she answers to him.

She puts her hand on his, light, and nods. -I know.- so, everything doesn't matter anymore,

everything swirls around him, around two simple words.

I lose myself wrecked in the things you don't say, the ones that, at night, you are ashamed of it, hidden, but you do it, and you talk to friends, but you deny everything, sometimes, you wear scars, but nobody will see them...

-You know?- Penelope nods, closes her eyes and when she lifts her eyelids there is still no

trace of anger or desire to blame him. But she takes her hand off from his and brings it on

the other, on her leg.

-Yeah, Luke, you are not the only one who lied.- there are no words capable of describing the expression of the man when she begins her confession. -We did it, me, and him too.- she says while standing up and reaches a drawer of her desk, putting out of it what seems like a coin or a medal. Without needing her to ask him to do it, he opens his hand, palm up, and lets her giving the object to him. He recognizes it instantly. He can't speak anymore, but she'd never needed for him to speak to hear him, with or without five hundred and sixty hours of profiling course. -Shortly after that double date. He called me, told me that he wasn't used to have a dog, and that he needed help, knowing that I had taken care of Roxy every now and then. And that's how it began.- she sits down again, but away from him. -It was not your fault, Luke. He was at home and I was at work. It was not your fault, more than it wasn't mine, or it's the team's. I should have realized sooner that you, Lisa and him would have been the targets.- and here, she found the only way to stop taking all the blame at any costs.

-No, you couldn't know...- and she stares at him, as if to return to Luke his own words. -So... why didn't tell me anything? Why Phil has keeping asking me about you, if you two were already dating?- at his question she smiles, the first sincere smile of today.

-Because... because he knew you wouldn't agree or that you wouldn't like the idea of us

together. I don't know how he knew that, but he didn't want to tell you anything, and he asked me to do the same. And you'll admit that it was a huge thing, for me, keeping my mouth shut all this time.- she even tries to joke. -He wanted to wait until you were ready. We'd have told Lisa first, and she would have helped us surely.- Luke notices that she can't say the name of his best friend. He doesn't ask if she loved him, if they were happy, even if a morbid curiosity pinches him and pushes him to ask those questions aloud.

Perhaps because both answers are already there, in the way that Penelope talks about it,

in the sad sweetness that softens her face.

Phil knew. He had never told him about what he was feeling for his colleague, but he knew the same. He is, was, and will always be, his best friend, his brother. He had known, even before Luke himself, that he was in love with Penelope Garcia. And despite that, he'd pushed him into Lisa's arms. Why? A question that will never find an answer.

And why isn't Penelope asking him the reason why Phil thought he wouldn't be happy about them? Can she be naive up to this point? She knows his feelings too?

-Penelope...- she tells him to shut up with her eyes.

-You don't need to say anything. I know you wanted the best for us. It would have been a

strange situation, wouldn't it? Hearing me talking with JJ about my handsome boyfriend who is at the same time your best friend...- she smiles with tears in her eyes.

No, Penelope knows nothing. Yes, she is the queen of ice, of nice, of moderation... and ingenuity. -I'm sure we'd have told you soon, and we would have had fun, all six of us, Lisa and you, me and him, Roxy and Lou...- is the last straw; enough is enough.

And you feel a wave of affection, shutting it straightaway...

-No, I don't... I don't think it would have ever happened.- Penelope stares at him, this time surprised and confused. There are two things that press in his head to go out, one wrong and one right, one that he would like to say and one that he would bury in the depths of his soul. -Lisa left me.- her beautiful mouth, red, juicy, opens wide. -She couldn't... what happened was too much for her.- she sighs.

-I understand. I'm sorry, infinitely, because you two were good together, you were just so beautiful to watch.- and Luke knows she's not lying, unlike him, she really thinks this, because she's Penelope Garcia, the woman with the biggest heart that exists in the whole universe. -I'm sorry- she says again -but I understand that. I feel the same thing every time there is a damn case and you all get on the jet and I stay here, and I can only try to break the typing speed record to find the right information, so that you can catch the villain before he can kill others people, or some of you can get hurt... and I feel powerless, and I can only wait for someone to tell me that you're all safe, and you know what? I'm even happy to have been the one kidnapped by the cult, me rather than one of you, because for once I didn't have to wait, but I could act and...- and finally it happens.

There is only one way to silence her random digression: he presses her head against his chest, while his hands caress her back. -You are not powerless, nor useless, never, Penelope.- and the same is true for him. Although it is more difficult to accept. Because it's much easier to keep feeling guilty than to move on. Just as it was easier to date Lisa than to even attempt to do something with his feelings for Penelope. -The team would be

nothing without you.- he whispers, and she whispers back -Not even without you, Luke.- that hug, that had been postponed till now. And now it seems that neither of them is able to break away from the other. But she turns her head so she can breathe. -Phil- she finally says the name -would have asked you to be his best man, you know?- and immediately she feels guilty. This is one of her crap, that she said without even knowing the reason. -Sorry, I didn't want to...- his right hand moves from her back to her hair, the fingers sinking into the golden mass.

-You're not the one who should apologize. I should have been the happiest person in the

world, being the best man at the marriage of two of my best friends.- and the other half

of the sentence remains between the lines, but she understands anyway.

And finally, she asks him. -Why you wouldn't have been happy?- and finally she seems to

understand that this has nothing to do with the damn story of the big brother. That role belongs to Morgan. Derek would have come on purpose from Chicago to tell Luke to treat his baby girl right, otherwise... But then the time had passed, and nothing had happened, and then Lisa had arrived and he was happy, and then Phil had asked her out, he had done what his best friend had never been able to do, and it hadn't been for spite or a replacement, no, Phil had made her laugh, her heart jumped when they kissed. Like a punch to the gut, she sees their first kiss again. He was still in the wheelchair and she had

stumbled, ending up on his legs; she had immediately apologized, but he had stroked her shoulder, and then he had gently pushed her head against his own to make their lips met and finally silenced her. And again, she feels the urge to say something that is better if never gets out. I was starting to really love him.

-Because, because I'm an asshole, Garcia.- he forces himself to let her go, immediately feeling cold, ice around his heart. -Because I was jealous, selfish, and you should hate me and telling me to go fuck myself, because I deserve it. And because I need it.- she steps back, Luke steps one in her direction and grabs both her hands in a strong hold. -Please, Penelope, do it, tell me that you hate me, that you will never forgive me, that I didn't have the right to get in the way, say something!- he shakes her and she lets him. The man feels tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, but he can't cry, not again.

And you are looking for a virtual Purgatory because you are not being able to love, rewind your god of love, so you continue to pray in the narrowest and tighter darkness of what you've never said...

-No... I can't. I will not give you what you want. I can't do it.- Luke lets her go immediately and falls to his knees, grabbing his head in his own hands. -But there's something I'd like to know. What does it mean you were jealous? Of him or me?- nothing,

she is stills the usual sweet naive Garcia. His reply arrived after what feels lile centuries. He must free himself from this burden.

-Of him, of you, of both. I was, I still am jealous of you. It's not just about Phil. It's not because he was... he is my best friend. It was because he was interested in you and I didn't want him to. I know it's wrong but...- she stops his sentence with a sharp hand gesture. This time she doesn't look at all understanding. Her gaze is stern, although she seems to be trying hard to understand. She still wants to believe for a while that there is a logical reason that will allow her not to hate him. Even though she wouldn't be able to do it anyway. She wants to believe that the world is a better place to live in.

-You don't want me to be happy, Luke? Why?- only two tears, perfectly synchronized, on

the sides of her cheeks, run along the woman's face until they stop for a few moments on

the chin and then fall into the void. He hurt her. He has committed the greatest sin he could do and he will never forgiven himself.

-No, yes, it's not that simple. I want you to be happy... I feel bad when I see you sad, from

the first time it happened, but... but I don't want you to be with someone else. And I know it's wrong, selfish, that I was with Lisa and I had no right to... that I wouldn't have it even if I was single... and even if we were together and...- he can't look her in the eye. He doesn't want to find out what she thinks of him now. He doesn't want to see that.

Delusion.

-I don't understand.- she just says, and she sounds so dull that it's much worse, worse than if she had shouted at him or had slapped him. And the shadows fall and you can discover every flaw that jealously in your limbo you will hide, you will conceal, you will cover, you will spit, you will touch, you will warm, you will pan, you will forget, you will slip, you will slide, you will flapping or not, you will watch, you will know, you will hide, I don't know...

-I want... I wish you were happy, but... but with me.- and after having said it, everything

seems simpler, in the right perspective.

-But you would never have left Lisa for me, right?- her voice is tough, as he had never heard it before. And he trembles.

-I... she is... a fantastic woman, beautiful, smart, nice. You said it too. We were fine together. But she is not... she is not you. I think that, even if this is even more selfish... yes, I would have left her, if I had known to have a chance with you.- she moves one step backwards and ends up against the desk, the computer screen turned off, neglected, abandoned. Her left hand bumps several puppets and one of them falls on the ground.

In the shape of a cat, black and white. They both follow with their eyes the fall and then

they can't help but staring at each other in that way, in their own way, in the way they have looked at each other since the first time they met, intense enough to make both of their hearts beating with hope, ambiguous enough to let them behave like cowards.

-You, stupid Newbie!- she points an accusatory finger against him. -You would have had

a chance, if only you tried!- and finally, she's shouting, as he had asked her before. -I will

not stay here forever waiting for you, if that's what you think. I'm not a souvenir that you can put on a shelf and leave it to gather dust, until you find it convenient. Is it clear to you?- just a few tears frame her face. -Now, please, go out. I told you, I can handle it alone. And I need time to process all this. It's too much. Too much.- and she turns her back to him. Luke feels his legs so heavy, his head spinning like a pinwheel, and yet, feeling even more of an asshole, he wants to laugh, to shout out for the world to see that she loves him too.

But he doesn't reach for her, he doesn't hold her close, he doesn't kiss her, although he would like. Instead, he forces his body to move, to go out, to close the door. To do the right thing. Because for once leaving doesn't mean being a coward, but means not being selfish, putting first what the woman he loves needs more, rather than his own desires.

 Although it may sound absurd, sometimes "disappear" is the most sublime act of love...

(Gaetano Cuffari)

[bxchanan-barnes-deactivated]

An Original Design

Hey! @tourmei SURPRISE I’m your secret santa!! I’m sorry this is so long, and even sorrier that this is so late!!! This was supposed to be a cute lil drabble, but it turned into this monster, so….. You’re welcome? I’m sorry? Both, maybe? IDK. BUT, I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

FYI: Post-reveal. Adrienette. Ft. Alya. Rated T for a few choice words. Word count: 4,252 (yIkes) My version of Gabriel tryna be a good father ok???? Let me dream.

AO3

Marinette doesn’t ask for much, especially not of those she is closest to. She doesn’t demand for materialistic things, she doesn’t insist on having their undivided attention, she doesn’t expect them to drop everything for her at a moment’s notice.

And she certainly does not expect for them to shove her onto Gabriel Agreste’s runway. Mid-fashion show, no less!

Oh, Alya is lucky I love her, Marinette thinks with a scowl, glancing around at all the stage lights and camera flashes and shocked faces, otherwise, I would kill her.

Earlier

Alya slings her dress bag and overnight bag over her shoulder before knocking on her best friend’s bedroom door.

“Marinette? You decent?”

A few bumps and strange noises later, the trapdoor swings open to reveal a nervous wreck that only somewhat resembles Marinette. Her usually tame hair is a disheveled mess, her pajamas are wrinkled, and her eyes are wide with panic.

All in all, she’s a total mess.

“Uh….hey?” The blogger asks cautiously, raising an eyebrow up at the girl before her.

“Hi,” Marinette squeaks, giving a nervous grin.

Alya hesitantly climbs into the bedroom, expecting it to be as big of a mess as her friend is. But nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the chaise lounge; it looked as if all of the other girl’s fancy dresses and shoes were thrown haphazardly onto the chair. She turned to look at the raven haired girl beside her, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. We have two hours to be dressed and out the door and you still don’t know what you’re wearing?”

“No.” She lies.

“Oh boy..”

“In my defense, he didn’t exactly give me enough of a notice to get a fancy dress in time!” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He wanted it to be a surprise!” Alya reasons as she recalls the conversation she had with Adrien last week.

Adrien had been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out what to get Marinette for her birthday. He didn’t want to take her out for a fancy dinner - he’d done that on their one monthiversary. Nor did he want to get her jewelry - none of it stuck out to him and it would just clash with her Ladybug earrings anyways. With only a few days left before her seventeenth, he was at a total loss. Until Alya so conveniently dropped a hint, of course.

“Adrien, dear, let me walk you through something.” She’d began, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Not only are you the son of the renowned fashion designer Gabriel Agreste, but you’re also a model. Who is dating an aspiring and hella good fashion designer who idolizes your father’s work.”

“And?” He replied slowly, obviously missing her point.

“And Mari has always dreamed of going to one of his fashion shows, which you so happen to be working one this saturday… You get where I’m going with this?”

All of a sudden he grinned, all bright eyes and sparkling teeth, and threw his arms around Alya in a bear hug. “Alya! You’re a genius!” He laughed in utter glee at finding the perfect gift for his wonderful girlfriend. “Taking her to an actual fashion show. I’m such an idiot. How the hell did I never think of this?!”

He paused, a frown replacing his smile in the blink of an eye. “But I’ll be working and I’d hate for her to be alone all night.”

“Oh, fine! I’ll go with her to keep her company!!” Alya said, dramatically rolling her eyes and acting as if it were the biggest inconvenience life had to offer.

He grinned again and shouted a quick “Thank you!” as he ran off to work out the details.

“Yeah, well now he can shove it cause I don’t have anything to wear!” Marinette practically shouted, frantic once more.

Alya shakes her head, trying her best not to laugh at her best friend.

She drops her things on the floor and begins to look through the clothes on the chaise chair. Finding nothing good enough for Marinette to wear to the event tonight, she then moves to the closet. Upon first glance, it was all casual wear. But then something in the back catches Alya’s eye; a deep red dress with a black ribbon around the waist. Taking a closer look, she could see that the black ribbon had gold beading on the front. It was beautiful and elegant enough for a fashion show. Furrowing her brow, she retrieves it and turns to look at Marinette.

“What about this?”

“But…that’s an original design. By me. I can’t wear one of my original designs to a Gabriel Agreste fashion show! It would be total career suicide!” She cries out, throwing her hands up in the air in distress. “I can’t even believe you suggested such a thing! You know how many designers and famous people and magazine companies will be there?! Way, way too many for me to wear an original design. And for sure they’ll all know that dress was hand made by a seventeen year old! I’ll be a laughing stock; surely Adrien’s father will be embarrassed. And I know he’s my boyfriend and won’t admit to it, but Adrien will probably be embarrassed, too.” She concludes with a huff, flopping face down onto her bed in misery.

Alya pauses, opening her mouth to respond to her drama queen of a best friend but ultimately decides not to. She sits beside Marinette, gingerly laying the fancy dress beside her.

“Marinette, you listen to me.” The brunette says, and the stern tone of her voice prompts the other girl to open one eye just enough to peek up at her.

“This dress is amazing. No one will ever guess that any average seventeen year old made it. And when you do tell them that you made it - because people will ask because it’s magical - you tell them that you made it. They’ll be shocked, too, cause like I said, it’s fucking magical, girl.”

The amateur fashion designer sits up, pushing her hair away from her face as she looks at her friend through her lashes.

“You think so?” She asks, and her voice is so small but so hopeful that Alya can’t help but give her an encouraging grin.

“Duh.”

The two girls share a hug.

“And neither Agreste guy will be ashamed of this dress,” Alya adds once they pull away. Her smile turns wicked, suddenly. “-I’m willing to bet that when Adrien sees you in this dress, he just might pounce on you on the spot.”

Like a cat, Marinette muses as she tries to hold in her laughter. But she just can’t contain it; she bursts out in giggles, a light blush blooming on her cheeks at the thought of her boyfriend reacting in such a way, especially in civilian form and not as Chat Noir.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wear it.”

“'Atta girl!” Alya smiles and gently claps her friend on the back.

“Now, lets brush your hair because you look like you got into a fight with a mangy cat.”

More like I was making out with one right before you got here, Marinette laughs to herself as she’s tugged to her vanity.

“Alya! We are backstage at a Gabriel Agreste fashion show! Can you believe it?!” Marinette cries out as she watches the hustle and bustle of models and assistants preparing for the runways. She looks a whole lot like what Alya imagines Chloe would in a Chanel store, eyes filled with wonder and her smile a little bit wild.

“This is the best birthday present ever!!” She squeals, throwing her arms around the brunette in a tight hug.

Alya grins at her best friend’s enthusiasm as they pull apart.

“You have your boyfriend to thank for this, girl – I just planted the idea in that pretty little head of his.”

The raven haired girl blushes and looks down at her fancy black heels - boyfriend. It still felt new to her daily vocabulary, even after these last few months.

“Speak of the devil.” Alya mutters, smirk widening at something - or rather, someone - to the left.

Marinette looks up from her shoes and is met by those green eyes she’s grown so fond of. She quickly glances over what outfit he is going to be modeling next; a simple black and grey three piece suit, but man does he look especially good in it.

Adrien’s eyes widen and his lips part at the sight before him, utterly stunned as he looks over her knee length strapless gown; the dress itself was Ladybug red, and that black ribbon tied around her waist was as black as Chat Noir’s suit with beading as gold as his bell. It flowed out beneath the ribbon, just enough to swish around when she moved. He looks back up at her face, expression shifting from shock into that of a man totally gone in love.

“Hey, Marinette. You look….beautiful.”

She smiles up at him, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless – partly for the way he was looking at her and partly for giving her this amazing opportunity, but also a little bit because of how attractive he looks in that suit. Ultimately, she settles for a quick peck on the lips, unable to wipe the silly grin off of her face.

“Thank you.”

“Hi to you too, Adrien.” Alya says, crossing her arms over her chest and feigning offense.

He tears his eyes away from his girlfriend, glancing apologetically at his friend. “Sorry, Alya. Hey.”

He offers a sheepish grin, fighting the urge to look back to his girlfriend until the blogger rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her lips. He takes that as her forgiveness and returns his attention to his girlfriend.

Alya watches the exchange and shakes her head.

Afterall, she would much rather her best friend’s boyfriend ignore her because he’s so taken with Mari, rather than ignore her because they don’t get along.

“By the way,” She interrupts their flirting, or whatever it was that her two weirdos do, gesturing to her best friend’s frock. “-she made this dress. By herself. Don’t you think it’s amazing and totally pro-designer worthy?”

Adrien nods immediately, eyes wide and serious. “Oh, yeah. Totally. At first glance, I assumed my father designed it and I just hadn’t seen it yet. It’s totally on par with his formalwear.”

Marinette blushes at his, her face as red as her dress.

“Oh my gosh.” She giggles, the current events much too much for her to fully process.

“Alya’s right, Mari. You could really make it as a designer. I truly mean that.” He says, and the raw honesty in his voice only furthers her desire to kiss him senseless.

She grins up at him as she bites her lip, barely containing a squeal.

“Thank you. For that…for all of this.” She says, and he meets her eyes and smiles.

“It’s really not a problem.”

The couple share a look and a silent moment, the busy crowd moving about around them.

“You looked good out there, by the way.” Marinette finally says, placing a hand on his chest to smooth out his lapel.

His cheeks redden in the slightest as he chuckles. Alya can’t help but let out an obnoxious snort; her best friend is so wonderfully lame.

“It’s kind of my job to look good, but thank you.”

“Oh. Because you’re a- right. Duh. I-I’m sorry.” Marinette buries her face in her hands to hide her embarrassment. “I’m just so excited. This is absolutely amazing.”

Adrien gently removes her hands from her face so he can place a kiss to her forehead. He holds her hands in his against his chest to keep her near, ducking his head to look her in the eye.

“Like I said, it’s not a problem. I’d do anything for my girl.” He winks at her, watching with delight as a brilliant blush colors her cheeks once more.

“Adrien, your next walk is in twenty!” The runway director calls out, wildly gesturing him over, and the blonde barely stifles a groan as he nods at the man.

“I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you tonight, but I really am glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He murmurs to his girlfriend, caressing her cheek and giving her a much too short kiss on the lips.

“I’ll catch you later, right?”

Despite the terrible pun, Marinette snorts.

He leans closer to her and lowers his voice so that only she can hear his next sentence.

“We can finish what we started earlier.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She grins at him before leaning up to place a lingering kiss to his lips.

With a great, heaving sigh, he backs away from her, holding onto her hand for as long as possible without dragging her along with him. She watches as he turns around and jogs over to the runway director to prepare for his next walk.

Alya’s scoff brings the bluenette back down to earth.

“Yeah, see you later, Adrien!” Alya calls out after him, sarcasm practically dripping from her words. Then, turning back to her best friend, “Girl, you have him more whipped than Chat Noir is for LB.”

Marinette bites down on her lip to suppress her smile.

Oh, if only you knew…

“Shut up,” She dissolves into giggles, playfully shoving the blogger’s shoulder. “-let’s get a closer look at the stage!”

She grabs Alya by the wrist and yanks her in the direction of the runway, both girls chittering with excitement.

Half an hour later, Gabriel Agreste announces that the next line up is his last for the night. It’s all formalwear, set to be released this April.

Marinette already knows that she’ll be wearing one of these dresses to prom, even if she has to save up for the next three months.

Adrien is modeling two outfits this round, the first one alone and the last one as a couple, so he doesn’t have the chance to visit with her at all. But she’s excited to watch him walk the runway, as she likes watching him enjoy himself and look as comfortable as he does out there.

They make eye contact from across the room and she gives a little wave. He smiles wide, eyes full of happiness.

“Girl.” Alya gasps, elbowing her in the side to get her attention. “His color scheme! Gabriel’s fucking color scheme!”

Marinette tears her eyes away from her boyfriend and looks at the runway; the formalwear is all reds and black, with hints of gold here and there. One female model is wearing a long red cinderella-cut gown with gold beading on the bust, and another is wearing a black gown with red tulle underneath. Some of the male models are modeling red suits with black accents, whereas the other male models’ outfits are the opposite.

Adrien walks onto the stage by himself wearing a black suit with red buttons and a red tie.

“Your dress matches Gabriel-fucking-Agreste’s new formalwear line!” Alya cries out in sheer disbelief, eyes wild as she glances between Mari’s dress and Gabriel’s dresses.

Marinette chokes out an airy laugh, watching the models pose and strut down the runway.

Suddenly, Alya’s expression turns borderline evil, and Marinette has no time to question it.

In the blink of an eye, Alya has pushed Marinette ahead of the line of models and onto the stage. The raven haired girl stumbles into the center of the runway at the base of the long catwalk. A few people spot her, eyes immediately locked on this awkward, stumbling girl shoved onto the catwalk.

Marinette stops, eyes wide and mouth agape, bright lights nearly blinding her. She realizes that not many guests see her yet, so she straightens her back and gathers her determination and what’s left of her courage.

Oh, Alya is lucky I love her, Marinette thinks with a quick, fleeting scowl, glancing around at all the stage lights and camera flashes and shocked faces, otherwise, I would kill her.

After sending a quick death glare at her best friend on the sidelines, Marinette plasters a smile on her face and struts down the center of the runway, hoping to any god out there that she looks like she knows what she’s doing. She tries to recall what she’s seen other models do; she poses for the audience, winks, blows kisses. She’s met with growing applause and and flashing lights.

Upon seeing the crowd going wild at something behind him, Adrien smoothly turns around at the end of the runway to see what all the commotion was about. His eyes land on his girlfriend, making her way down the catwalk towards him, and he stills, eyes wide with a hint of panic etched on his face. They make eye contact and she just shrugs, an apology shining in her eyes. He regains his composure seconds later and extends his arm for Marinette. Once close enough, she grabs his hand and he twirls her into his arms, posing for the cameras.

“What are you doing up here?” He whispers through a well-practiced, forced smile, changing their pose.

“Alya.” was all that she had to say, and by the way he exhaled, she could tell that he needs no further explanation.

After a little more posing and a whole lot of smiling, they were backstage. If Marinette were not on a high from walking the runway, she might have actually killed her best friend for virtually ruining her boyfriend’s billionaire father’s fashion show.

“GIRL.” Her best friend shouts, face lighting up like a Christmas tree as she makes her way over. “That was amazing! Did you see the crowd?! They loved you! I told you they would!”

Marinette smiles, opens her mouth to answer, but then she spots Gabriel Agreste making a beeline towards her. Or maybe towards Adrien, she wasn’t sure. Either way, the brisk strut mixed with his emotionless expression was always terrifying, but she found it more so after potentially ruining his fashion show.

Adrien steps in the direct line of fire, already armed and ready to do damage control.

“Father, I-” The younger Agreste tries to speak first - tries to explain to his father why this girl who is not a model just accidentally walked the runway, tries to tell his father that hey, dad, this is my girlfriend and I’m so in love with her and she absolutely idolizes you, so please, please don’t yell at her and scare her off - but Gabriel doesn’t give him the chance.

“Wait, Adrien.” His father demands, a hand raised in the air to silence him as he sidesteps around his son. He studies Marinette’s dress, eyebrows scrunching together in concentration and confusion. “Marinette, was it?”

The girl in question nods, not trusting herself to speak quite yet.

“Where did you get that dress? I don’t recognize the design.”

Gabriel’s words are demanding, but his tone is far from it. Adrien stills at his father’s words, unsure of what was about to unfold before him, unsure of whether he was still going to have a girlfriend after this conversation ends. His insides twist in anxiety with every passing second.

The young model moves so he’s standing beside Marinette, ready and willing to give any kind of support she might need. As expected, she reaches out for his hand, grasping it with her own.

“I-I made it…Mister Agreste..sir.” The nervous bundle of girl squeaks out, clinging onto Adrien’s arm in fear.

Gabriel almost looks stunned at her answer, but returns to his typical neutral and vaguely intimidating demeanor moments later.

Except this time, the blonde realizes, his father is not intentionally trying to be intimidating. He’s trying to come across as something else. Something Adrien isn’t used to, something like…..nice, maybe? Could his father actually be capable of such thing?

“You did? By yourself?”

She nods, eyes wide as she practically shrinks into herself.

“With or without a pattern?”

“Without.”

“I see..” He pauses, words his next sentence carefully. “-and just why were you on my runway?”

Again, his words would be demanding, but his tone is far from it. Adrien blinks, still unable to move, unable to process just what was going on.

“I didn’t mean to. It-It was an accident..” She tries to explain, fidgeting with her hands. “Y-You see, I-I-”

Alya and Adrien both know that she isn’t going to willingly throw her best friend under the bus, that she was probably, definitely trying to think of some reason she ended up on that runway that didn’t include Alya shoving her there.

She would risk pissing off her boyfriend’s father who so happened to be her fashion idol - which came with so many repercussions in and of itself - just to save her best friend’s ass without a second thought.

And boy, did that realization just do it for Adrien…again.

She was so damn selfless and he was so damn in love.

“I see,” Gabriel repeats, glancing over her dress. “Turn around.”

It’s almost a question, but not quite.

Marinette lets go of her boyfriend’s hand and does as instructed, slowly spinning in a single circle as her fashion designer hero inspects her dress.

Adrien holds his breath as he watches the exchange between his girlfriend and his father.

Where was he going with this? Why wasn’t he yelling? What the hell was happening?!

“I want to buy it.”

Adrien almost chokes on a gasp, Alya’s jaw drops to the floor, and Marinette can’t quite believe her ears.

Did THE Gabriel Agreste, her all time favorite fashion designer, her idol, just say he wants to buy her design?

Pinch me I must be dreaming.

“You-You-but-…I’m..sorry….what?” She blinks, unable to do much else in the moment.

“I want to buy your design.” He repeats, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Well, I mean, not until after school.” She replies lamely.

Alya tries her best not to snort again; her best friend continues to be so, so wonderfully lame.

“Very well.” He nods, glancing at his son before looking back to Marinette. “Come home with Adrien after school and we can discuss prices and details. Your parents or a lawyer can attend our meeting as well, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped and she felt absolutely giddy. She couldn’t believe what was happening!

“Will that be feasible?”

She can’t form words, she can only grin with a dumbstruck look on her face.

Was this really happening?

“Done. Tomorrow, four o'clock, your house. She’ll be there with her manager.” Alya answers for her, speaking in a professional tone.

“It’s me- Um, I’m her manager.. Sir. If it wasn’t clear.” Alya adds on, nodding in confirmation.

“I look forward to seeing you and your manager then, Marinette.” He turns to leave, but pauses to glance at Marinette once more. “It was really nice to finally meet you.” He says, nods as he gives her his version of small smile, and walks off.

What in the name of…

“Father?” Adrien calls out as he follows him, still wildly confused about what just happened and in desperate need for answers.

His father stops and turns around, calmly raising his eyebrows in response.

“What just- Why’d you- What-” Adrien struggles to find the right words to question his father, but, thankfully, he interrupts once more.

“What just happened is that I just met your girlfriend, whom is very talented, and I would like to buy her design, Adrien.” Gabriel says slowly, meaningfully. He glances at Marinette and Alya giggling and squealing to each other, then looks back at his son with a much softer expression than the model is used to. “Don’t hide such things from me for so long next time. Understood?” Gabriel’s words would have been threatening if not for the small upturn of his lips and the ever so slight softness in his eyes.

Adrien nods, unable to keep his happiness out of his expression.

His father places a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. They share a long look before Gabriel clears his throat and politely excuses himself with a simple, “I’ll see you at home.”

A very relieved, very pleased Adrien is left behind, feeling lighter than he has in a long time. He watches his father disappear into the crowd to tend to the fashion show, a warm feeling buzzing in his chest.

He’s barely had enough time to breathe when someone suddenly slams into his side, damn near tackling him in a hug. It takes him a heartbeat to regain his balance and realize the familiarity of the hug before he melts into it, holding his girlfriend impossibly closer.

“He likes you, Marinette.” Adrien breathes, a grin practically splitting his face in half and his heart swelling in his chest. “My father likes you.”

He thinks he might have broken his girlfriend when she just barely holds in a squeal before leaning up to give him a mind-numbing kiss.

Okay, so maybe Marinette shouldn’t be too mad at Alya for shoving her onto that runway. After all, she did just land a design deal with her absolute idol.

Even better, though, she just got her boyfriend’s stony father’s approval.

[ph-piecebypiece-blog]

Chapter Ten

Authors note: Sorry, I know I said I’d post this yesterday, but I got some bad news about my job and I’ve just been stressed, mopey and unmotivated. But anyway, drama ahead! Enjoy!

The next morning Everly woke up to the sound of very loud vibrations. Her brain was in a fog and her head was pounding, but she rolled over and grabbed her phone just as it stopped vibrating. The noise didn't stop right away though and she realized Harry's phone was ringing too.

“Harry,” She mumbled, gently kicking him with her foot. “Your phone.”

He grunted in response, but didn't bother moving. Everly sighed and glanced at her phone. Her heart immediately started racing as she saw that she had fifteen unread text messages and five missed calls from her father. Trying not to fly into too much of a panic, she opened the messages from him and scrolled by all the “Answer your phone right now!” messages until she found her explanation.

“Everly Georgina, what the hell is this?”

The message read with a link and once she opened she immediately felt tears come to her eyes.

“Looks like C*ntingham is at it again!”

Underneath was a picture of Harry kissing her as she was pressed against the car that had picked them up the night before.

“Harry, wake up!” She demanded, but when he simply responded with another grunt, she raised her voice. “Harry, wake the fuck up!”

Sensing something was wrong, Harry quickly sat up, his eyes glazed from sleep and his hair sticking up everywhere.

“What? What's going on?” He asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay!” Everly said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “They know! The press know, they took a picture of us outside the club last night when you kissed me. This is why I wanted to keep this between us! This is why I didn't want you to kiss me until we got in the damn car!”

“Everly, take a breath,” Harry instructed, relieved that no one had died. “We knew they would find out eventually, we can't hide from them forever.”

“It's going to ruin everything, Harry,” Every insisted, her lip quivering. “The press, and really most of England, hate me.”

“Why?” Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, his hungover brain not able to process things fast enough.

“Because I'm a rich, privileged white girl who acted like a brat because she wasn't getting enough of daddy's attention,” Everly reminded him. “People don't like those kinds of girls.”

“But you haven't had it easy,” Harry pointed out. “You've been through a lot.”

“They don't care! I got almost more hate than Adam did during in his trial!”

“What?”

Everly wiped away her tears and picked up her phone.

“Listen to this,” She said, scrolling down to the article. “Apparently now the attention she received from being a victim, and we use the term loosely, of domestic abuse has died down, Miss. Everly Cunningham has found a new way to get herself in the spotlight. Photographed outside of Makhiki nightclub late last night, it would appear she's got her claws in Prince Harry. After his tour in Afghanistan, the party Prince was thought to be turning over a new leaf and keeping away from the wild life he used to live, but it seems he's not finished with it yet. Hopefully he comes to his senses soon, we can only imagine what the Queen must think of his partnership with such a disgraceful young lady.”

A quiet sob fell from Everly's lips as she finished reading. She was embarrassed, they were so needlessly mean to her when they had no idea what her relationship with Harry was like. Harry sighed and pushed himself up so he was sitting next to her and pulled her into his arms.

“It's going to be fine,” He assured her, stroking her hair gently. “My family can control the press to some extent and I can release a statement telling them to leave you alone.”

“Then they'll just make horrible comments about me forcing you to come to my defence.”She sniffled, pulling herself out of his arms as her phone rang again. “I have to go, I need to talk to my dad.”

She scrambled out of the bed and started looking for her dress which had been frantically tossed aside the night before.

“You're leaving?” Harry asked, confused by her reaction. “Don't you want to talk about this and figure it out?”

“My dad is about to have a stroke, Harry,” She told him, gesturing to her phone that was vibrating loudly on his nightstand. “I have to deal with that before I can even think about anything else.”

Harry was about to protest, but as his phone started vibrating again as well he realized he probably had some people to talk to as well.

“Alright, I'll call a driver for you.” He sighed.

Everly mumbled her thanks as she struggled into her tight dress.

*

As the car pulled up outside Rupert Cunningham's house, Everly felt her chest tighten. There were so many thoughts rushing through her head about her relationship with Harry and how it's future might be affected now the press were involved that the thought of fighting with her dad on top of all that made her want to cry. But she knew it had to be done so she took a deep breath and got out of the car.

“Jesus, Everly. What on earth are you wearing?” Her father questioned her the second she appeared in his living room.

“Well, you seemed eager to talk to me, I didn't think you'd want to wait while I went home to change,” She explained. “So I came straight from Harry's.”

His eyes flashed with anger at the mention of his name.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, cutting right to the chase.

“Doing what, dad?” Everly asked. “Being happy? Finally finding someone who treats me nicely?”

“Dragging our name through the papers again!” He clarified. “For God's sake Everly, all the good things I did for this country when I was Prime Minister have been completely over shadowed by how you behave.”

Everly felt the anger bubbling up inside her. They'd never, in all the years that she'd been acting out to get his attention, actually discussed it and she could feel it all coming out now.

“So the fact that Adam beat the shit out of me for three years is my fault?”She questioned. “I'm sorry my trauma reflects so badly on you.”

“No, that wasn't your fault,” Rupert shook his head. “But the fact that you started dating some low life drug dealer in the first place is!”

“I'll give you that,” Everly agreed. “I'll admit that I made a lot of bad, embarrassing choices when I was younger, but did you ever think for a second why I was behaving like that?”

“Because you wanted attention, just like you do now,” He informed her. “And I wasn't going to be the kind of parent that gave in to that kind of behaviour and gave you want whatever you wanted.”

“I'm not with Harry because I want attention. He makes me happy, we've been together for months and I didn't want the press to know about it,” Everly insisted. “And do you know why I wanted attention when I was younger?”

“Because you were e a spoiled brat who couldn't stand the fact that I was busy with my career and not giving you every ounce of my attention.”

Everly felt tears prick her eyes at her father's harsh view of her.

“I didn't want every ounce of your attention,” Everly said as she swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay. “I wanted a tiny bit of it. You threw yourself into the election when mom died and I had no one and no support and I wanted you to talk to me, pay attention to me and help me through it.”

Her father's angry, stern, scowl faltered slightly at her explanation.

“Everly, that's not fair,” He said quietly. “You can't hold that against me, I'd just lost my wife.”

“And I'd just lost my mother!” Everly cried as a tear fell down her cheek. “You were the only parent I had left and you weren't there for me.”

“I was there for you as much as I could be!” He insisted. “And you're an adult now, Everly. You need to take responsibility for your own actions instead of placing the blame on me.”

“I'm not putting the blame on you,” She choked out. “But if you've been there for me as much as you possibly could be, why weren't you at the trial?”

“What?” Rupert blinked, confused by the change of topic.

“Adam's trial, when I had to testify. You weren't there.”

“Why would I want to sit through that?” He asked her. “Why would I want to sit and listen to the hell that you went through for years without me noticing? I don't think I could have stood it.”

“Then don’t you dare claim you’ve been there for me as much as possible because it's not always about what you want,” Everly sniffled. “I needed you there, I needed support and to know that you were proud of me.”

“I'm not proud of you,” Rupert scoffed. “I'm glad you're out of that mess, but I'm not proud of how you've destroyed your life. And your mother wouldn't be either, your mother would be ashamed.”

Everly felt her heart clench at his words even if she knew they weren't true and just as a sob fell from her lips, a voice interrupted them.

“Rupie? I heard shouting, what's going on?”

A young, blonde woman who looked to be barely twenty-five walked into the room, assessing the situation.

“Who the fuck is this?” Everly asked, stunned by the scene in front of her as the mystery woman walked over to her father and slid her hand protectively into his.

“Who the fuck am I?” She asked, matching Everly's snarky tone. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I'm his daughter!”

The woman's attitude instantly switched as a smile broke on to her face.

“Oh my gosh, it's so nice to meet you! I'm Natasha, your father's girlfriend.”

She stuck out her hand for Everly to shake, but after a few awkward moments of Everly ignoring it, she lowered it again. Rupert looked incredibly uncomfortable and not at all like the angry, confident man he had been moments before as Everly looked at him with absolute disgust in her eyes.

“You think mom would be ashamed of me?” She questioned, her voice harsh and angry. “I think you need to take a long hard look in the mirror and reassess which of us you think she would find the most shameful right now.”

With that, she turned on her heels and stormed out of the house, ignoring Rupert calling her name as she ran out the door.

[gaiabamman]

Oh my! SorryI was sooooo busy working on the Italian saga that I kind of fell of the face of the Earth. I’m still here, I am well, and I finished the draft of book 3 in the new Italian Saga series! (Number 7 over all!) 

If you don’t know me, I am Gaia B Amman, part ninja, part unicorn, and the author of the Italian Saga

Meanwhile, get your sci-fi fix ;)

Warning: some explicit content.

Get the full book now as paperback, Kindle, or Audible!

Summary: Nala (liberal) and Lethal (conservative) linked! In spite of their huge differences they now share their consciousness and their skills. Nala has to face her responsibilities as a soldier and decide if she will kill “the enemy” of commit desertion. Also, it is completely normal for Cursoi like Nala and Lethal to merge, the equivalent of human intercourse. Their system is non binary and Cursoi are free to identify (or not) as they please and merge with whom they like, but Nala, who was raised human, struggles with the system, forcing Lethal to hold back too. Who is the liberal one after all?

The evening is awkward, again. The interest in the new girl faded as soon as it was clear I wasn’t gonna merge with anyone. In a way, linking kind of saved me from public shame. Apprentices seem to think Lethal and I became exclusive.

As if.

I shoot longing glances toward Drama, and Lethal is lusting for anyone but, downing Libre like he’s on a mission. I even think he might have considered Dime for a brief second, but maybe that was me.

Zera purrs, “Hey, you haven’t been around much, lately.” It takes me a second to realize she’s talking to Lethal, not me. I guess when I’m tired it’s harder to keep myself into my brain.

Lethal mumbles, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and downing a glass of Libre, “Mm, been busy.”

“With Rogue?” Echo jibes, and everyone laughs. Everyone but me, Lethal, and Drama.

Min quips, “Why so serious Drama, you don’t like to share anymore?”

“Your ass, anytime,” Drama mutters.

I catch myself looking at him, wondering if he knows how it feels to kill a man.

Nala!

I turn to Lethal who slowly shakes his head flashing images of orgies in my brain to distract me from my pity party. I shake my head, but the attempt is endearing. Stop it! I’m okay.

Zera’s small boobs.

Stop it!

Echo’s sweet ass.

I down a glass of Libre and engage in conversation with Min, who catches me up on every bit of funny mishap that happened during the missions we missed while we were unconscious. He says, “Kino has been the muscle since Lethal… went Rogue!”

I can’t help a bitter bout of laughter at the witty turn of words, but Lethal darkens. As much as he hates killing, it’s the only thing that makes him feel needed. I try not to linger on his foggy feelings as he downs more Libre.

I fight the haze clouding his brain, and ask Min, “How does Kino kill?”

“He clots blood.”

Gross.

Right? Lethal thinks in my head.

Crushing organs isn’t prettier.

“Rogue! Lethal!” We jump at Ghost’s chiding. He shakes his head.

“What?” Min asks.

“We should not talk in each other’s head. It’s not healthy,” I admit, a little ashamed, hating that Ghost is around after hours. He goes to talk to Browser and Dime, who nod and walk away with him, maybe on a mission.

“Why?” Zera asks. “Lethal became a bit less of an asshole since you linked. It’s the first time in almost eighteen years that I’m actually fancying Lethal for something other than his… body.” She winks, and everyone laughs.

I feel detached from all the banter, yet amazement fills me, when I realize that Lethal just blushed. I turn to him to confirm that’s the case and my awe resonates in his bewilderment. He would love for someone to actually like him, after all.

I’m just drunk, he says.

I stare at him a little too long, his big eyes staring self-consciously at his hands. I shake it off, conscious of Drama’s prying gaze, and I answer Zera’s question, “Well, it’s unhealthy because it blurs the line between my consciousness and his. It’s good when we keep each other in check.”

“Mmm,” Echo says, biting a cuticle. “I liked when Lethal kept me in check.”

A bunch of girls nod, and I burst out laughing with the bout of lust that overtook Lethal, and me, but he’s the one stuck under the table.

“Oh, I’ll come around, soon enough,” he says, without lifting his gaze. “I’ve just been adjusting.”

“Yeah, right.” Drama snorts, and it kills me that I have no idea what he means.

Brain says in my head, A small contingent of extremist Saturnites aimed their satellite on the Red Quarters. We just caught sight of it on the u-radar. Eliminate them.

Emo clears the Libre out of everyone’s system, and we are on the run.

I run to the meeting point, reveling in my sudden mental clarity, strength, and agility.

You’re welcome, Lethal thinks, clearly pissed about the years of painful training I skipped. He keeps flashing memories of endless pushup series and painful morning runs in my head.

I need to touch him, to reassure us both and feel the golden light, but as much as there’s nothing he’d like more, he’s too proud and a little angry. He was really hoping for a bender. He hated that Ghost found out that a very young Grayson killed his Master, likely in self-defense.

Hey, it wasn’t your fault, I say.

The thought sounds cheesy and does nothing to stop the whirlwind of hatred going through Lethal’s brain about being weak, about letting the Master do to him whatever he wanted, about deserving everything that happened to him, and about the bonking curse of the skill he’s been stuck with ever since.

Lethal, stop.

I walk to him and take his hand. He flinches, but does not pull back and the light soothes us both. We have to wait for everyone to gather. I had always been last, before linking.

Kino and Vulture come in, naked. It amazes me how Cursoi don’t flinch in front of nudity but can’t stop staring at Lethal and I holding hands. A glare from Lethal causes everyone to mind their own business. Ghost throws some clothes to whomever needs them, and Dime blinks us away.

We blink into one of the many artificial satellites surviving within Saturn’s mostly gaseous, very thick atmosphere. The Capital’s Apprentices are gathered on the upper deck of the main hall, away from the many eyes below us, which are aimed instead at the speaker on the podium. Everything glints in metal, white, and artificial lights.

The speaker, wearing the grades of Commander within the Interplanetary Coalition, yells, “We live in this dung hole to provide them the hydrogen they need to make water and survive, and what do we get in exchange? A ban from Earth? This is not the gratitude we deserve!” The crowd cheers and yells back. He adds, “We did not choose Saturn like our ancestors did centuries ago. We all came from Earth at one point! This nonsense has to come to an end! Our sacrifice will free the coalition of the biggest bigot ever!”

The crowd chants back, pumping their fists in the air, “Free the coalition! Free the coalition!”

Lethal says, Nala, you’re holding me back.

I reply, You can’t seriously be thinking of killing all these people.

I don’t think. It’s an order, and they will die anyway, out of their own doing.

To kill the president. There’s gotta be another way.

Nala, they’ll start a war that will kill millions. You’re wasting time. Nala!

I falter, and everyone in the hall below us crumples to the ground.

When we blink back, the report barely registers with me. Vulture getting rid of the bodies. Ghost resetting the satellite coordinates and requesting a new crew. Zera and Emo making sure no diplomatic incident ensues.

I’m numb.

I have killed two-hundred people.

The golden light spreads around me, and I realize Lethal took my hand. He leads me back to our place. As soon as we are in, he closes the door behind us, hugs me, and cries.

I wake up in Lethal’s arms, fully clothed, face bathed in tears. I was having terrible nightmares, like when we linked at first. Merging with dead bodies. Walking by myself over a desert of corpses. Lethal holds me tighter and I let him. I cannot believe I judged him. I keep seeing all those people, crumpling to the floor, over and over. I start to hyperventilate.

Nala—Rogue, we were just carrying out orders. You have to separate yourself from the action, from the responsibility.

I don’t know if I can. I sob. Zera could have erased them. Took their bonking suicidal plan out of their heads.

It was their own choice, Nala. Their freewill.

And mine to take their life, I reply, because we did have a choice. I did. I did not feel as compelled as I should have. Did you?

Lethal shakes his head and says, Opposing orders means taking responsibility for the consequences, though.

True.

It’s easier with time. Maybe because I remember surviving. Lethal pauses. Or maybe because I forgot what it really means to live.

When I wake up again, Lethal has a strange look in his eyes, almost spirited. He’s not holding me anymore, and I miss the golden light.

I can’t take it anymore, he says. The need to merge is a hunger ever-expanding within him, and me. The Saturn mission only made it worse. Withdrawal is much stronger for him. He feels weak, anxious, angry, way more than I do, probably because I merged only once in my life. I immediately think of Drama, and Lethal’s self-hatred reaches record levels.

After all that happened today, fucking doesn’t seem that bad of a choice anymore. I want to forget, get lost, vent. I need to connect, to merge, let it all go, and it grosses me out.

Lethal stands up and storms out of the nest.

I sigh, barely registering him as he walks to the park, and meets with people. Except that he doesn’t want to chat. He wants to merge.

Lethal’s consciousness breaks through mine only a few minutes later, when arousal interrupts my train of thought. He is in his place with Zera and Echo, the three of them kissing, half naked. Anger overtakes me, and I wish I were as repulsed by them as he was by Drama, but I’m better than that, or worse. I’m not sure, but my body tingles and my heart starts racing.

I try to get out of his head, burying my face under the pillows, but I feel his erection grow under Echo’s attentive fingers, her tongue on his neck, right below the ear, and I burst into tears, feeling as abandoned and lonely as I have ever been. Also, I am getting wet, which is confusing and frustrating.

Back in Lethal’s place, Echo asks him, “Lethal? Are you… crying?”

He lived with his own pain for so long, I doubt mine is enough to give him a second thought. Lethal shakes his head, ignoring the tears, and never meeting her eyes. He can’t talk though. He just wants to fuck all his pain out, but I know that’s not how I’ll feel better, and now he does too. He still doesn’t stop, biting Zera’s shoulder pretty hard. She moans.

I keep crying, pretending the way my body feels is because of Drama, pretending that my own personal demon isn’t keeping me from merging with the man I was falling for. There’s no love in Lethal’s hands, in his mouth. Whatever love he had is agonizing here with me.

I see Zera half naked, gorgeous with her alabaster skin, her small breasts in Lethal’s hands, my hands. I hate it, but I still feel lust. Lethal doesn’t meet Zera’s or Echo’s gaze. He never looks his partners in the eye. Echo is sliding out of her pants, but Lethal thinks he should find that a lot more exciting than he actually does. Lethal thinks this is all dung. Lethal stops.

I hold my breath while he lies to them. “Mission,” he says. “Gotta go.”

“Two missions in a day? That splurts,” Zera says, turning her attention to Echo, who calls,

“See you later, Lethal!”

I know Lethal is coming back to me.

[purplesurveys]

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