#I’m getting the itch but my family is still going to be home until Sunday 😭

[mcnuggyy]

i NEED to CREATE

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+ 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters 

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea! 

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist: 

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro​ 

[plaidbooks]

Rough Beginnings

A/N: So! This idea spawned after reading @cycat-carisi​ story, We. Please read that first, then come back here for this prequel! This also covers the Mafia square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo!

Tags: mentions of a prostitution ring, talks of murder and mafia-related goings-on

Words: 1964

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart​  @beccabarba​  @thatesqcrush​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @permanentlydizzy​ @ben-c-group-therapy​  @infiniteoddball​ @glowingmess​ @whimsicallymad​ @lv7867​ @storiesofsvu​ @cycat4077​ @alwaysachorusgirl​  @glimmerglittergirl​ @joanofarkansass​ @caracalwithchips​ @berniesilvas​​  @reading--mermaid​  @averyhotchner​  @mrsrafaelbarba​ @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @dreamlover31​

(gif by @resparza​ )

Sonny never hated his job more than when he went undercover. He had hated when he was posing as a homeless man with an eye for children, but this was worse. So. Much. Worse.

His cover story for this job was that he was part of the Italian mob, and he had been hired on as security for a prostitution ring; some huge network that was international but had its roots right here in Manhattan. Him, along with multiple real mafia members, were in charge of transporting girls, drugs, and anything else the head honcho told them to.

It had been three months since he went under; his beard itched his face still, his leather jacket was starting to be uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to take all of these bastards down. But they didn’t have enough yet. So, he had to stick it out a little longer—at least, that’s what he told himself. A little longer, a little longer. He wasn’t sure how much “little longer” he had left in him.

Sonny lived in the housing quarters his boss supplied him, along with three other mafia guys. He had almost zero contact with the world outside his job—all the information he gathered was sent in a coded text from a burner. But he was starting to miss his friends and family. At least his employer understood that as part of the Italian mob, Sonny was allowed to go to church on Sundays…if there wasn’t something big happening.

His saving grace came a month later, while standing guard at his boss’s door. A woman he’d seen before came stomping up to him, and he braced himself; he knew that look.

“Let me see my father,” you snarled.

Sonny rose his hands defensively. “I was given orders ta not let anyone in. That includes you,” he replied, crossing his arms once more and trying to puff out his chest. But you simply glared at him.

“Fuck you; let me in, before I force my way in,” you growled.

He chuckled, eyeing you. “Ya really think you can get passed me? Let’s see ya try, doll.”

You gave him another impressive glare before trying to lunge passed him, reaching for the handle. Sonny caught you easily around your midsection, lifting you and placing you down at arm’s length in front of him.

“That the best ya got?” he teased. This wasn’t the first time you tried to brute force your way passed him before, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. But you had a trick up your sleeve.

You let your bottom lip quiver, tears appearing in your eyes. “Pl-please, sir, let m-me see my—” you trailed off, sniffling loudly.

“Ah geez, don’t be doing that. Come on; he’s in a meeting and will be out soon. Just wait a lil, okay?” he said, a touch of pleading in his voice.

But you didn’t stop, letting the tears trail down your cheeks. You let out a loud sob, and Sonny wanted to rip his hair out; he didn’t need a tantrum with daddy’s spoiled brat right now. He internally winced at that; he didn’t really believe that that was what you were, but when you came up here, trying to cry your way in, his mind went there.

You let out another loud sob. “Please, doll, I promise ta let him know as soon as he’s free—” Sonny started, but he was cut off by the door behind him opening. He stood at attention—like a good little lapdog—and the man who was having a meeting with his employer came out. He took one look at you, then left, rolling his eyes. You quickly wiped your face with your shirt before your dad appeared.

“And what are you doing here?” your father asked, annoyance dripping from his voice.

Sonny felt bad for you, but said nothing, gave away no emotions on his face as you requested to speak with him, privately.

He nodded, and Sonny moved out of the way, letting you enter, the door closing softly behind you both. He released a breath; it was always high tension after a meeting. But Sonny also found himself feeling sorry for you, having a father like that. He was hoping that when the walls came down, you’d at least be spared; you had no real idea of your father’s business, how big and deep it ran.

The meeting between you and your father didn’t last long, and soon enough, the door was opening once more behind him.

“Sonny; drive my daughter home. Giuliano will cover you until you're back,” your father ordered.

Sonny nodded, letting you pass him before following you. He kept his emotions in check, but he saw the look on your face; sadness, betrayal, and fear. He vaguely wondered what you had talked about but didn’t want to pry; he could be fired or worse for it.

It wasn’t until halfway through the drive to your place that he asked if you were okay.

“Fantastic,” you muttered, staring out the window.

Sonny wasn’t sure why he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut; the words just spilled out. “Ya father is a hard man. I’m sorry ya have ta deal with that.” It was a mistake, he knew; if you were indeed loyal to your father, then saying that out loud was a good way to end up dead.

You blinked in surprise at his bluntness, and for his apology. “Y—yeah, he is. I wouldn’t let him catch you saying that, though.”

He nodded. “Uh, how ‘bout makin’ it our little secret, then?” he asked, hoping beyond hope that you’d say nothing about this to him.

“Our little secret…. Yeah, okay,” you replied dryly, eyes going back to the window.

 *******************

After that conversation, Sonny’s boss would often send him to you, whether to drive you or as extra protection—more like babysitting, to Sonny. But he found that he couldn’t complain; it was the only time he could be close to his true self…plus it was safer and better than doing other, illicit things. Even if he should be doing those things for intel. And of course, he never slipped up like he had on that first car ride. No, he was Sonny from the Italian mob, not the soft-hearted detective. He held you at arm’s length, determined to not let the mask slip. But something about you got to him, and he found himself afraid of you. Afraid that he’d make a mistake, and that you would see right through him.

“Sonny, why do you do this job?” you asked one day while he was driving you home. It had been over a month since your father had basically assigned Sonny to you.

He tried to stay neutral, but you saw how he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “’Cause it’s a job. I was hired.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it,” you replied, smiling.

His jaw tightened. “Nah, see, when my boss tells me ta do somethin’, I do it.”

“You’re not like the rest, though. The others, I see murder in their eyes. They have such dark thoughts; it’s almost like they’re hoping my father gives them a kill order,” you explained. True, your father told you that they were security guards for his business, but you never bought that story; they were more like murderers than security. The day when Sonny kept you out of your father’s office was the first time you noticed that he was different; his eyes were soft, and he talked to you like a person, rather than making vaguely concealed threats. He seemed to genuinely care when you started to fake cry, even though you knew that he knew it was fake.

His bright blue eyes met with yours in the rearview mirror for a brief moment before flicking back to the road. “We don’t kill—”

“Stop lying to me, Sonny. Please. I deserve to know what’s going on,” you said, a slight begging tone in your voice.

So that confirmed it; you had no idea what your father was capable of. Sonny swallowed, wanting this conversation to end. “Talk ta ya father, not me—”

“I’ve tried! Multiple times! I’m not an idiot; I know he’s shady as hell. But just what are you protecting?”

“If he’s not willin’ ta tell ya, then that should tell ya somethin’, right?” he asked. He pulled over in front of your art studio, putting the car in park and getting out. You thought about his words; it was more than you got from anyone else. To be honest, Sonny always gave you more than anyone else; he didn’t sneer at you, ignore you, call you names like “brat”. And he definitely didn’t look at you with hungry eyes or creepy smiles. He seemed like…like a generally good person, all things considered. You weren’t sure when it had happened, but you noticed you had developed a crush on him.

All too soon, Sonny was opening the door for you to get out. You thanked him as you exited the car, and felt his presence behind you as you climbed the stairs to the door. He always walked you there, to make sure you were safe.

You unlocked and opened the door, then turned around to face him. He gave you a nod and you thanked him again. But something possessed you in that moment; why else would you have grabbed his shirt and pulled him to you in a kiss?

Sonny froze in place, eyes wide, before he placed his hands on your shoulders and pushed you back. You looked up at him, the apology dying on your tongue; you weren’t sorry at all. That kiss was worth it in your eyes. But there was an almost…pained? look in Sonny’s eyes.

“D-doll, we can’t—ya father—”

“Never has to know,” you finished for him.

He blinked, obviously warring with himself, and you were sure you knew why; if your father found out about you two, he could have Sonny killed. But, if Sonny felt the same way about you that you did about him, then maybe, just maybe, he could help you escape from under your father. Something about him was safe, trustworthy.

Slowly, you reached up to cup his face. When he didn’t pull away, you gently leaned in again, kissing him slowly, tenderly. He paused for only a moment before he melted against your lips. Then he gently pulled away from you.

“I—I gotta—” He didn’t finish his thought before he turned and hurried down the stairs. You watched him go, hoping that he’d say nothing to your father.

The car door slammed shut and Sonny was quick to turn the car on and leave. What the fuck was he doing, letting you kiss him? And then he kissed you back?! He must be a fucking idiot! Sure, he liked you—more than he was willing to admit—but this could blow his cover. Not to mention get him killed, cover blown or not. Plus, he was lying to you; any feelings you felt weren’t for him but for the façade he put on.

He resolved to keep his distance from you; nothing good could come from any of this. It ended in one of two ways: you, heartbroken over Sonny’s lies, or him buried six feet under in some lot. There was no way to disobey your father if he ordered him to take you home, so there was no avoiding you. Sonny would just have to lay down the rules next time he saw you; absolutely no relationship could exist, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

[fanficimagery]

Hell Takes Riverdale pt. I

Imagine moving to Riverdale while your father has some business to attend to. While there, you meet some people you find yourself growing attached to.

Words: 8.8K Author’s Note: Riverdale AU where FP didn’t go to prison for his crimes and Jughead joined the Serpents because he wanted to. This isn’t exactly Northsider friendly and I’ll be focusing more so on the Serpents, so I won’t go into detail about all the drama the Northside gang constantly puts themselves into the middle of, nor will Jughead be a part of it. I will mention a certain family who lives nearby from another show, but I will NOT be bringing those characters in here. The most you’ll get is what I explain about them in the imagine.

Jughead Jones was notorious for laying low and staying out of the spotlight. At least he was until a murder rocked his small town, Veronica Lodge- along with her criminal family- moved in, and his best friends Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews put together their very own crime solving Scooby Gang. He liked a good mystery every now and then, but the murder of Jason Blossom pointed towards his father's gang and he didn't know how to cope with that.

When FP Jones- Jughead's dad- eventually confessed to the murder, Jughead didn't know what to think. All he knew for sure was that his dad was innocent. So he and his friends did their best to prove Mr. Jones of his innocence, which they eventually did, but given FP's past the police decided to keep him a bit longer.

Jughead Jones was a powder keg waiting to explode, so in a move no one expected, he channeled his anger from the crookedness of their small town Sheriff to the local high school jocks when they decided to target the new girl for laughs. Y/N Y/L/N was a meek little thing, small smiles and small voice whenever called upon. She didn't dress like someone who had money, but then again she didn't dress like she didn't have any either. She presented herself as someone from the middle class which is probably why Jughead felt at ease coming to her defense one day out of the blue.

You're at your locker, putting away your books before you head over to the cafeteria for lunch, when someone shoves their shoulder into your back. You grunt as you collide with the metal in front of you, a few notebooks falling to the floor, and you turn to frown at the culprits. Reggie Mantle and his merry band of jocks laugh at you. "Seriously?" You mumble.

Reggie smirks, shrugging. "I gotta find my entertainment somewhere and what better entertainment is there than the new girl with no voice?" You roll your eyes and bend over to pick up your belongings, only for a sneaker clad foot to kick one of your notebooks away.

"Hey!"

The sound of someone being shoved into the lockers next to you has you looking up, a beanie-wearing, plaid shirt tied around the waist, boy coming to your aide. "What the hell is your problem, Mantle?" Hands fist into the material of Reggie's letterman jacket, slamming him twice against the lockers. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase pick on someone your own size?"

Reggie shoves him back. "Cool it, Jones, less you wanna end up in a cell next to your pops."

He scoffs. "You look real tough picking on a girl. Keep walking, jackass."

Your gaze darts between the two boys, chest to chest with one another, and you practically hold your breath. You can see the other jocks just itching for a fight, but the longer Reggie and your savior stare at one another, the less Reggie seems to be amped up for a fight. He eventually scoffs, smiling. "Whatever. The little mouse isn't much fun anyway."

Reggie goes to walk away, but not before kicking another one of your notebooks further down the hall. You sigh and start collecting your things closest to you once more.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about him. Reggie's a total dick."

You glance at the boy collecting one of your notebooks for you and flash him a small smile. "It's fine. Every school has a bully. I didn't expect this place to be any different."

"Yeah, well.." He trails off, placing the stuff he collected in your locker. "I'm Jughead."

"That's an unusual name," you say. "I'm Y/N."

"Well, Y/N, would you care to join me outside for lunch? I'm kind of alone today and I noticed you don't really sit with anyone either. I'll help keep Reggie off your back," he muses as if his protection would somewhat sweeten the deal.

"Sure. Why not?" You shrug.

Once everything is situated in your locker, you grab the lunch bag that had been hanging from a hook on the inside. Side by side, you walk with Jughead outside and towards one of the concrete picnic tables. He sits down and only then do you realize he had a brown sack clutched in his hand. Immediately he pulls out two smashed sandwiches wrapped in plastic wrap, and unwraps them to start eating.

"So as a token of my thanks," you say while taking a seat across from him and unzipping your lunch bag, "have a fruit cup." You toss him a cool cup of mixed fruit and he happily catches it.

"Thanks." From the corner of your eye, you watch as he stares at you until you start eating your own sandwich and chips. "So Riverdale," he says. "Why here of all places?"

You huff a quiet laugh. Of course you'd heard the whispers about you, curious about your move, but you never spoke to anyone and no one dared to ask you before now. "My half sister lives in Greendale, and she and her aunts were having some personal issues. My dad moved us here so he could help them out, but he wasn't fond of the housing situations Greendale had to offer so we ended up here."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense." He takes a bite of his food. "So are you and your sister close?"

"Not really." Your nose wrinkles. You eat a bit of your own food before explaining. "She kind of hates our dad because he slept with her mom when she was married, but instead of villainizing them both for their mutual decision, she puts all the blame on him."

Jughead shakes his head. "Well that sucks."

"Yep. But she obviously doesn't have a problem calling on him when she's in trouble." You roll your eyes, opening your water and taking a sip. "It's whatever. Riverdale is.. interesting."

"Yeah. It is," he huffs a brief laugh.

Over the next month or so, you and Jughead become actual friends. He attempts to introduce you to his group of friends, but the only one you can actually stomach being around is Archie. Veronica is too nosy, Betty too suspicious, and Kevin rarely hangs out with everyone less it involves a good gossip session. So more often than not, after realizing his group of friends wasn't just your cup of tea, you and Jughead hung out at Pop's Chock'lit-Shoppe.

The retro diner quickly became one of your favorite places in all of Riverdale, but upon entering one Sunday evening and seeing Jughead's expression you know you're not going to enjoy your dinner.

"Uh oh. What's going on with your face?" You ask as you slide in across from Jughead. "You look like you have some bad news."

He grins, shaking his head. "It's not bad. I'm just not sure how well you're going to take what I have to tell you."

"Mhm. Tell me after I've gotten my food." Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, Pop Tate himself is dropping off your and Jughead's usual order. "Thanks, Pop."

The old man chuckles. "Don't mention it, Y/N. Enjoy your meal."

"Always do." Before any other words can be spoken, you and Jughead squirt ketchup on your respective plates. He steals the cherry from your milkshake and you plop a straw into his Coke to take a sip. The both of you take a bite out of your burgers, chuckling at each other and how at ease the two of you have become with one another. "So what's up?"

"I'm leaving Riverdale High." You pause in chewing and Jughead refuses to meet your gaze. "I'll be starting at Southside High tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

"It's just- my dad's getting out." When he looks up, the excitement in his eyes at the prospect of his dad coming home makes your exterior soften and you start to feel happy for your friend. "He, uh, he's been doing good. Jail forced him to get sober and he's talking about starting over. I'm going to move back in with him."

"That's good news, Jug. I'm really happy for you."

"Are you?" He grabs a fry and quickly dips it into your vanilla milkshake. You chuckle at him.

"Yeah. I mean we mostly hang out here anyway. That won't change, I hope." He's quick to shake his head, letting you know your weekly hang outs at Pop's would still be on. "I'll just have to toughen up and learn how to throw a punch. Reggie and his goons need a nice swift punch to the throat every now and then, I think."

Jughead exhales with relief. "Please let Kevin know beforehand so he can catch it on video for me."

"No promises."

The two of you go on to finish your food, making small talk and promises to keep in touch. Eventually you have to leave, so before you go your separate ways you decide to give Jughead a ride home. And since he's no longer embarrassed to have you over after the first time you'd been over, he accepts the ride with a shrug.

FP Jones has been out of jail for three days and in those three days Jughead has noticed his dad has been a little paranoid. So one day after school, he's had enough and decides to sit down and talk with him.

"What's going on?"

FP glances away from the paper in his hand. "Nothing. Why?"

"Because you're acting weird! Ever since you got out of jail it's like you're constantly looking over your shoulder."

Jughead and FP stare at one another before FP sets the paper down, running a hand through his hair. "Someone's coming to town," he says. "Someone you don't ever want to cross."

"Okay. And?"

"It's worrisome," FP says. "Mr. Morningstar, he's the real deal, Jughead. Expensive suits, expensive cars, posh accent.. this man can be very dangerous."

"Well then round up the Serpents. I'm sure they'll enjoy running this guy out of town."

"Nah." Jughead scoffs, confused as to what his dad's deal is. "Mr. Morningstar is the one who sent one of his lawyers to get me released."

"..oh."

"But Mr. Morningstar doesn't hand out favors without wanting something in return. I don't like being in debt, Jug. Especially to someone like him."

"We'll figure it out, dad. He reached out to you, not the other way around. He can't want something too bad if he came to you first. Right?"

"I don't know, son." FP falls silent, tapping his fingers along the tabletop. "And there's something else you should know."

"What?"

"Mr. Morningstar isn't exactly.. human." Jughead scoffs, but FP shoots him a warning look. "I'm serious. This man is capable of things you wouldn't believe unless you see it in person, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. If he comes around, you do as I say. I'll settle my debt with him as quickly as possible and hopefully Riverdale will be in his rearview mirror sooner rather than later."

Jughead doesn't know how to feel at seeing his dad- the Serpent King himself- looking so on edge. He's never seen him so rattled, so it leaves Jughead himself feeling the dread start to seep in.

Every single Serpent inside the Whyte Wyrm was well aware of who Mr. Morningstar was and to be on the lookout for anyone fitting his description. For a week there was no sight or word about him, the same week which Jughead finally decided to throw in with the Serpents and officially become one of the gang. He had texted his friends, some more supportive than others, but he only found comfort in his decision after hearing back from Y/N who held no ill will towards him for wanting to be a Southside Serpent officially.

Jughead is still healing, everyone at the Whyte Wyrm celebrating him completing his initiation.

"Toni," FP calls out, "serve us up some shots!" The petite, pink haired girl behind the bar laughs, she readily grabbing up shot glasses and lining them up along the bar. She fills every shot glass, smiling as her fellow Serpents grab one to await the impending toast. As FP grabs one, he raises it up while staring at his son across the room who's hanging out with a few younger Serpents. "Jughead, while this wasn't the life I wanted for you, it is your decision and you don't know how proud it makes me to have you ride by side. To Jughead!"

"To Jughead!"

The Serpents all whoop and holler, downing their shots in one go.

"Hear, hear," an out of place accent muses. Those closest to the man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere all tense and FP's smile slowly vanishes as he stares at the man who hasn't aged a single year since he last saw him over fifteen years ago. "Well, well. Freedom seems to suit you well, FP."

FP schools his expression. "Mr. Morningstar."

"Call me Lucifer. No need to be so formal."

The Serpents seem to fall silent as FP and Lucifer Morningstar stare at one another. Jughead, seeing the way everyone is holding themselves as the tension amps up, pushes his way through the crowd until he's just behind his dad. "Lucifer," FP says, "why don't you follow me. We'll go somewhere a bit more private."

Lucifer gestures for FP to lead the way. "After you."

FP glances at Jughead over his shoulder, but he doesn't give him any sort of cue to follow. Instead, Jughead follows after them to a table that's not surrounded by any others over by the stage. Once seated, FP stares Mr. Morningstar in the face. "So what brings you to Riverdale? It's been a while since you were last here."

"Ah, yes," he says. Lucifer leans back in seat, smiling. "I originally came to watch a client of mine wreak havoc on your precious little town," at this, FP and Jughead tense, "but someone very important to me made attachments here and I've had to rethink my plans of letting your town burn to the ground."

"A client of yours?" FP's eyes narrow. "Who?"

"I think you know who," Lucifer says. "Annoying little bugger. But as I said before, attachments were made and I had to keep watch over said attachment to see whether or not I approved. And let me tell you, Mr. Jones, I quite liked what I saw."

"Okay?" He drawls. "So what does that have to do with why you're here? Or are you calling in a favor for getting me out?"

Lucifer laughs. "Oh no, FP. You getting out was not my doing." FP freezes. "You see, this someone important to me is my daughter. She's the one who requested you be freed."

"You have a daughter?" FP shifts in his seat. "Why would she want me out?"

"I do. And because one of your little snakelings made quite the impression on her after showing her kindness when he didn't have to." Lucifer raises an eyebrow at FP's completely flabbergasted expression. "This person was and continues to be genuine with my daughter, so I figured I'd step in and help clean up your beloved little town instead of letting it be turned inside out by Hiram Lodge. After all, it seems we're going to be in Riverdale for quite some time now."

FP glances around, but he can't see any of the Serpents being this person in question. Eventually, he asks, "Who?"

Lucifer's gaze darts up over FP's shoulder and lands on Jughead. Jughead's eyes widen. "Me? Who have I-"

"Me, of course." You choose that exact moment to walk out from the back room, ignoring everyone's stare save for Jughead's. You're a bit self-conscious of the black crystallized crown on your head and the skin tight, all black outfit your dad's minions had chosen for you, but you don't show it. The way you're dressed now, Jughead's never seen you this way. "What's wrong, Juggie? Cat got your tongue?"

Your friend gulps as he eyes you up and down. "Y/N?"

"Surprise!" You muse. At his slack expression, your smile diminishes. "It's still me, JJ. No need to be weird now."

FP glances between you and his son as Jughead asks, "Was our friendship even real?"

Your eyes widen. "Of course it was! I was never meant to make friends here," you quickly explain, "but you just couldn't leave me be when Reggie set his sights on me and you- you befriended me for me." Jughead loses some of the tension in his frame. "You didn't talk to me because of who my dad was and what he could do for you. You talked to me because you felt bad for me and then you continued to talk to me because we actually got along."

A beat passes and Jughead eventually sighs. "Don't kid yourself. I only talk to you because you let me steal the cherry from your milkshake." It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you snort. Lucifer chuckles and poor FP has no idea what's going on.

"This is quite fitting, is it not?" Lucifer grins.

FP frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The Serpent Prince and the Queen of Hell. Royalty always seeks out royalty."

You freeze, Jughead's brow furrows, and FP seems to blanch as he comes to a sudden realization. Quick as a snake's strike, you slap the back of your dad's shoulder. "Not here." Then you glance at FP. "Can we continue this talk in a back room?"

He slowly blinks before he snaps out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Let's go."

FP stands and leads the way, and you grin over at Jughead. "Come on. We have some more stuff to talk about."

In a back office, FP and Lucifer have already taken their seats as you and Jughead join them. Instead of sitting, the two of you stand side by side after the door is shut behind you.

"So what exactly is going on here?" FP wonders.

Lucifer glances at you, smirking, and you sigh. You had a feeling he was going to make you explain yourself. "So I noticed instead of scoffing at the queen of hell comment, you blanched." FP hesitantly nods. "So that means you understand my dad is quite.. different."

Lucifer huffs. "I'm the devil, darling. No need to tiptoe around it."

You cringe as he so bluntly puts it out there and nervously gauge the Jones' reactions. Both seem more than a little intimidated and your heart starts to sink. "I'm still me, Jughead. Just a little.. more."

Jughead glances at you. "You're really the daughter of Satan?" You nod. "And this isn't some joke?"

"No. My sister, the one who lives in Greendale, was meant to take the throne," you admit. "But she really does hate my dad and refused it, so it passed on to the next heir. Hell got a little bit stuffy and some of my dad's more important minions were trying to marry me off, so I left with my dad as he dealt with business here. I was supposed to keep my head down until we moved on, but well.." you trail off, smiling softly. "I found that having a friend was quite nice." When Jughead has nothing else to say, you look towards FP. "You've raised a kind son, Mr. Jones. And for that, I'm going to offer you a favor." He seems to straighten up then, glancing worriedly at your dad. "And don't worry, this is a favor from me. I don't do contracts or cut deals like dad does. My favor is a no strings attached type of situation. This is a favor for a friend."

FP and Jughead glance at each other, and you notice FP subtly shake his head. Jughead sighs and looks at you. "Do you promise that me or my dad won't owe you?"

"Jughead," FP warns.

But you only have eyes for your friend as you step towards him and take up his hands within your own. "I swear. You're my friend, JJ. You got Reggie off my back and offered genuine companionship, so let me do something for you."

"You mean like getting my dad out of jail?"

You grin, releasing his hands and shoving at his shoulder. "Oh whatever. I was bored and you seemed like you missed him. Bite me, Jones." Lucifer chuckles and FP looks like he has no idea what's going on. "So come on. Whose life needs ruining?"

Jughead stares at you before shaking his head in amusement. "You're a little too excited to be ruining someone."

"I am my father's daughter."

Jughead stares at you, as if trying to conclude whether you're being genuine or not, and then has a silent conversation with his dad. Eventually FP sighs, cradling his head in his hands as Jughead looks back to you. "I messed up bad, Y/N. When my dad first got put into jail, someone suggested I visit this lawyer- who is also a Serpent- so that she'll guide me on how to get my dad released."

"And the snake double crossed you. Shocking," your dad chuckles.

"Shut up." Lucifer continues to chuckle, mime zipping his lips shut. You look back to your friend. "Go on."

"She gave me advice as a favor and said I'd owe her one someday in the future. I didn't think it through."

"The snake charmer is notorious for collecting favors and blackmailing you into continuing owing her favors," FP says. "She's turning the Serpents into drug runners and using video of my son delivering a crate of drugs as leverage so we don't tell her no."

Lucifer tuts. "That just won't do. Last I recalled, the Serpents were against drug dealing."

"We are," FP says, "but we can't deny her since she has that damn video. It'll be his word against hers."

Expression tightening, you glance between the two Serpents. "Give me a name."

"Penny Peabody."

Immediately you and your dad glance at one another, and you're the first to shout, "Dibs!" At his pout, you grin victoriously. "It's been awhile since I've seen any action. I'll call auntie Maze to collect the guest of honor."

You and Jughead are sitting at Pop's, waiting for your order to be brought out. It's your usual weekend hangout session, as well as a mini celebration for getting the Snake Charmer out of Serpent territory. FP had been a little hesitant around you and your father, but the more he watched you and his son, and you and your dad, he came to the realization that neither he or Jughead would be in harm's way. No one would be less they actually crossed the devil himself, so you were a bit surprised when FP had actually hugged you when you told him Penny would no longer be an issue. Afterwards, he was eager to talk to your dad and figure out a way to get the Southside cleaned up and fix the Serpents' reputation.

Seeing Jug's beanie laying on the table, you grin as you swipe it and quickly put it atop your head. "What do you say, Jones, wanna switch crowns for a day?"

He chuckles as he shakes his head. "I don't think I can pull off your crown." Your nose wrinkles at him as you laugh. "And speaking of crowns, are you going to tell anyone else anytime soon?"

You shrug. "I only talk to you and your dad, and at that your dad already knew about my dad."

"I didn't know anything about you or your dad and you told me."

"You were my friend before you found out about me being Hell royalty. I don't want to just tell anyone and then have them kissing up because of things I could possibly do for them."

Jughead nods in understanding. "I take it, it's happened before."

You touch the tip of your nose. "Bingo, JJ. Demons of Hell are shady assholes. But don't worry, if I befriend more Serpents they'll find out when the time is right."

"Well I think you're going to get your chance now because here come some friends of mine."

"What?"

"Whoa, Jughead, is that you? You've certainly changed from the last time I saw you earlier."

You smile sheepishly as three Serpents come up to your table, the one who spoke sitting next to Jughead while the tall one climbs in between you and the window, and the female sits on your free side. You pull off Jug's beanie and hand it back to him just in time for your food to be delivered. Immediately, Jughead steals the cherry from your milkshake and you take a sip of his soda. Once that's done, you squirt ketchup on your plates before you take a bite of your burgers.

"Well that was freakishly adorable." You glance at the pink haired cutie next to you and she grins. "Toni Topaz."

"Y/N Y/L/N. Well Y/N Morningstar now. I don't have to hide who I am anymore."

"Nice." She then points to the guy beside Jughead. "That's Fangs and the one on your other side is Sweet Pea." You nod at each boy in greeting, bite down on a few fries and steal from Jughead's plate every time he dips a fry into your milkshake. "So how did you and our snake prince become so close?"

Toni steals a fry from your plate and you grin at her. "First of all, I really hope you're not insinuating anything there. Don't get me wrong, Jughead's a cutie but I'd totally seduce Papa Jones before I went after baby Jones."

Jughead groans in disgust, Fangs and Sweet Pea snort, and Toni laughs out loud. "I like you."

"Maybe the sentiment will be returned soon," you say. "And to honestly answer your question, Jug came to my rescue when a few jerks decided I was an easy target at Riverdale High."

Sweet Pea scoffs. "Ugh. How do you put up with those mangy mutts?" It's his turn to steal from your plate, but you merely raise an eyebrow at his audacity before you glance at Jughead as he smothers a laugh.

"By avoiding them at all cost," you say. "Is food stealing a thing with you guys or..?"

"If you're really hungry, I'd hold onto that burger of yours. Fangs is notorious for stealing any and all food left unattended." Toni chuckles as you pull your plate towards you, but that only makes it easier for her and Sweet Pea to continue eating off your plate.

"You're all heathens," you deadpan. "At least Jughead waited a few days before he started eating off my plate."

The Serpents chuckle all around you and you find yourself relaxing in your seat. You knew the Southside Serpents had a bad reputation, but the more time you spent with them the more you realize just how wrong everyone is. The Serpents are some of the most loyal, drama free individuals you'd met and they're only riled up when someone attacks one of their own. And that- that you can respect.

During your lunch break, you're sitting alone and texting back and forth with Toni. Apparently word has gotten out that the Mayor is looking to shut down Southside High because it's unsafe for children, and the plan is to divide every Southside High student between several other high schools. Needless to say, every Southsider is pissed.

You send a text to your dad, asking if he knew what was going on, and he assures you he and Mr. Jones are looking into it.

Your can of Cola gets snatched up and you snap to attention, ready to argue back for your drink. But the sight of a grinning Jughead sitting across from you makes you relax and Sweet Pea straddling the bench right next to you makes you shake your head at them. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Southside High is in chaos," Jughead says. He takes a sip of your soda before setting it back next to your books. "We were at the Wyrm when your dad asked us to collect you."

"Toni's been filling me in," you admit. "Does anyone know if the Mayor is for sure going through with this plan of hers?"

"It's such bullshit," Sweet Pea grumbles. "Yeah the school is shit ever since the Ghoulies started pushing Jingle Jangle on everyone, but it's ours."

"Don't worry, Sweets. Dad's on it. He'll figure something out."

He huffs. "Against Mayor McCoy? Doubt it."

You and Jughead share a knowing glance, and you bite back a grin. "My dad can be very.. persuasive."

"And scary," Jughead mumbles.

"Yes, let's not forget scary," you muse.

"What the hell is this?" The stern question is barked from somewhere behind you and you turn towards the voice. "Cooper dropped your sorry ass and now you're trying to lure in Y/N, Jones? I don't think so, you goddamn snake."

You roll your eyes at Reggie and his friends, and at the fact that the others sitting outside are now staring.

"Watch your mouth, you mangy mutt." Sweet Pea moves to stand, but you place a hand on his knee in order to silently tell him to stay put. He doesn't glance at you, but he does remain sitting.

Instead, you stand and step away from the bench in Reggie's direction. "What's your problem, Mantle? I know for a fact you don't care about me, so what is it about the Southsiders that has you so insecure?"

Reggie seems surprised that you've spoken back and it takes him a moment to school his expression back into one of anger. "Who the hell says I'm insecure?"

"Come on, Reggie," you grin. "You obviously have a hate boner going on for them." Jughead and Sweet Pea snort, and Reggie glares at them over your head. "So what is it? Is it because they're cooler than you? That they're so much more hotter than you and you know for a fact us Northside girls would willingly get on the back of their bikes than in the car mommy and daddy bought for you?"

Reggie sneers down at you. "Of course you'd be a Southside slut."

Jughead and Sweet Pea shout in your defense, rushing to their feet as you blink in surprise at the venom in his tone. But then anger quickly takes over and no one sees as your hand forms a fist at your side. When Reggie smirks at your silence, quick as lightning you change your stance so you can send your fist flying into his throat.

As Reggie stumbles back and gasps for air, Sweet Pea grabs you by the arm and then you're running. Sweet Pea and Jughead are laughing as they run for their bikes and you readily climb on behind Sweet Pea since he still had a hold of you. Two engines rumble to life simultaneously and you wrap your arms around Sweet Pea's waist, ducking your face behind his back so the wind doesn't sting your eyes.

When the three of you finally come to a stop, you're not in the Southside yet but you are well away from Riverdale High. The engines cut off and you finally pick up your head, and it's quiet for a few moments before Jughead starts to laugh once more.

"You actually punched Reggie in the throat." He shakes his head in amusement at you. "I did not think you were capable of ever hitting someone."

Sweet Pea chuckles. "You do know you left behind all your belongings. It's gonna be trashed by the time you go back for it."

You shrug. "The only thing worth saving was my phone and it's in my back pocket. A backpack can be replaced, and besides I think it's time Riverdale High and I take a break from one another."

Jughead and Sweet Pea's amusement slowly fades. "Wait. What?" Jughead asks. "You're dropping out?"

"No." You huff a laugh. "Transferring."

"Transferring to where?"

"Southside, you dimwits." You squeeze Sweet Pea when he scoffs at you calling him a name, letting him know you didn't actually think he was a dimwit. "I'm so over the drama of Riverdale High. I need a change. And if I want to go to Southside to be with my favorite people, do you really think my dad will let the school be closed down?"

"You really have that much faith in your old man, huh?" Sweet Pea asks.

"I do. And you should too." Jughead glances at you when you say that and you subtly shake your head at him. Soon, you mouth at him. "Now come on. Let's go see what my dad wants. I feel like going out tonight so I need to finish whatever task he has for me and make sure Toni is free."

The small gang of friends find themselves at Pop's diner once again, you being squished between Sweet Pea and Toni while Jughead and Fangs sit across from you. You and Toni share a plate of cheese fries, half of your burger having been stolen by Fangs and you steal sips of Cola from both Jughead and Sweet Pea since Sweets had finished your milkshake. When eating with them, you quickly learned extra food had to be ordered because once a plate was set down it was basically a free for all.

You're laughing at Fangs' affronted expression, from when he tried stealing cheese fries from you and Toni and you both had slapped his hand, when the bell above the door jingles. Your gaze is drawn to the group that enters, your mood souring just a tad when Archie, Betty, and Veronica enter. They glance around the diner for a booth and upon setting sights on your group, Archie chooses a booth not far from yours.

Toni nudges you to show you a message on her phone, lightening up the mood right away. But every now and then your attention is brought back to the Riverdale High group, and you can't help but notice the longing looks Betty keeps throwing at Jughead. And the fact that Jughead keeps glancing over his shoulder until he finally gets up, Betty following him seconds later to join him at a different booth.

"Did I miss something?" You ask when your friend is out of earshot.

Toni huffs. "They're doing that whole on again, off again thing. It's tiring," she says.

You frown as Jughead and Betty start talking, heads ducked close to one another, but then quickly avert your attention back to those sitting with you. You don't really have anything against Betty, but that girl attracts drama like crazy and you would rather not see her drag Jughead into it again.

The four of you left in the booth amuse yourselves while finishing off the remainder of your food, and you make sure that all your plates are stacked with the trash compiled on top so the busboy has little to no cleanup after you leave. But while you're still sitting there and waiting to see what Jughead is going to do, you can't help but overhear Veronica's obnoxious voice filling in her boyfriend Archie about all the great changes supposedly coming to Riverdale soon.

"I mean it's no longer a secret mommy and daddy are buying up property, Archiekins, but can you blame them?" Toni, Sweet Pea, and Fangs all tense, Fangs trying his hardest not to look in their direction. "The Northside is flourishing under their management and soon the Southside will too. We just have a few more hoops to jump through before we can start tearing down and rebuilding."

Having heard enough, you tap Sweet Pea's arm. "Move." Fangs widens his eyes at you and Toni giggles, she loving your more aggressive behavior. Sweet Pea stares at you for a moment before he grins, sliding out of his seat so you can follow right after him. Then taking a few steps towards Veronica and Archie's both, you stop and address the entitled teen. "Consider those hoops everlasting," you say. "Lodge Industries will no longer be buying up any property in Riverdale."

Veronica scoffs, smirking a second later. "And who the hell do you think you are to have any say so in my family's dealings?"

This time you smirk and you mentally cheer when you see her own falter. "Tell daddy dearest the Morningstars say hello. Lucifer will be in touch soon." You reach forward as Veronica's expression completely falls, stealing the cherry from her milkshake and catching the red, plump flesh behind your teeth and plucking the stem free. Letting the stem drop onto the table, you glance over your shoulder and gesture for your friends to follow. They do, chuckling all the while you walk towards the door. But before you walk out, you look over at Jughead and catch his attention. "Hey, JJ, we're heading out. Call me if you need a ride."

"Oh, uh, I'll come with." Betty quickly glances at him and for a split second you feel bad for her. "We're done here anyway." He slides out of the booth, ignoring Betty's frown as he makes his way towards you and his fellow Serpents.

Sweet Pea jostles Jughead, the two boys shoving each other lightly and laughing as the five of your exit. Everyone piles into your small SUV and it's not until Toni is comfortably seated in the passenger seat does she ask, "How serious were you with that threat back there? Can your dad really stop Lodge Industries?"

You slowly start to grin as you back out of your parking space. "Hiram Lodge is one of my dad's clients," you admit. "They have a.. contract of sorts, and Mr. Lodge is rich because of that. But my dad is starting to cut ties with some old clients of his and I'm pretty sure the Lodge's time up on that little pedestal of theirs is coming to an end."

"Sweet," Sweet Pea says from the back seat. "Hey, if your dad buys the school do you think you can ask him to put doors back on the bathroom stalls?"

You and Toni both snort, and you nod your head. "Sure, Sweets. I'll see what I can do."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

At the Whyte Wyrm, Sweet Pea and Fangs make a beeline for the pool table. Toni heads for the bar, her shift about twenty minutes from starting, and Jughead gets pulled into a conversation by some elder Serpents. Glancing around the bar, you don't see either man you want to speak with so you head for the hallway near the back wall where you know it leads to an office. A couple Serpents guarding the hall nod at you and let you pass without a word.

When you come upon the shut door to FP's office, you knock a couple of times and wait for confirmation to enter. A moment passes before his gruff voice is calling out that exact confirmation.

Opening the door, you walk right in and aren't surprised to see your dad in there as well. You smirk, happy to know he found a mortal he felt comfortable enough to share his identity with and that said mortal didn't go running for the hills. "FP. Dad," you greet. "Just the men I was looking for."

FP leans back in his chair as you take a seat across from him. "What can I do for you, Y/N?"

"Well first, I need to know your opinion about Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs." You then turn to look at your dad. "And depending on FP's answer, I need to know-"

"Your first orgy," your dad coos. "I approve. Especially the tall one. He'd make an excellent consort."

"I'm sorry, what?" FP glances between you and your dad, disbelief in his features.

You sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. "Dad, no. Just no," you say. When your eyes flutter back open, you say, "What did I tell you about speaking of orgies so freely in front of mortals? It's weird. Especially since you're my dad. You're not supposed to approve of these things."

"Well fine. Have it your way." Lucifer leans back in his seat, resting his right ankle atop his left knee and taking a sip of his drink. "Probably for the best anyway. Naamah will be upset if you deny her the chance to plan your first orgy."

"Oh my god."

FP finally laughs, shaking his head as if he can't believe what he's hearing. Your dad pouts and you give your attention to FP once more. "The baby snakes are a loyal bunch," he says. "I've had some older Serpents question you and your father's presence here within the Wyrm, but Jug and the others were quick to defend you. Why do you ask?"

Here you look back to your dad. "I want to come clean to them. Jughead knows about me and it's getting tough to censor what I say in front of the others when we all hang out."

Lucifer salutes you with his glass tumbler. "You're the Queen of Hell, darling. You can tell whoever you want."

"Good to know." You push up from your chair, smiling at both men. "Oh and I want Southside High. Veronica Lodge and her family are trying to tear the Southside down and rebuild, but I feel like throwing a wrench into their plans."

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at you. "And how do you suggest going about that?"

"By befriending Mayor McCoy, of course." FP snorts, but you continue on as if you didn't hear him. "She seems like a decent lady when the Lodge's aren't blackmailing her into doing their bidding. Give her a little taste of power, no strings attached and without letting her know your true identity, and show her you're an ally. I have a feeling she'll drop the Lodge's in a heartbeat."

FP grins, shaking his head. "You really are your father's daughter."

You glance at him and smirk. "Duh. Now carry on. I'm going to be with Toni behind the bar."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

The Whyte Wyrm is as busy as always and you happily find your place behind the bar with Toni. She serves up the drinks as you walk around, cleaning glasses and/or wiping down the bar top. Every now and then you catch your dad or FP's eye, and they signal for a round of drinks that Toni readily makes before walking a tray over to them. You then watch your boys from afar, laughing when Jughead catches your eye and purposefully makes Sweet Pea miss his shot while playing pool. Sweet Pea is apparently a very sore loser, but you can't help to think that he makes a really cute sore loser.

When Toni returns and sees where you're looking, she sidles up to your side while cleaning a glass in her hand. "So, uh, I think I should apologize."

You look at her. "For what?"

"Earlier at Pop's, when I told you Jughead and the Cooper girl were on again/off again, you looked like someone kicked your puppy for a moment there."

"Did I?" You chuckle, shrugging her words off. "It's fine. Jughead has become a really good friend to me and I'm not exactly Betty's biggest fan. They say southsiders are nothing but trouble, but those northsiders have caused a lot more trouble than any of you have. I don't want to see him be dragged into their messes again."

"Oh," she drawls. "Okay. I just thought that you were upset because she and Jughead were together again and you had missed your shot or something."

"No." You laugh. "And besides, I kind of have my eye on another Serpent, but I don't think he likes me that way."

Toni rolls her eyes. "I don't think FP is into jailbait. Sorry."

You snort, shaking your head in amusement. "A girl can dream."

Over the next couple of weeks, you get well acquainted with the power struggle between the Ghoulies and the Southside Serpents within the high school. The school is practically run down, there's no privacy within the graffitied walls of the bathrooms, and a little less than half the student population have no issue taking drugs out in the open while standing in the hallways. Not a single one of your favorite Serpents lets you out of their sight, and though you don't need their protection you welcome it. And their loyalty towards you is what leads you to take that final step in finally telling your other three friends the truth.

Walking up to the Jones' trailer, you stomp up the steps and pound on the door. A few seconds later the door opens and FP raises his eyebrows at you as he's pulling on a leather jacket.

"Y/N?"

"Hey, FP. Is JJ home?"

"Yeah. Come in." He opens the door wider and you step in, heading for the couch. "Is everything okay?"

"Peachy." You grin. You plop down in the corner of a couch, crossing one knee over the other. "I just finally decided to tell the others the truth and I wanted to see if Jughead would be there for me in case things go south."

A look of understanding passes over FP's features and he smiles kindly at you when he notices your bit of nerves. "It'll go fine. If Jug and I didn't run, neither will these three little shits." You grin at him. "Now I should get going. Will your dad and I be seeing you later?"

"Depends on how well my little bombshell is taken."

"Alright." FP heads towards the kitchen, calling down the only hallway in his trailer. "Hey Jug, Y/N is here so put some clothes on before you come out."

FP smiles at you one last time before he exits his trailer and it's not until his bike's engine outside roars to life does Jughead exit his bedroom from the back. "What's going on?"

"It's time to tell the other baby snakes about my heritage."

He blinks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." You nod, momentarily second guessing yourself. "Yeah," you then say more confidently. "I think the longer I wait now, the higher the chance of them being pissed at the fact that I kept something like this from them."

"Okay. Where are we doing this?"

"Quarry?" You wonder. "We need privacy, but not too private that they feel trapped should they not take the news well."

Jughead exhales quietly. "Quarry it is. My bike or your car?"

"Your bike. Text Toni and the guys. I just need to grab my bag from my car."

Jughead is pulling on his jacket as he gestures for you to join him by the door, then pulling on his infamous crown beanie before pulling out his phone to text the others. He heads to his bike while you head for your car, opening the passenger door and pulling out your messenger bag. Draping the bag strap over your head and across your chest, you close the door and lock up before pocketing the keys.

When you sidle up to Jughead, he hands you his only helmet and you readily pull it on before climbing on behind him. He's not normally a crazy driver, so you loosely wrap your arms around his waist and enjoy the short ride to the quarry.

You and Jughead are the first to arrive, walking towards a spot that seems to have frequent visitors. Seats torn out from vehicles and a few crates form a half circle around an unlit barrel just off to the side of the water, and Jughead wastes no time in lighting up the barrel since it's a little chilly out.

Placing your bag on one of the seats, you walk towards the fire and hold your hands over it to warm up. Then about five minutes later, the rest of your friends show up.

"What's going on?" Sweet Pea asks as his gaze darts between you and Jug. As he sees you warming up, he stops by your side and wraps an arm around your shoulders to offer some of his warmth. Toni and Fangs stand on the other side of the barrel, warming themselves up briefly before taking a seat.

"I, uh, I have something I need to tell you guys. It's going to sound incredibly insane, but I need you to trust me when I say I am no threat to you." Sweet Pea frowns down at you and he only takes a seat when you nudge him towards the others. Jughead grabs your bag and hands it to you, and you smile faintly in thanks. Then opening the flap, you remove your crown and let your bag fall before hesitantly putting the crown on. Clearing your throat, you say, "When you guys first saw me, I was wearing this."

Fangs grins. "We thought you were just another spoiled little daddy's girl."

You grin back. "I mean I am," you shrug, "but the crown actually means something."

"Are you trying to tell us you're royalty or something?" Toni chuckles. At your neutral expression, her smile falters. "Y/N?"

You inhale shakily, glancing at Jughead who gives you an encouraging nod. "Whenever people meet my dad, I'm well aware that they think his given name is rather unfortunate." Sweet Pea snorts, grinning. A couple older Serpents at the Wyrm made it no secret when making fun of your dad's name. "But what if I told you that my dad really is the Lucifer Morningstar?" Your serious, yet nervous, expression makes the other three go still. "That I'm literally the daughter of the devil?"

The only sounds you can hear are the chirping crickets and crackling fire until, "You really buying this, man?" Sweet Pea scoffs. You briefly glance at him to see he's staring at Jughead who's still by your side.

Jughead nods, his arms crossed over his chest. "I am. My dad knew something was up with Lucifer before they outright told us the truth. He's known for years, but Lucifer wasn't a threat to him then or now so he didn't make a fuss about it."

Sweet Pea frowns. He doesn't look scared or pissed, but he doesn't look impressed either. "Why are you telling us this now?"

"That first night, my dad let FP and Jughead in on our secret because he saw how I trusted Jug and wasn't planning to leave Riverdale anytime soon. We trusted the Jones' and they now trust us. The circle of people in the know was meant to stay as small as possible, but then you three," you pause, huffing and smiling sadly as you meet each of their gazes, "wormed your way under my skin and I knew I couldn't keep a secret this big from you anymore."

"So your dad really is the devil?" Fangs asks. His gaze is set on the flames just barely dancing over the rim of the barrel, an expression on his face you can't quite decipher.

Sighing, you let your left hand wave back and forth over the flames. "My dad really is Lucifer Morningstar." You hold your hand still then, the flames engulfing your hand. Someone gasps, but you don't look up until you say, "And I'm the Queen of Hell."

"Oh fuck."

Fangs immediately shoots up, stumbling behind his seat. Sweet Pea's expression has completely shut down and Toni stares with wide eyes. Without having to look in a mirror, you already know your eyes have gone pure white and the picture you paint with the crown atop your head can look quite daunting.

"I'm still me- the same girl you've been hanging out with for a while now." You swallow down the hurt you feel at their speechlessness. "But.. I will understand if this is too much. All I ask is that this little revelation doesn't leave the circle." Still your friends say nothing and fight against the burn behind your eyes. "I'm sorry."

As quickly as you can, you bend over to pick up your bag. Shouldering the strap, you turn to walk away when Jughead calls out. "Y/N.."

"It's fine," you say and cast him a small smile. "I'll pick up my car later. I'm going home."

"Let me give you a ride home at least."

You shake your head. "I'll manage." And with that, you turn and walk away, letting a swirl of flames whisk you away.

Maybe you should have waited, dropping hints here and there to ease them in. But as you appear in your room, you drop onto your bed and let the sadness swallow you whole. What's done is done. All you can do is hope for the best now.

[softtransbf]

Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1

You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)

Word Count: 2,690

“Hey Yancy, I heard there’s fresh blood comin’ in today for some sorta museum heist.”

“Oh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give ‘em a proper welcome, Bambam?”

“I know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, it’s the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. I’ve been told that he don’t say a word.”

“Got a name for this, uh, silent partner?” He chuckled at his joke.

“Y/N L/N.” Yancy’s stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam don’t use pronouns other than they/them unless they’re sure. It’s just some guy with the same last name.

“Yance, you okay?” Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Don’t Wanna Be Free ready just in case?”

“Right off the bat? You really think they’re that high of a flight risk?” Sparkles finally spoke up.

“I, uh, I don’t trust dem silent-types. They’s always schemin’, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.” And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.

“Okay, if you say so. I’ll go let the others know.” Yancy didn’t even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.

- 15 years earlier-

Yancy knew it wasn’t cool to be excited for the first day of school when you’re a senior in high school, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. You’d been gone for almost the entire summer, and he’d spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that he’s a guy.

He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldn’t see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.

“Y/DN isn’t a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.”

“What? Do you know where they went?”

“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.”

He’d never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didn’t stop crying for weeks.

-Present -

He’d never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than he’d ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. I’m not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didn’t recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasn’t gonna recognize you, dumbass. You’ve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldn’t see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesn’t recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he won’t be disappointed that I haven’t become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.

Yancy couldn’t have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.

The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but you’d cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.

He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and he’d killed his parents before they could leave him, so he’d kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldn’t stop himself from adding “they’re always just gonna leave you behind” and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadn’t forgotten about him, even if you didn’t recognize him now.

Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. He’d challenged you to a fight, because he’d always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.

All he’d wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. He’d told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, he’d do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Let’s just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, though…

“Me? Out there? With you?” He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything he’d wanted for so long. Fuck, I don’t deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. “I, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.” He made himself brighten up. “This is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, I’ll, uh” take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And I’ll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. “Anyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!” You looked down at the box you’d brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.

- 2 weeks later, visitation day -

He knew hoping you’d come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. He’d learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself he’d find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.

When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.

“Sorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… it’s visitation day, but I’m still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I haven’t decided if I want to come back for good or not.” He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. “I get it, your turn to be the quiet one. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.”

I know. I remember that you didn’t say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.

“Okay, so, honesty time; there’s a specific reason I came back.” You took a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know I’d remember meeting you- no way I’d forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?” You ran your hand through your hair. “God, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.”

“Uh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?”

“Shit. Um. C’mere.” He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldn’t hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. “No one here knows that the accent isn’t how I always speak. Not even the warden. I’ve been here five years and haven’t dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and you’re dead, understand?” He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course, but since you’re heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet it’d feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if I’m gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.”

He took a deep breath. “Something flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. That’s an odd phrase, though- ‘a burden shared is a burden halved’. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.”

“Loved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?” Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure he’d pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.

“Sorry, I haven’t talked about this… ever." Your voice shook. "I’ve never talked to anyone about this. I don’t know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didn’t mean to be- I couldn’t control having to leave, and I didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until it was too late. I couldn’t say goodbye. I’ve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. I’m happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasn’t heartbroken.” The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didn’t know, and you’d loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.

“Have you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.” He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.

“I tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But it’s like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. It’s actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.”

“I didn’t die. Just the name did.” Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized he’d said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.

“Yancy. Are you trying to tell me that you’re- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.” He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Shit, Pinky, it really is you.”

Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.

He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. “Wait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didn’t you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving… but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things… And we’re both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I can’t- I can’t do this.” You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.

“What are you saying, Y/N? That you’re leaving? Again?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

You stood up and faced him. “You do not get to play that card. You don’t know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didn’t know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and he’d kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I can’t stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving here.”

You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. “But I know you, and you have a family here. I’ll get you my address- it’s your turn to come to me, when you’re ready. I’ve waited 15 years to be with you again, what’s a little bit longer?” Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (14)

  jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: it’s time they got down to business… or isn’t it 😳

words: 6.2k

  chapter fourteen

You spent nearly the whole Saturday on the phone with Inna – because she refused to let you hang up until you gave her a play-by-play of last night’s party (and all that happened after) – and, by the time you finally ended the phone call, you were half-deaf from all of her—supportive but rather alarming—screaming.

And then, before you were ready for it, you and Jungkook had another Sunday night dinner at his parents’ house.

Admittedly, you thought you’d feel uncomfortable seeing his parents again after having learnt that they gave the push that convinced Jungkook to cut his ties with you off, but this feeling only clouded your mind for about fifteen minutes – or, in other words, for the period of time that it took for Jungkook to arrive from his house to your dormitory.

By the time he got here, all that was left in your mind – and in the air around you as soon as you opened the door to let him in – was ease. Routine.

Like you were supposed to spend every Sunday night with his family, holding hands with him under the dinner table. Like this wasn’t somehow weird or unusual, or even awkward. Like this was how it’d always been – with no seven-year-long gaps – and how it was always supposed to be.

Even touching Jungkook after the last time you’d seen him was, most surprisingly, not at all different from touching him before your last conversation. It still caused lighting bolts to explode inside of your stomach, and you were used to the sensation by now.

The only difference was that now you knew.

And knowing allowed you to truly come back to the life you were once a part of.

It felt like the last time you’d been to his house, you only allowed yourself to set one foot in, holding yourself back in case this would all go wrong and hurt you, but now you were ready to try again. Now you were ready to go into it with your whole body – open chest and all.

Sure, the possibility of getting hurt was still there – even if it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook joked about how his mom was more excited to see you than him – but sometimes you had to believe—not just hope—that nothing bad was going to happen, in order to make it true.

And truly nothing bad seemed on the horizon as Jungkook – true to the promise he’d made earlier this week – took you to the ice cream shop near his home as soon as dinner was over so you could pick up some desserts for yourselves. You found the chocolate-chip cookie-flavored ice cream – the one he knew you loved – and all was bliss.

“What is it with you,” you asked him when the two of you walked out of the shop and Jungkook was happily licking two different flavors on his cone – strawberry and mint, “and these flavors?”

“They’re good together,” he defended, pushing his cone towards you. “Want to try?”

You scrunched your nose. “No. I’ll stick with my chocolate—”

“Boring.”

“Hey,” you gave him a look, unaware of the chocolate around the corners of your lips and how utterly irresistible it made you look to him, “you’ve been picking the sweetest flavors of ice cream ever since we were kids. Don’t call me boring if I choose to postpone my diabetes diagnosis.”

“Neither of us is getting diabetes,” he said, absentmindedly extending his hand to wipe the chocolate from your lips and then sucking his thumb into his mouth.

You forgot what you were talking about for a moment as you looked away from him, your face burning hot at the sight, but your hands freezing cold from the ice cream.

Jungkook didn’t notice and carried on. 

“Do you remember when we used to collect those wooden popsicle sticks for no reason when we were kids?” he asked.

“I—yeah, I remember,” you said, taking a distracted bite your ice cream and then wincing when your temples froze. “I-I’m pretty sure we had a reason, though. You said you wanted to build a Trojan horse.”

“Oh, that’s right!” his face lit up just like it did that day when you were eight and you told him you’d help him build it. “I never had enough patience for a project like that. Why did you get on board with it?”

“Because you were really excited for it,” you replied as nonchalantly as you could manage – even though you could see it in his eyes when you looked at him, he did not think this was nothing; it was important to him – and then hid your face in your ice cream again.

Jungkook watched you for another moment, his heart beating peacefully but his mind buzzing with memories. You always ate your ice cream the same way – nearly all of it at once – ever since you were a little kid. He’d always made fun of you for it – not cruelly, because seeing the exhilaration in your eyes and your ice-cream-covered face always made him feel inexplicably warm inside – but now he wanted to grab your hand, stop you, and clean your lips with his own.

“I still have the popsicle sticks in my room,” he said while his ice cream melted in the paper cup in his hand.

“You do?” you asked, turning to look at him and making his suffering so much worse when you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why did you keep them all this time?”

Jungkook was glad you’d reached the gate of his house because that meant he could turn his back to you as he fumbled with the lock – it wasn’t a complicated mechanism, he just needed to look at something else for a bit – and tried to get his lungs to function properly again.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally opening the gate. “I guess I was hoping to still build that horse one day.”

You scoffed at this – Jungkook gave you a dignified look in return – and lingered by the gate for a second before you realized that he’d stopped to let you enter first.

“I’m not mocking,” you explained in response to the look on his face. “It’s actually great that you kept it.”

His mouth dried up when he closed the gate and turned around to walk towards the house before noticing how warm your gaze was. Then, to avoid you reading through him and figuring out what he was feeling, he stuffed a mouthful of ice cream into his mouth.

“It is?” he asked with a slight lisp and then hissed as the freezing sensation went straight to his brain.

“Yeah,” you nodded, a more wary look in your eyes now that Jungkook was in pain from the self-inflicted brain-freeze. “It shows that you’re waiting until you’re mature enough to be able to invest your time into something that requires a lot of patience.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily – you assumed it was from the cold – and lead you past the impeccably-kept bushes in his front-yard, and towards the entrance into his house.

“Yeah, no,” he said, finishing his ice cream in a few large bites that must have very literally frozen his throat. He tried not to let it show as he said in a very breathy voice, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

You shrugged your shoulders, slowly finishing your own ice cream as you brought your free hand over the vines that ran alongside the front wall of his house. “Maybe you don’t realize it.”

“Or maybe I kept the sticks because they reminded me of you.”

You stopped in front of his porch steps, unsure if you heard him right.

Swallowing the final bite of the chocolate-filled waffle cone, you looked at him in confusion – that was easy to mistake for disbelief, “hmm?”

Jungkook climbed up the steps – two at a time because he was always too impatient but, this time, also because he felt like he’d spoken too soon and he needed to put more distance between himself and you – and did not turn around to look at you until he fished his keys out from the pocket of his jeans, and unlocked the door.

“Yeah,” he said then, only giving you a glance as he opened the door and nodded his head inside, waiting for you to walk in first. “I still have a framed picture of us from middle school on my dresser.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at him even though he was now obviously avoiding your eyes.

There was even more surprise in your voice and it stung – you shouldn’t have been surprised about the fact that he cared enough to keep pictures that immortalized your friendship; but you were, and that was his fault – making him feel more self-conscious than he already was.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said and, smiling nervously, he stretched his hand behind his neck to scratch a nonexistent itch. “You want to see it?”

“Oh,” you were still standing on his doorstep while he was inviting you to his room. “Sure, yeah.”

You’d been to his room before – many times, in fact – so you hated the way the hairs on your skin stood up in anticipation. This wasn’t supposed to be any different from any other time you’d been in his room – was it? – and yet, you couldn’t help but remember that this was what you’d told yourself the last time you’d been there, too.

You two weren’t even the only people in his room that day – to celebrate the end of middle school, he’d invited his whole class – but, in your memory, everyone else was blurred and so dim that, sometimes, when you thought back on that day, you weren’t sure anyone else was even there. Or anywhere, for that matter. It’d felt like it was just you and him.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook suddenly brought you back to the present – and helped you realize just how hot your body was in spite of the excited shivers that ran down your back when you remembered his invitation – and you blinked before staggering inside.

Unaware of the several trips down memory lane that you’d taken while simply standing by his door, Jungkook extended a hand for you to take – and you took it, the movement automatic, as though you were in a well-rehearsed dance – and lead you towards the staircase.

You walked into his father on your way up the stairs, but he was on the phone so he merely gave his son a nod – and a smile for you – and then went on his way.

“You know, usually,” Jungkook said, sneering at the dismissal from his father, “parents would tell their kids to keep the door of their room open.”

Shivering again – but acting like you were most certainly not affected by the feeling of his palm against yours – you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“They would,” you said, licking your lips in an unconscious attempt to conceal the effect his not-at-all-innocent observation had on you, “but you’re twenty-three years old.”

He peered at you over his shoulder as he lead you down the second-floor hallway – nearly tripping over his feet when he saw you lick your lips – and then turned towards his room.

“Yes,” he said, “thank you for the newsflash,” and, stopping outside of his bedroom, he explained, “I meant, my parents never said that sort of thing to me. Not once.”

“Oh,” you caught on and lowered your eyes. “So, you brought a lot of people over, then?”

Jungkook smirked – you didn’t see this at first, but, when you raised your head again a minute later, confused by his silence, the smirk was still there – obviously very pleased to hear the not particularly well concealed shades of jealousy in your voice.

“None, actually. You’re the only one of my friends who’s been here,” he said then. “And I’ve already told you, I’ve never dated before.”

You were still unsure if he was pulling your leg. “Well, you don’t have to be dating people to bring them over to your—”

He pulled you into his room by your hand, not letting you finish your question. He closed the door and, this time, you two were really the only people here.

“I’m not like that,” he told you then, “but I understand where you’re coming from.”

You weren’t sure what you were asking him when you spoke, “you do?”

“Yeah,” he said, putting the paper cup of ice cream – that was as empty as your mind when Jungkook kept on holding your hand even though, now that you were in his room, there was no reason for it – on his desk, and then leaning against it to look at you. “It’s a nice campus tale, me constantly having girls over. But the only times I did sleep with someone, I didn’t do it in a place I lived. Nothing against that, I’m just a private person in that way, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head once and turned away from him, choosing to watch the starved pigeons, which crept around his backyard, through the window. “That sure makes your reputation better.”

Jungkook snickered, reluctantly letting go of your hand – but only because you were unconsciously pulling away from him – and attempting to explain, “I don’t mean to say I have sex outside—”

“No, I-I…” you cut him off – your flustered state intrigued him further – as you walked over to the dresser that he’d mentioned before. “I get what you mean. It’s an interesting version of “don’t shit where you eat”, but—”

He laughed, the sound taking you by surprise and cutting you off.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he said, his eyes glistening with humor. “But the saying fits, I guess.”

He plopped down on his bed as he said this and the conversation about how many people he’d slept with had run out – which was good, since you hadn’t braced yourself for a discussion about your experiences in this particular area.

Instead, you took a minute to take the rest of his room in; it had changed so little since the last time you’d seen it. But it was the picture – that was right there where he said it was – that really took you back to the time when you spent nearly every afternoon in this room.

Jungkook smiled as he watched you reminisce, but not because he liked to see the way your features softened as you admired the picture from your childhood, but because you fit in this room far better than he did.

“Are you here a lot?” you asked as if having read his mind.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you told me you moved out a while ago…” you said, “and the room looks just as I remember it, so I just—”

“Oh. No, I’m—I’m not here a lot,” he admitted. “But I do come when I visit my parents.”

“Which is once a year?”

He acknowledged the jab by pursing his lips and retorting, “a lot more than that now that I have you with me.”

You hummed in response but your mind was already elsewhere as you pointed at the ceremoniously locked nightstand in the corner next to his bed, “what’s this?”

It looked so eccentric and out-of-place – not the stand itself, but the chain that ran along both sides of it, a trusty lock in the middle – that you couldn’t help but feel curious.

Jungkook, however, leaped on all fours and crawled over his bed to guard the nightstand with his hands – as if you were Cyclops and were about to burn through the stand with a laser beam from your eyes – a defensive look on his face.

“It’s nothing,” he said even though this was obviously the most interesting piece of furniture in his whole room, “just a decoration.”

“With chains—?” you tried to ask but Jungkook jumped back to his previous position and patted the spot on the bed next to himself.

“Come on,” he said. “Sit. Do you remember the last time you were here?”

He knew this was the only way to change the topic – and the defeated look on your face confirmed his expectations – but, when you remained standing across the room, he patted the bed again, more eagerly this time.

“We celebrated our graduation from middle school with the other kids,” he said because you didn’t show any other sign to let him know whether you remembered or not. Jungkook could feel that you did, but, regardless, he still continued, “we played Truth or Dare. Remember?”

It was ridiculous he even had to ask that. Some days – and even more frequently now that you were talking again – your middle school graduation was all you could think about, even all of these years later.

“Barely,” you replied but you both knew it was a lie. “It was a long time ago, lots have happened since—”

“Someone dared you to kiss me,” he said with an innocent expression on his face – because he was just refreshing your memory – but it was quickly replaced by an amused grin when your eyes widened in surprise – not because you were shocked he’d said it, but because saying it aloud conjured up a much clearer image of that day; probably because now you knew that the memory of that day was as fresh in his mind as it was in yours.

“Sure,” you said, laughing weakly to hide how warm your hands, your face, and your whole body was. “That was a thing that, uh… happened.”

“So,” Jungkook was grinning but it was only an attempt to conceal his own anxiety – if he stopped grinning, he was going to have to handle the rapid beating of his heart inside of his chest, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that just yet. “Truth or dare?”

The question sobered you up from the intoxicating memory and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“We’re not fourteen and in middle school anymore,” you said. “What are you doing?”

“Come on,” he urged you again, “truth or dare?”

You knew better than to insist he dropped this – there were barely any people more demanding and frustrating than him; you couldn’t even name one – so you didn’t waste your breath trying.

Groaning because you knew he wouldn’t be pleased with your answer – just like you weren’t pleased with him even suggesting this game – you said, “truth.”

Jungkook smiled knowingly because – just like you’d predicted – he was absolutely expecting this and had, therefore, prepared accordingly.

“Who was your first kiss?” he asked without wasting a second.

God, this was going to be a long night, you started to realize. Now you weren’t sure if the ice cream was even worth it – maybe you should have left after dinner.

Meeting his expectant gaze, you tried your hardest to convey all of your hatred for this game through your eyes – but Jungkook wasn’t watching them, he was watching your lips as he waited for your answer – and then you finally said, “you.”

You were almost expecting triumphant fanfares to go off somewhere outside of his house but, instead of that, Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, indicating that your answer had surprised him – even though it really shouldn’t have; you may not have been his first kiss, but you had never even wanted to kiss anyone who wasn’t him.

He was obviously going to inquire about this further – but what was there to ask, honestly? – but you were categorically not going to let him.

“Truth or dare?” you fired.

Jungkook closed his mouth, decided – begrudgingly – that this was a fair play, and then, true to himself, replied, “dare.”

“Show me your mysterious nightstand.”

He looked disappointed and more than ready to refuse – good, now he knew how you felt – but got up from the bed nevertheless.

He walked over to his desk first and got a singular key out from under the fake-bottom of the top drawer – courtesy of his Death Note phase – before slowly sliding it into the lock on the nightstand across the room. Turning it until you both heard a pleasant click, Jungkook took the chains off and huffed as he looked at you before doing anything else.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see inside so you couldn’t brace yourself for anything but, as Jungkook opened the door of the nightstand, you realized there was no possible way for you to prepare for this anyway.

There were piles of pictures inside – polaroids, of you and him at the lakehouse your families used to rent out every summer – old cut-outs from the school newspaper, showing you, as the president of the Student Council, and the principal of the school. There were the old dog tags you two had gotten together at a fair one spring – because he kept accidentally ripping every friendship bracelet you two ever had – and there were the remote-controlled cars that you’d gotten him for his tenth birthday – you’d been saving up for them that whole year.

Scanning the contents of the nightstand – while Jungkook watched you, biting his lip – you noticed that he had a copy of almost every single movie you’d ever shown him – the DVD of The Sixth Sense, of course, resting at the very front – and, more than that, he had post-it notes glued to all of them with notes ranging from as obscure as, “She said it’s good” to direct quotes from you, “She said I would like it because it’s violent enough to keep me at the edge of my seat but it also has meaning. She smiled a lot when she told me about it.”

And then, as if your heart wasn’t already beating fast enough, you saw the popsicle sticks on the very bottom of the nightstand. Most of them were just scattered there, long forgotten, but some were glued together in what was supposed to be the base of the Trojan horse you two had never gotten to build.

You pulled back, feeling like every time you inhaled, a new memory returned to you, each heavier than the one before. When you finally removed your eyes from the mementos of the past and looked at him, your chest was so full, it was weighing you down.

“You—” you started but the words got lost on their way out of your throat. You tried again, “you kept all of this—”

“Of course,” he said, closing the nightstand now that you weren’t looking at it anymore – he didn’t bother with the chain – and then returning to his previous spot on the bed. “I couldn’t bring it all with me when I left the house because I didn’t know where I was going to go. And I couldn’t leave it all hanging around my room because… well, because I didn’t want my parents to turn the room into a home gym and throw everything out.”

“B-but why—”

“Because it’s important to me,” he replied, knowing what you were going to say, “because these are the things that you and I did together. It’s us. You and me. I kept everything that reminded me of you.”

His words soothed the old wounds but it opened up new ones, too, because, in the seven years that you didn’t have any contact with him, you’d done everything you could to erase him from your life completely – throwing anything that reminded you of him out, until your room and your whole house was void of any connection to him – while he did the complete opposite and attempted to preserve as much of your past friendship as it was possible.

“My turn,” Jungkook said, his voice shakier than it’d been before. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t want to play anymore. You felt like you physically couldn’t play anymore.

“Jungkook—”

“Truth or dare?” he repeated, more persistent this time.

Sighing because this was hopeless, you replied, “truth.”

He shook his head. “You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

You should have seen it coming and yet you still felt a pang of annoyance that completely broke you out of the blissful state the contents of the nightstand had put you in before.

“Yes, I can,” you protested. “You just watched me do it.”

He didn’t give in. “That’s against the rules.”

“There are no rules in this game.”

“Yes, there are.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who made them?”

“Me,” Jungkook said, crossing his legs to find a more comfortable position. “My house, my rules. You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

“Fine, you dick,” you replied – he almost smiled at the name – and settled,  “dare, then.”

It was almost funny, really, how easily the words came to Jungkook as he dared you, “kiss me.”

If you’d have turned your head to the old clock on his wall by the desk, you would have noticed how the arrows had stopped – they stopped long before tonight but, in that moment only, they showed the right time. Almost as if Jungkook wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting to say this to you. Everything in his room had been waiting, too.

Jungkook thought you’d do it -- he thought you’d turn your head, look away. Look for an excuse to back out of this. 

That’s why he didn’t kiss you but gave you an opening to do it yourself, using the game as an excuse. And, in the quiet moment that passed, he waited for your eyes to leave his, refusing the opportunity. But they never did.

You didn’t think you could tear your eyes away from his yearning gaze – just like gravity prevented you from floating off into space, the force of his eyes prevented you from pulling away. Instead, they pulled you in. 

And so you kissed him again, seven years later.

It was just a touch first – you barely registered the feeling of his lips against yours – but, before a chance to pull away even presented itself, the touch melted, locking your lips together.

He tasted like the strawberry mint gum he kept in his car.

He tasted like the flavor of the ice cream he’d picked today.

And, although you’d refused to try it when he offered outside of the ice cream shop, you couldn’t deny it when you were kissing him – strawberry and mint went so incredibly well together.

He tasted like the best friend you’d day-dreamed of kissing before you went to sleep at night.

He tasted like everything you’d ever wanted.

And, belatedly, the triumphant fanfares did go off somewhere in the distance – although it could have just been the sound of your hearts, calling out to each other through your chests – but the only sound you could hear clearly was the sound of his mouth moving against yours as he deepened the kiss, standing up on his knees on the bed and gently pushing you forwards until you landed on your back and he was leaning on his elbows on either side of you.

There were many things you knew about Jungkook – your knowledge coming from all of the days you’d spend together as children – but there were also several things that you didn’t know.

For one thing, you didn’t know what his kisses felt like when there was no one watching.

And now you did as his tongue tenderly brushed against yours, growing more impatient by the second, until you had to hold onto his chest with one hand and wrap the other one around his neck to prevent yourself from completely melting under him.

Furthermore, you didn’t know how long he’s waited for this.

And now you did as his warm body pressed against yours, freezing cold and almost screaming in the parts where he couldn’t physically touch you.

Kissing him felt relieving because you’d waited for this, too, and uselessly tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need his arms around you as much as you did.

It felt freeing because now you could finally admit to yourself how much you’d wanted to kiss him and have him catch his breath against your neck before bringing his lips back to yours again.

But it also felt dangerous because you couldn’t stop – you didn’t want to stop – and, not being in control of your surroundings and, most importantly, of yourself, was something that you knew would have dire consequences. You needed to prepare for this beforehand, consider every possible outcome and—

But then Jungkook pushed one of his thighs between your legs, kissing you harder—deeper—and you no longer cared about being in control of the situation. 

Sighing into the kiss – until he nearly passed out because he’d imagined this before and, for half a moment, he was afraid this was all happening in his head again – you abandoned all of your inhibitions and held onto him tighter, kissing him back with matching intensity.

And that moment – the one moment when you gave in to him completely – was precisely when someone knocked on his door.

However, even though you had both heard it, neither of you reacted to it, your mouths not pausing for a moment and his fingers never leaving the spot under your shirt – right above your waist – where they’d come to rest.

A moment later, you thought you’d only imagined the knock – the sound was already so far away in the distance, it didn’t even feel like you’d really heard it.

In his case, precisely because this – kissing on his bed in his childhood room – was actually real and not just a figment of his imagination, Jungkook simply assumed that everything else had to be happening in some other world where he wasn’t kissing you. In a world that didn’t exist. In a world that didn’t matter.

And so, naturally, he didn’t pay attention to any foreign sounds, focusing on the feeling of your skin, your lips, your touch, you, instead.

But then the knock came again. Shameless, truly, because it had to be obvious what was happening inside; it was impossible not to hear someone knock on the door of a room that was as empty as Jungkook’s bedroom.

This time, you both paused. But Jungkook – who hadn’t lived with his parents in a long time and, therefore, couldn’t remember their habits – was curious if, perhaps, the knocking would go away if unanswered, and so he went back to kissing you a second later.

Much to his—and yours—irritation, however, it didn’t seem like the knocking was going to stop. If anything, it started to get more intense and your hand – the one that pulled him closer to you by his shirt – ended up having to push him away slightly.

“Jungkook?” his mother’s uncertain voice reached your ears, but when you saw his face when he pulled away from you, you felt like you may as well have imagined that sound, too, because the sight of his puffy lips and wide, blown-out pupils made you lean forward to connect your lips again, if only for just a moment.

Jungkook was convinced you hadn’t yet grasped the effect you had on him; he couldn’t just stop kissing you out of the blue like that. And so he leaned back in, pressing his lips to yours until he felt you kiss him back. And then you broke the spell by turning your face towards the door as you tried to speak.

“It’s your mom,” you said, completely out of breath. “You should open it.”

Growling with frustration, he pushed himself off of you and climbed off the bed, not giving you a second to get up and make your activities less obvious before he was throwing the door open a lot more aggressively than he’d intended.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you two were back yet,” his mother said, seemingly unfazed by her son’s obvious frustration. “I just got the pie out of the oven, so the dessert is ready. Your dad and I were waiting downstairs, are you two—”

“We got ice cream,” he reminded his mother in a surprisingly gentle tone – even if his body remained stoic – and then glanced over his shoulder at you. “Unless you’d like to grab a slice?”

“Uh, I—thank you,” you said, standing up from the bed and desperately attempting to fix your hair while still remaining polite, “but I still feel full from the ice cream. A-and your dinner was wonderful, too, of course.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” his mother smiled at you and then gave her son a nod. “If you feel like getting tea with us, we’ll be in the kitchen, okay? Sorry I barged in on you like that, you didn’t tell me when you came back home, so I didn’t—”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jungkook said, still in a hurry. “We ran into dad, though. He knew we were back.”

“He did?” this seemed to surprise her. “Huh. He didn’t tell me.”

Huh, indeed. Maybe his father had his own ways of making sure Jungkook kept the door of his bedroom open.

“Well, no matter,” his mother added. “I’ll leave now. Sorry again!”

She smiled at you once more before she walked back to the staircase. You couldn’t tell if her eyes had been glittering because of the few glasses of wine that she’d had with dinner, or because she was able to tell what had been going on in this room before she came in.

Or maybe she was just happy that you were both home, safe and sound, and hanging out in his room – just like back in the day.

“Well,” Jungkook said after closing the door of his room. He wasn’t trying to conceal his disappointment, “that was my mom and her perfect timing.”

You chuckled. “Ah, she could have come in later. That would have been worse.”

“Yeah?” he liked to hear that you’d been imagining what could have happened later, as he walked back to you. “What do you think we’d have been doing?”

“Anything,” you replied, ignoring the fratboy in him but allowing his arms to comfortably wrap themselves around your waist. You replied to his smile with one of your own but did not dare to close the distance between you, only choosing to carefully rest your hands on his shoulders. “Do you know what time it is?”

Jungkook groaned, knowing that you must have understood his mother’s arrival as a sign that it was time for you to go home. “No, don’t start with the time!”

“What?” you asked, surprised by his agitation. “Why not?”

“Because it’s always the time that interrupts us,” he said, knowing how pointless it was but still cursing the time, the place, and almost the entire universe. “The night always ends before I’m ready for it.”

“Are you ever ready for it?” you asked but, in all actuality, you were asking him something else.

“No,” he said, answering both of your questions. “I’m never ready to leave you. You could stay over, you know.”

He’d once called you the most ambitious person he’d ever known, and yet there was nothing you wanted more than to stay here. Stay for a night. For however many nights it was possible.

But there were too many things to think about, too many outcomes to consider. You’d barely grown used to your relationship as old-friends-who-were-fake-dating before you kissed – mostly unprovoked and largely because you wanted to, not because he’d dared you to – and opened up the door to a whole new world.

“I…” you spoke, swallowing slowly. You knew you were someone who had to learn how to maneuver the magical carpet first, before hopping on it and flying away. That was who you were. “Thank you. But I think it’d be best if I went home tonight.”

Jungkook nodded, knowing and fully expecting you to say this. He wasn’t going to object because you’d already taken a huge step—a leap, really—over your own self when you responded and kissed him, and he didn’t want to pressure you into giving in and making any similar decisions before you were ready, no matter how much he wanted you to make them. No matter how much he wanted you.

But he was still going to give you a hard time about this. Because that was who he was.

“Leaving me wanting more, yeah?” he teased.

“Not leaving you,” you said. “Just leaving.”

He loved the way this sounded like a promise – and he would keep replaying your words in his head until the next time he saw you – but he didn’t show it, taking you by the hand instead.

“Let me take you home then,” he said and then threatened, “you should know before we go, though – I am fully determined to make you feel bad for abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” you replied, making him smile in appreciation before leaning in to press a quick—almost chaste—kiss to your cheek.

He pulled away to open the door of his room and then walked outside, taking small steps and deep sighs, his theatrics always very sharp.

“Off I go,” Jungkook began, “starting my journey of loneliness—”

“Is that from a song?” you asked, interrupting his improvised monologue as you followed after him.

“It’s from my life,” he replied shortly. You tried to suppress your laughter and he continued, more dramatic now that he’d noticed he was entertaining you, “off I go, into the dark cavern of solitude. All by myself, all over again...”

Each one of your involuntary giggles only encouraged him, so Jungkook kept this up all the way to your dorm and then he found a way to keep going over text messages, spamming you with his Shakespearean delusions until you threatened to block his number if he didn’t stop.

And then, after testing you for another half an hour, he finally did stop and went to sleep – alone, but with the memory of you that was so strong, it was like you were there with him.

keep reading | masterlist

[writingsfromhome]

Nuclear Family III

Part 3: Family Meals

A/N: This one gets a little bit more complicated for Y/N, feelings are definitely involved. Thank you everyone for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting!!! <3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

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

The next day goes by without incident. Harry takes Charlie to the park as I stay home and catch up on missed work. Around 3 in the afternoon, with the sun shining brightly, I leave the flat with an itch in my leg. I'd spent too long indoors. I text Harry saying that I was stepping out.

"Y/N?" Someone calls as I'm about to leave the building. I spot a familiar face and shout out in excitement.

"Marc! I forgot you lived in the same building oh my god!"

"I knew you were in London but I wondered why you never callled...you're living with Harry?" He asks tentatively.

"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly. "Mixup with the air bnb my first day, so we're all here. It's great though, a little hectic but great. Charlie loves it."

"I bet she does," he grins. I forgot he was so handsome. The thing with Marc and I was, we were friends but ever since he came down to LA last year we sort of redefined our friendship to include a few perks. But it worked with us, we only saw each other once in a blue moon. And we were chronically single-me being too busy with being a mother and Marc too busy because directing a magazine meant no time for relationships. So because we got along so well, and we enjoyed the time we spent. We decided to live a little and do something risky. It paid off.

"You should come over some time! Charlie would love to see you too, she still talks about the day we went to Disneyland." Marc crashed at my place last year and Charlie took to him immediately. Maybe because he had the same accent her dad had.

"Maybe I will...and maybe you and I could catch up too sometime if you're free..."

"I'm free now, Marc," I laugh at his attempt to sound discrete. Staying at Harry's, it might get complicated if I invite Marc over. At least until after Charlie's birthday. There were too many things going on until then.

Marc joins me for a bite and by the time I get home Harry and Charlie are home and playing with a new toy she'd gotten. I watch fondly and feel a sense of relief. Charlie loved her time here and that was all I needed to see. A big concern staying with Harry was confusing Charlie where we stood but we were all good so far.

The next couple days go smoothly too. Harry goes out some evenings with his girlfriend and spends most of the days with Charlie, unless he's working. Charlie and I see a play and visit some old friends and we settle into London quicker than expected.

"Are you busy tomorrow evening?" Harry asks that morning.

"I was just going to make dinner at home, big day on Sunday." I take my reading glasses off to focus on Harry.

"My family was thinking of coming tomorrow."

The statement lands with a thud on my chest.

"Oh. Well...I'm sure Charlie will be glad to meet them!"

"You've got to be there. Please Y/N? They're staying for Charlie's birthday on Sunday."

"I..." I glance at Charlie who's curled on the sofa with her stuffed animal. I'd have to see them either way now that I was living here. "Alright. I'll be there."

"Perfect," Harry reaches out to squeeze my hand and I have to remind myself not to jerk it away.

Yes-the last few days have been well. Logistically. But emotionally, I was just as confused and angry at feeling that way. Harry went on dates with his girlfriend but during breakfasts we shared, his gaze would linger. His hand would brush mine, as he showed me something funny on his phone. Or when Charlie forced us to sit with her and play with her stuffed toys, he would make up silly scenes that forced us to be closer. The vibes between us felt tense sometimes and other times it felt like I could lean over and kiss him and the three years apart would disappear.

"I'll let them know." Harry continues about settling the date. "It works perfectly because Gemma was suggesting tomorrow too, and Miranda's free too."

"Miranda?" I ask. Had I heard correctly?

"Yeah. She's got to fly out Sunday for a shoot next week so I won't be seeing her all week. Tomorrow works."

"Miranda's coming to the family dinner?" I ask again, my voice sounding hollow to me. Was Harry an absolute idiot?

"Yeah! My whole family knows her-she's been around for my mum's birthday and Christmas."

Harry really was an idiot. He didn't notice my tone of voice or how ridiculous that was.

"I'm quite tired," I close my laptop screen. "We'll talk later?"

"Yeah." Harry pauses, picking up on my abrupt excuse. "I'll-yeah..."

I don't let him finish. I head to my room and toss my laptop onto the bed, combing my hand through my hair and sighing. I had to stop getting worked up about Harry and Miranda. They were a gorgeous couple and there was no way Harry still wanted me. He was only this nice to me because of the daughter we shared-there were no other feelings involved. I think about inviting Marc, but decide it's too petty. This was about Charlie and maybe I really should just get serious about finding other living accommodations.

***

Charlie sits in front of the TV as I get ready for dinner. The nerves in my stomach are more knotted than a pair of headphones in a handbag. I smooth down my green blouse and look down at my slacks. Maybe I should wear a dress; I looked like I was going to a meeting.

"You look nice," Harry's voice comes from the open doorway.

"I don't look like I'm going to give my first big corporate presentation?" I ask. He shakes his head but I watch his eyes skim over the outfit. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Ugh! I knew it. I have to change!"

"No you don't," Harry says, catching my arm on the way out. "You look great in anything."

I roll my eyes, "I know I look great in anything, but I'm having a dinner and I need to find something more appropriate!"

Harry chuckles but follows me back to my room where I toss through the closet. "It's just my family, they don't care what you look like."

"It's not that simple,” I rant, untying the knot around my neck. Why did I even bring this top? “I can’t just throw anything on and call it a night! I have to feel good in it too!”

He steps into the room and tracks my frantic movements from closet to dresser to suitcase. He stops me on my second round to the closet and takes the blouse out of my hands to hold them. "I think you’ll look great in anything, pick something and get on. Just tell your nerves to fuck off.”

“Harry!” I scold, I didn’t want Charlie hearing or she wouldn’t stop saying it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, a small smile on his face displaying his dimples.

Noticing it, I’m suddenly aware of how we’re standing together. His hands still hold mine, and when I look into his eyes, they’re watching me. This. This is what I meant. Everything was fine living together, but Harry’s gaze, every time I caught it, it would be on me. And it was a heavy gaze. He always seemed like he was deep in thought yet noticing every little detail about me, conflicted, but thoughtful. It usually made me feel self-conscious.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I give it a shot.

“What?”

“You got so serious,” I try again. “What are you thinking about.”

“You want to know?” Harry seems surprised, which surprises me. Why wouldn’t I want to know what he was thinking about? I nod, and he lets go of my hands. “I was just thinking about you giving a presentation in that outfit, I would-ouch!”

Harry rubs his shoulder where I’d pushed him. I cross my arms, “That’s what you get for making fun-”

“I wasn’t making fun!” Harry swears. “I was trying to say, what I wouldn’t give to sit in on that presentation.”

Heat rushes to my face, I look away from Harry back to my closet. This was too much. "Okay. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll just...wear...this." I pull out a simple black dress with a pretty neckline and hold it out in front of me, as if it would stop Harry from walking over to me again. When I think he’ll stop, he continues so I take a few steps back until my back hits the closet door.

“Good choice,” he says but his eyes leave a heated trail from my untied blouse up to my lips and then my eyes that are wide in panic.

He’s incredibly close, and I’m freaking out so I nervously tell him I should get dressed. When he doesn’t back away, I lift the dress up in the little space between us. “Harry, I need to change. Are you going to watch me or give me some privacy?”

That seems to snap him out of whatever headspace he was in. He quickly backs up and the pink blush creeps into his cheeks. “I’ll be outside with Charlie.”

A part of me wished he stayed.

***

I join Charlie in front of the TV as we wait for dinner. When his family came in, it wasn't awkward at all. They greeted me like I was still part of their family, and catching up was effortless. They fawned over Charlie and she adored it. It helped Gemma brought her boyfriend (bf), I wasn't the only non-Styles here.

"Is everything alright?" I ask as my eyes scan the room and find Harry typing furiously at his phone.

"Uh yeah," he responds. "Just Miranda. Had something planned later tonight and she didn't realise dinner would be this late."

"Well your family is coming from outside of London," I say, already regretting asking in the first place.

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, still typing. I was clearly not needed there so I join Harry's mom who's trying to arrange the bouquet Gemma brought. We talk as we work, setting up the table even though Harry was throwing this. His mom waves his help away when he finally realises and he easily goes back to Charlie who's showing off all her stuffed animals.

The mood shifts when Miranda appears with her bottle of wine and a suitcase. I try to ignore the sting I feel when he pulls her into an embrace and takes the bottle from her, I try not to compare myself to her. To the way Harry acts with her, and with me in private. I try not to think about what it meant, and try to focus on the dinner instead.

Harry's family remains just as nice, but the problem is it goes from having a family dinner for Charlie's sake to hosting a dinner. It's only when everyone is busy with their glass of wine that Gemma leans into me and says, "I told the idiot not to invite his girlfriend to a family thing but he said there was nothing wrong with that."

"He told me pretty last minute," I respond.

"Don't get me wrong-she's lovely, but it just makes something like this awkward."

"I'm alright," I lie through my teeth.

"Sure," Gemma winks at me before her attention is pulled away by her bf. At least there was one Styles that understood me without me having to say.

•••

"I'm starting school in September," Charlie informs the table halfway through dinner.

"You're growing up so fast," Harry's mum smiles at Charlie.

"That's a big step," Miranda comments and as much as I hated to admit it-she wasn't so bad with Charlie. She made a solid effort and Charlie responded well to her. She was her boyfriend's daughter though, and she usually avoided speaking to me unless Harry was involve, but I was okay with that. 

"Then I'll be five next year!" Charlie continues. I explain to the table how obsessed she was with turning five.

"Because that's when she gets to drink coffee right darling?" Harry nudges Charlie and she grins.

"Coffee!" She shouts and we all laugh but as she soaks in the attention she begins shouting it louder.

"Charlotte," I warn. She glances at me and then looks back at her plate.

"She's just excited we're all here," Gemma comments. "Isn't that right Ms. Y/L/N?"

Charlie beams at being called by her last name, like a teacher would.

"Has she not taken on your last name?" Miranda suddenly asks Harry and it goes silent at the table except for Charlie's humming.

"Uh no," Harry scratches his neck. The rest of the dinner table busies themselves in their food.

"She's always lived with me," I clarify, trying to sweep away the sudden awkwardness. The awkwardness comes from how Harry and I broke up because he didn't know what to do with himself when he realised he was having a baby. There was no way he was ever raising her alone. Not at first anyway, that was when I insisted she keep my last name. "So it makes sense."

Miranda glances between us but bf breaks the silence. "Gemma wants our kids to have her last name, I said hyphenating it wouldn't be too bad."

"It gets too confusing," Gemma says. "Styles is a nice, simple, last name."

"Always in Style," Harry exclaims at the same time I say something similar. We laugh which confuses Charlie enough to tug on my sleeve. She asks for more mashed potatoes and I give them to her. Soon after, Harry's mum brings out the dessert she brought and we all enjoy it with more wine. As the night nears, Gemma and her bf stay behind with Miranda. When Charlie begins cuddling into me on the couch, I put her to sleep, but she whines when I leave so I tell the group I was calling it a night and wash up while Charlie stands with me as I wash my face. She was being unusually clingy but I figure all the attention and new interactions were exciting but also exhausting for her. She just wanted her mum and that warms my heart.

"Did you want anything before you put her to bed?" Harry pops his head in as I'm tucking Charlie's toys around her.

"I'm alright," I smile. "Tonight was nice. Thanks for putting it all together."

"Thanks for staying," Harry moves into the room and kisses the top of our kid's head. I remember the other night when he did the same to me. "It was really nice with you, Charlotte, my family-it meant a lot."

"For her too," I look to our daughter who is finally settling into sleep knowing I had stayed and changed for her. "Although I'm paying the consequence being forced to sleep at 10pm."

Harry chuckles. "Best get your beauty sleep then."

"Yeah," I peel back the covers and wait for Harry to leave but he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns back to me.

"Tonight reminded me of old times," Harry says and I can tell he's lost in time as he smiles at the floor. "I haven't felt this happy in a while." His statement makes me sad, and when he looks up at me his expression is tinged with regret. But he forces a smile and nods. "See you tomorrow."

"Harry," I don't know what it was that makes me stop him. Maybe the way he looked at me with the unbearable sadness, or the fourth glass of wine I drank, or feeling the same immeasurable amount of happiness he did tonight. But I walk towards him and wrap my arms around his neck. I indulge myself and bury my nose in his neck and almost cry at the familiarity; the way his hands were always cold as they wrapped around me too, but warmed as they squeezed me to him. His fresh laundry smell mixed with the sandalwood perfume he favoured. Or his body and the way he engulfed me into his chest, like I could carve a home out of it and stay there again.

He sighs as he pulls me tighter, "Y/N-"

"Mom?" A tired voice asks behind me and I rip myself away from Harry to look at Charlotte. She's propped herself on her elbow and is looking between me and her dad.

Shit. Why did I do that? Why did I just make things complicated? Harry's girlfriend was right outside! Our daughter was in this room! I couldn't afford to confuse her or myself. Jesus.

"I'm coming to bed!" I walk towards her to soothe her and I hear Harry slip out of the room.

"She's having a hard time falling asleep," I hear Harry lie from the living room and my heart sinks further in my chest. If he was lying over a shared conversation, a shared hug, then something was wrong and I would have to make it extra clear tomorrow that we were nothing more than polite. Especially as it was Charlie's fourth birthday tomorrow. It had to be perfect.

•••

A small finger pokes my cheeks, "Mommy?" I had no idea what time it was but my head rings with a hangover. I hadn't drank this much in a while. I realise I wasn't having auditory hallucinations when Charlie's voice comes again. "Mom?"

"Charlie what time-" I try to crack an eye open and the clock says 6am. I groan and pull Charlie towards me, eyes still closed. "Why are you up so early birthday girl?"

"Mommy?" When Charlie doesn't respond to the mention of her birthday I know something might be wrong. I force my eyes open, Charlie stares up at me with sad baby doll eyes. My mom alarm starts ringing.

"What's the matter?" I ask, noticing the door was open. She must have woken up earlier.

She shakes her head and buries her head into my chest. I clutch her to me, unsure why she was upset. I'll ask her later, right now, I try to cheer her up.

"My baby is such a big girl now. Hey, what's the matter?"

"Does daddd love us?" She asks innocently. I'm startled by her question, so out of the blue.

"Of course he does. He loves you more than anything in the world. And I love you too. Although I would also love a bit more sleep." I tease her. She wraps her arms around my neck. "Happy birthday, Charlie. I love you."

"I love you too," she surprises me by getting under her covers; once Charlie was up, she never fell back asleep. Maybe this was a birthday miracle, but I snuggle into the warmth. Charlie's behaviour still niggles away at the back of my mind but I eventually drift off to sleep and just pray the rest of her birthday would be happier.

[chalametdarling]

T.C. fluff:  Being Timothée’s co-star in an upcoming romantic drama, and having a long weekend off together to explore the coastal European city you’re filming in

“Wow, this is beautiful.” You hugged your rolled-up towel close to your chest, the view of a crowded beach, sparkling crystal blue water and colourful umbrellas lining the sand awaiting you. 

“Oui, c’est très beau,” Timothee agreed, playfully nudging your shoulder, guiding you to follow him down onto the sand. You slipped off your shoes and the two of you began meandering through the endless sea of warm sand and towels, eventually finding vacant real estate between a young family and a group of women bathing in the sun. It was Timothee’s idea to explore the French town you were filming in together while you had a few days off, and as you laid down your towel, and Timothee retrieved containers of strawberries and savoury biscuits from his backpack, you couldn’t believe you’d thought of spending your Friday any other way. 

You talked and ate and waded into the water, splashing each other and jumping over waves. And when you weren’t doing that, you alternated between reading your script and a novel while Timothee laid on his stomach, headphones on, head resting on his arms.   You couldn’t quite tell behind his sunglasses, but judging by how you’d finished reading an entire chapter and he hadn’t moved a muscle, you assumed he’d fallen asleep. Under the sun block and daylight, his pale skin seemed to glow. His hair a perfectly messy mop, grains of sand nestled into the ends of his curls. Timothee really did have perfect features. You could objectively see that now that you were really looking at him. Bold eyebrows poking over the tops of his sunglasses, strong nose, angelic lips- “You staring at me?” You quickly looked out towards the water, resting your chin onto your knees and hugging your legs. “No, just checking if you were awake.” He rolled over, stretching out. “I am now.” Checking the time on his watch, he added, “Shit. We’ve been here for hours.” He reached out and picked up one of the few remaining uneaten strawberries by its stalk while you packed away your books into your bag. “Do you feel like getting dinner?” he asked, tossing the leafy remains into the pile you’d made as you ate.   “Yes,” you eagerly nodded your head. Laying out on the sand all day really worked up your appetite. Already feeling drowsy from the fresh air and too much sun, you followed Timothee’s lead from the shore to the row of bars and cafes lining the beach. He led you inside the doors of a quaint pub; one hand holding the door open, the other on the small of your back. A live band was set up on the raised stage towards the back, playing acoustic French music for those enjoying meals and post-work drinks. You found a seat at the bar, sharing bread and wine, your heart swelling the more time you spent learning the workings of Timothee’s mind. You could’ve sat all night with your chin in the palm of your hand, listening to him rattle on about his favourite directors and film theories and character studies, then abruptly stop himself with an embarrassed laugh, running his palms down his thighs. “Anyway,” he laughed, shaking his head. He finished his drink, then tuned into the DJ who’d since replaced the initial band. “Wanna dance?” Several drinks in and hours of dancing later, you were still on the dance floor with a drink in hand.  As the night went on, every time your head spin subsided, Timothee was either dragging you through the crammed bodies back over to the bar or replacing empty glasses in your hand with overflowing cups of alcohol. After the fourth glass exchange, you put an arm around his neck to pull his ear down to be level with your lips. While your thoughts were still somewhat coherent, your words were a little slurred. “Timmy, maybe you should slow down a bit.” As you were speaking, the ABBA remix playing faded into Kid Cudi, and you watched as your words fell onto deaf ears. Timothee’s face lit up and he shouted, “FUCK YEAH!” raising his free arm above his head. Your eyes followed his movements as he sang along to every word, big grin on his face, never stopping to breath; only pausing for a sip of his drink.   Before you knew what was happening, your back was against the wall and Timothee’s lips on yours. But just as quickly as he had kissed you, he was pulling back, flicking his hair back and shouting the next lyric through a tipsy grin. As the chorus started for a second time, he caught sight of you watching him, wide eyed and in a daze, and set his empty glass down as you reached to grab his waist. He stepped in to kiss you again; this time harder, longer and deeper.   The remainder of the night became hazier and hazier; only blurred visions of licking salt off the back of your hand and clinking shot glasses, jumping and spinning around the dance floor, and your fingers getting caught in Timothee’s salty curls remained. * An instant ache shot through the middle of your forehead as you blinked your eyes open, and you groaned. Sheer confusion washed over you, your mind unable to piece together where you were or what day it was, until you spotted a familiar black backpack against the wall and a bottle of cologne on the dresser. Ah, Timothee’s place. Timothee’s bed, to be specific. Slowly rolling over and rubbing your eyes to look behind you, you discovered you had the bed to yourself. The other side was practically untouched, blankets still tucked under the mattress. A door creaked open, and Timothee emerged from the adjoining bathroom, dragging his feet behind him. Seeing you were awake, he changed course and climbed onto the intact side of the bed, mumbling out, ‘Morning’ in a deep, soft voice. He sat with his back to you, and the one hand cradled to your chest itched to reach forward and trace down his spine. You weren’t sure where the urge came from. Maybe because of the way his hooded eyes, drunk on tequila and European air, remained locked on yours for hours last night. How his strawberry lips sponged kisses on your cheek and neck as you waited at the bar. How his hands had so delicately clasped around your cheeks when he kissed you for real over and over and over again. It would’ve been so easy to push back the covers, walk your fingers across the mattress; to drag them up and down his back or affectionately twist the ends of his hair. But Timothee was leaning back against his pillows to lie down beside you before you could muster up the courage to do so. With interlaced fingers resting on his bare chest, he looked over to you. “How did we get home last night?” You yawned, nestling further down into the pillows. “We walked, remember?” “Oh, shit.” Timothee nodded, pursing his lips with a hum. “I feel like shit.” “You drank a lot last night,” you said softly. He licked his lips, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck.” He stayed like that for a few moments, rubbing his face, and you wondered if he’d forgotten anything else from the previous night.   “I should probably go back to mine.” He dropped his hands back to his chest, looking over again, voice gentle as he spoke. “You can stay if you want.” “No, I should go and have a shower,” you told him, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out. Timothee’s fingertips ghosted over your neck with a small smile, and you instinctively moved your head back from under his sudden touch. “What?” He shook his head, bringing his hand back to its resting place on his chest, eyes still lazily drooped as he enquired about your plans for the rest of the evening. You pushed yourself up to sit against the headboard, your hand subconsciously hovering over the spot Timothee’s had just been. “You know we have work on Monday, right? I’d like to read my lines at least once before then.” After pointing out you brought your script out with you the previous say, he added, “You have all of Sunday for that.”   You pursed your lips with a sigh. He rolled over, holding his head up with his hand. “Come on, y/n.” You evidently didn’t need much convincing, because a few hours later, you were meeting Timothee for ice cream. Desserts in hand, you found a small table outside the ice cream parlour, shaded from the orange glow of late afternoon sun by an umbrella. The two of you sat looking out at the streets, sunglasses hiding both of your dark, hungover eyes, observing the strangers passing by. And when you had the chance, you stole glances at the boy sitting across from you. When you met him out the front of the hotel, his formerly dry, sandy hair was now shiny, the ends still a little damp. He smelled fresh when you hugged him, and his jumper was soft on your cheek. He’d complimented your turtle neck top, which reminded you… “By the way,” you said, pulling Timothee’s attention from the open roads to you, “I’m not too happy with you, Timothee.” He frowned, taking another lick of his ice cream. “What the fuck did I do?” You teasingly held his stare. “Oh, I don’t know,” you said, pulling down the high neck of your top to reveal your purple stained skin. A shy smile overtook Timothee’s face and he shrugged, laughing awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry?” “Funny is it?” you mused, sliding your sunglasses down your nose to look over the frames at him. Timothee licked his melting ice cream, then said, “No, but now that you mention it, y/n, I’m mad at you too.” You slid your glasses all the way off, placing them down on the table. “Really? Why’s that?” Timothee, with a cocky smile, tugged down the chunky collar of his sweater, revealing a light bruise at the very base of his neck. You instinctively lowered your face and hid your eyes behind your free hand. “Oh my god.” Through the cracks between your fingers, you saw him smiling, bringing his cone back up to his mouth. “Forgot about that, did you?”   Dropping your hands with a laugh, you reached forward, using your thumb to push back his collar again and run your thumb over the mark you left on his pale skin. “Sorry,” you mumbled with a little pout. With an exaggerated sigh, looking up to make eye contact with Timothee, you added, “What is wrong with us?” He laughed, putting his hand on your wrist and running his thumb over your skin. “It’s alright. I forgive you.” You shook your head in mock disapproval, but there was a buzzing in your chest as you felt his lingering eyes and warm skin on yours.   You strolled back to the hotel in comfortable silence. Despite being a bundle of nerves, it was nice being with him. He made you think, and he made you feel. A man adorned in a billowing linen shirt sat on the side of the street, guitar in hand, singing a sombre tune. You slowed down along with the few other strangers who had paused to listen to the man’s song, Timothee a few paces behind you, taking his sunglasses off as he slowed. A few moments passed, and Timothee leaned down from his place behind you so that he could speak softly in your ear. “He’s singing about his lover.” Timothee paused to listen to the next line. “He doesn’t want to live without them… he feels empty… and sick… he- he’s waiting for her but… he knows she’s gone for good.” Turning over your shoulder, you pouted up at Timothee, who reciprocated the expression. “That’s so sad.” Timothee nodded. His hair flopped over his cheek, and you noticed his eyes sparkling in the golden cast of evening light. Over his shoulder, a couple held each other, longingly looking into each other’s eyes, tenderly touching each other’s cheeks. As a loaded weight settled on your chest, you looked back up at Timothee. The space between his eyebrows slightly creased and he smiled. “What?” Clicking your tongue against your teeth, and shaking your head, you answered, “Nothing.” You both knew it wasn’t nothing. With a sigh, you snuck your hand between his arm and body, grabbing onto his forearm to lead him away. “Alright, I only agreed to ice cream. Let’s go.” It was quiet when you got to your floor of the hotel, so you tried to be as silent as possible climbing the stairs, so other guests weren’t disturbed. You and Timothee were work colleagues, and friends, and his room was only ten steps further down the hall, and you were almost positive that you’d definitely be seeing him again the next day; but as he lingered by your door as you rummaged in your bag for your key, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad you were saying goodbye. Once you retrieved your key, you looked up at him with a smile. “Alright,” you said softly. “This is where I leave you.” Timothee stood by your door, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes stuck on your face. He wasn’t budging, and you weren’t game enough to break first. His messy curls flopped over his eyes again, and you pushed them back behind his ears. He held onto your wrist, slowly lowering it down to your sides. Relationships with colleagues could get messy. Everybody knew that. What does this mean for us? The words were caught in your throat. You wanted to ask; to say it out loud. But you couldn’t bring yourself to form them. Why couldn’t you just be okay with enjoying the moment? Timothee inched his head closer to yours slowly, almost unsure if it was okay. You kept your eyes lowered. “Timothee,” you whispered. “Yes,” he whispered back, resting his forehead on yours. You slowly shook your head. “I can’t.” “Why?” You didn’t respond right away, eyes still focused towards the ground, and he nudged the side of your nose with his, then pulled back from you. “Hmm?” You sighed, closing your eyes and lifting your face to his. Very slowly, he took the sides of your face into his hands. Static in the air charged your movements as his lips grazed against yours. Somehow, you simultaneously had both a million things to say, yet nothing at all. You settled on hugging him, chin resting over his shoulder. It was nice hugging him; to have him holding you close. “Good night, Timmy,” you muttered, eventually breaking free. “Good night,” he said in reply, hands sliding out from around your waist. With tingling lips, you stood up on your toes for a second to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth once more. You unlocked your door, and while slipping inside your room, you looked over one last time at Timothee smiling. “Good night.”

[viagostalons]

thank you @sleepy-skittles i definitely needed this after yesterday's awfulness

I wasn't sure what to write for this at first but I think I finally figured it out - this is longer than I thought it would be oops, maybe I should put it on ao3 idk

Rovinsky + “this isn’t our actual first kiss but it is our first important kiss”

The first time he ever kissed Kavinsky it had been after a race.

Gansey hadn't wanted him to go but he'd been feeling an itch burn beneath his skin. He'd needed to crawl out of Monmouth and away from morality for the nighty came for him a second time, Ronan shoved him again, and again, and again, until his fingers curled in Kavinsky's tanktop and he dragged him in for a kiss. The taste of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol swathed over his tongue and the smell still makes him a bit woozy even now.

After the first kiss, they'd parted and didn't speak of it again.

The second time he kissed Kavinsky had been during a substance party.

Gansey hadn't wanted him to go but he'd been feeling an itch burn beneath his skin. He'd needed to crawl out of Monmouth and away from morality for the night. He'd arrived at Kavinsky's party where he'd been asked to produce a substance.

"Here's your fucking substance, asshole," Ronan growled before laying a wet kiss on Kavinsky's mouth before he could protest.

He can still remember how the boys' jeered all around them. How Kavinsky's body stiffened and then relaxed in his arms. His own flushed reflection staring back at him in Kavinsky's mirrored shades when they parted.

For a second time, they parted and didn't bring it up again.

The third time he kissed Kavinsky had been in a dream.

They met in his dream space, standing together in the woods. Kavinsky had grinned at him, wild and boyish. His shades were gone and for once, Ronan couldn't tell if Kavinsky was inebriated. All he knew was he'd laughed and said, his voice teetering into derisive, "You want to kiss me so bad."

The worst part was Kavinsky was right. He rolled his eyes and pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around Kavinsky's slim waist. He felt Kavinsky press something into his hand and when Ronan woke and could move again, he'd shifted his gaze to his palm to see what it held.

A small little orb hovered over his palm. Inside, Ronan could see galaxies swirl. Their own little secret.

The fourth time he kissed Kavinsky had been much later. After high school, after Adam graduated from Harvard, and when they both moved to Boston to chase Adam's career. He hadn't expected to see Kavinsky ever again after a falling out their senior year of high school. He never expected Joseph Kavinsky to become a part of his life again.

Boston wasn't exactly where he thought he would be calling home either but Adam had found a job in the city and Declan had moved in with his artist girlfriend Jordan in the same area. Despite his claims of hating Declan, Ronan could never quite shake his need to be around family.

So, Ronan made a life here.

At times, he would travel around to the country to escape the city's oppressive atmosphere, working on farms and volunteering his time at animal sanctuaries. He made friends with a girl named Hennessy on accident while Adam was at work. They hit it off when she hopped into his car and told him to drive, drive, drive.

Afterward, they ended up in the apartment he shared with Adam and she laughed hysterically when she found out his name. "Ronan Lynch?" she'd cackled. "Your Declan's brother."

They'd bonded even further when they both found out they were dreamers.

A night of dreaming left them both buzzing and wanting, feeling drunk without having to drink, they winded up in a tattoo shop. Proclaiming they would get matching tattoos, even if Ronan had no intention of letting anything on his body match someone else. Hennessy was taken off to one room and Ronan to another where he'd come face to face with a boy - now a man - he hadn't seen in six years.

Joseph Kavinsky gave him his second tattoo.

Joseph Kavinsky also gave him his third tattoo and fourth tattoo. Ronan kept returning for more ink and Kavinsky's talented hands.

"You want to kiss him again, don't you?" Adam had asked one night after Ronan spent hours talking about Kavinsky's shop.

Maybe he did but he quickly denied it. Adam only smiled at him; the kind of smile which left him feeling stripped despite being fully dressed.

"It's okay if you do," Adam whispered. "I'm secure in us."

Ronan returned for a sixth tattoo and they were at the shop until past closing. Kavinsky locked up once they were done and Ronan stole the fourth kiss. He pressed him against the BMW and kissed fast.

"What are you doing?" Kavinsky had asked.

He didn't know. They parted again for the fourth time but unlike the other times, this last one haunted him. It followed him around and entered his dreams.

Hennessy told him to just fuck Kavinsky and get it over with. Adam told him to ask Kavinsky on a date and get it over with. Gansey told him he really needed to focus on himself and get over it.

Ronan could not get over it.

Which is how he ended up standing out of Kavinsky's shop, staring at the Open sign, and trying to talk himself into walking in. It's been two weeks since their fourth kiss - not that he's been counting.

He takes a step closer to the shop and then backs off, before pacing back and forth in front of it, until the sound of the door opening makes him freeze and spin around. Kavinsky stands there, his head tilted to the side, looking ridiculously kissable in the afternoon sun.

"Lynch? What the hell are you doing?"

Ronan stammers, wishing he could formulate words but they're failing. He knows two languages and can't even formulate one sentence.

Kavinsky raises an eyebrow. "Is it your tattoo?"

"No," he finally manages. "No- the tattoo is great." He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his scuffed combat boots. "K..."

"Yes?"

He wants to ask Kavinsky out but he has no idea how to do it. Of course, Adam had been the one to kiss him. Then, they'd just started being boyfriends; there had never been an 'asking out' process. Everything had just happened.

"Look, I have clients coming..." Kavinsky starts but Ronan steps in and kisses him again to shut him up.

There's a moment where Kavinsky stands there, stunned, not kissing him back but then they both relax into it and Kavinsy releases the door so they can step into each other's space. They kiss hungrily until they're both breathless and pulling away for air.

"Shit," Kavinsky gasps. He reaches up to touch his lips, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

Ronan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a matching miniature galaxy sphere and places it in Kavinsky's palm. "Text me."

Their parting less like shrapnel now and more like waves longing for the return to the shore.

A text comes later in the evening and Ronan practically dives for his phone which if Adam had been home, he'd be fairly embarrassed.

-> so about that kiss

Ronan's heart flutters as he types back, glad Kavinsky stole his number from his paperwork. Of course, he's never changed his number, maybe Kavinsky still had it from Before.

<- yea?

-> are you sure you want to do this? are you sure you want to get to know me? pretty sure you hated my guts at the end of hs

<- i did but tbf you were a piece of shit

-> thanks

<- so was i

-> we both were

<- i suck at apologies man so idk if you're wanting one or what

-> i'll take another kiss instead

<- when?

-> whenever you want to give it to me

Ronan chews his bottom lip and sends Kavinsky a final text, asking him to come over. He sends over his address and mentally makes a note to tell Kavinsky everything.

About Adam. About their life here. About their agreement. They can make it work.

The sixth time, arguably the first important time happens six months later. Sunday, the shop is closed, and they're standing in The Insitute of Contemporary Art, staring at artworks by an artist Hennessy is currently obsessing over. The rain outside is partially what drove them indoors to start with but Ronan supposes it kills two birds with one stone.

"I don't get it," Kavinsky says while he tilts his head back and forth.

"I don't think you're supposed to." Ronan turns away from the art so he can look at Kavinsky instead. He studies Kavinsky's profile, his sharp nose, and soft lips. The way his brow creases together while he looks at the painting.

"Pretty sure it's supposed to be about something important- Ronan-." Kavinsky gasps when Ronan turns him to face him. "You almost knocked me on my ass."

"You're fine," Ronan replies. He presses his forehead lightly to Kavinsky's, squeezing his hand where he holds Kavinsky's smaller one in his own. "I'm gonna say something and you're going to think I'm insane."

Kavinsky rolls his eyes. "Are you going to say you like this painting because it's fucking ugly."

"I love you."

Kavinsky blinks, clearly looking like he needs to reboot. "Excuse me?"

"I know it sounds insane but I do, I love you." Ronan blushes, wishing he hadn't spoken at all. Telling Adam he loved him had happened quickly and with ease because he knew it to be true. Now, he's standing at the precipice of loving someone else, someone he'd never expected to love but he does all the same.

"You don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "I don't expect you to... I just wanted you to kno-." Ronan cuts off because Kavinsky is kissing him. They kiss in front of a Jeff Koons which he's sure Declan would shudder at and he knows Hennessy will laugh at. They kiss until Ronan feels dizzy and when they part, he almost has to sit down.

"Fuck," Ronan whispers.

Kavinsky's face is flushed and he clears his throat, slowly turning to look at the painting again but Ronan feels him squeeze his hand subtly. "So, what do you think this means again?"

Ronan smirks and squeezes back. "I think it fucking sucks but let's go ask Parrish."

Hearing Kavinsky laugh is enough to make everything worth it.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

wings & the way down - part 3

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan 

Word Count: 2190 this chapter

Warnings: None, really!

A/N: This fills the “jealousy” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Series masterlist is here. 

Sunday, January 5 - Spencer

Spencer doesn’t want to stay inside a minute longer than he has to. He can’t stay. He feels like his skin is a few sizes too small, and he’s itching with the discomfort of existing in his own body, and everything that’s rattling around inside his head is fizzing dangerously like bubbles in a shaken bottle of champagne. 

So he walks. 

This is what he’s done for over a decade now. In the last decade, Spencer has walked every street in this neighborhood more times than he wants to count. 

Spencer used to make up stories as he walked. When he was young, they were about the families who lived inside, the snatches of other people’s lives he saw as he passed. Later, he used to picture himself in those houses. He tried to imagine being someone else; who would he be, if he’d grown up in a different home, with a different family? Who would he be, if he was normal? 

He tries not to think about that any more. There’s no point being jealous of someone who doesn’t exist. 

He turns onto Lake Road, and then he almost turns around. 

This is creepy. Isn’t it? It’s creepy as hell. More importantly, why should he care whether Derek wants to see him? For all he knows, Derek didn’t show up at the park either. They’re never going to see each other again. There’s no reason for Spencer to care. 

He does care, though. 

The flip side of it is: they’re never going to see each other again. What does he have to lose? 

There’s something liberating about that thought. Derek doesn’t know him, and better yet, he never saw Spencer get shut in a locker. Derek wasn’t there when Charlie Hankel stole all Spencer’s clothes while he showered after gym class. Derek doesn’t remember any of the things Spencer would like to forget. 

Aside from Emily, everyone in Spencer’s class has known him for almost four years now. They all know him a little too well. 

Still, his heart is pounding uncomfortably as he passes #8 (big, sturdy mailbox, "the Hotchners”) and #10 (cheerful yellow mailbox, no name) and finally stops at #12 (small, tidy dark green mailbox, with “MORGAN” on the front). He almost turns around there, and then again (three more times) as he walks up the concrete path to the front door. 

This feels reckless. Spencer’s not sure what got into him today; he’s never reckless. 

He rings the doorbell and bounces on the balls of his feet. It’s one of those doorbells that actually chimes out a little tune, and he can hear it, muffled, inside the house. 

Nobody’s home, and that’s fine. It’s fine. Spencer’s just gonna go — well, he’s not going home, but he’s leaving. It’s fine. 

But he hears footsteps, and someone is shouting, “Coming, sorry, I thought you said two!”

Then the door is flung open, and Derek is standing there, and his smile drops when he sees who it is. Spencer’s stomach feels like he’s falling from the top of a very tall building. 

“Um. Hi?” His voice cracks. He raises one hand in an awkward wave, cheeks burning, and realizes he has no idea what to say. “I just — I figured — um. I wanted to say sorry? Assuming… you even showed up on Friday, which, for all I know you didn’t, but. Believe me, I really really wanted to show up on Friday. And… I don’t know what to say.” His voice trails off and then he admits, “I didn’t plan this far ahead.” 

“Yeah, I showed up on Friday,” Derek says quietly. He looks… unsteady, almost. Not sure what he feels. 

Spencer looks down at his ratty Chucks and repeats, “I’m sorry.” There’s a long pause, and he can’t bring himself to look up again. “I’ll just— I’ll just go, sorry, this was—”

He’s already turning around when Derek laughs and asks, “Really? You gonna ditch me again?” 

“Oh.” Spencer’s so startled he almost loses his balance pivoting to face him again. 

Derek’s smiling. It’s a different smile than the one he had on when he answered the door, and it’s tugging at his mouth slowly like he’s not sure why it’s there, but he’s smiling. “You wanna come in?”

“Oh.” Spencer blinks. “Sure.” 

There’s music playing from upstairs, hip-hop with a heavy bass beat, and Derek tells him, “Hang on, let me grab that.” He takes the stairs two at a time, and Spencer looks around bemusedly. 

The house is so… normal. It’s clean without being overwhelmingly so, and it’s full of light, and all the furniture looks like it was bought new, from a catalog. It’s so painfully normal that Spencer’s stomach twists up in knots. This is exactly the sort of life he used to imagine for himself. 

What is he doing here? 

“Hey, you okay?” Derek asks, as he comes back down the stairs. 

Spencer forces a smile. “Fine, just — having a weird day.” 

“My auntie and uncle are at church, so I figured I’d crank up the volume while I could,” Derek says sheepishly, holding a little Bluetooth speaker that was — presumably — the source of the music. “What sort of stuff do you like?” 

Spencer shrugs. Most of the music he knows comes from his mom, and he can’t really think about her right now without that cold clenching feeling around his ribcage. 

Maybe Derek can see how out of place Spencer feels here, because he leads the way out the back door, over to a big rope hammock strung up between two slim trees in the back of the neat lawn, and he falls back on it almost carelessly, sprawling out while still scrolling through something on the phone. 

“What were you listening to before?” Spencer asks. 

“Nas. You know him?” He grins up at Spencer, that bright-white dazzling grin, and Spencer perches next to him on the hammock. 

“Not at all, but… we can listen to that, if you want.” 

Derek sets the speaker on the ground, loud enough to hear but not too loud to talk over, and Spencer listens curiously as he lays back, hands folded on his stomach, looking up at the clear blue sky through the leaves. 

“When I stand somebody up, I don’t usually come to their house after to apologize,” Derek says tentatively. “Which… makes me think you might actually have a good excuse.”  

Spencer turns his head, and Derek is mirroring his position, looking right back at him. Their arms are just a couple inches apart, and Spencer feels acutely aware of his body. 

“I sorta had a… family crisis,” Spencer tells him. “My mom — we had to go out of town, and we didn’t get back until this morning.” 

He braces himself for questions, but Derek just half-smiles and nods slightly, looking back up at the sky. “Listen to this bit right here.” He kicks his foot idly, and the hammock rocks back and forth, lazy and gentle. 

“That’s a remarkably complex internal rhyme,” Spencer says, and Derek laughs out loud. 

“A+ literary analysis.” 

Spencer blushes. He’s dealt with a lot of teasing in his life, but this is so, so different. Derek’s elbow nudges against his, and when Spencer turns his head, he sees a broad smile that gives him butterflies. 

“I like it,” he says shyly. 

They’re quiet for a moment, listening. All that strange restlessness has faded, and Spencer likes it here; he likes the fence that surrounds most of the yard, hiding them from view, and he likes the pressure of the rope digging into his back, and he likes the way Derek looks at him. 

They listen in silence until the end of the song, and then Derek asks, “What’s your favorite book?” 

“I don’t know if I can choose a favorite. What’s yours?” 

He says it almost sheepishly: “Mother Night. Vonnegut.” 

“That’s an interesting choice,” Spencer says, thinking it over. 

“How do you mean?” 

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be,” Spencer quotes. 

Derek makes a face and looks up at the sky. “What, you gonna psychoanalyze me now?” 

“Why? What do you think it says about you?” Spencer counters, before he can think better of it. 

Derek laughs and says, begrudgingly, “That maybe I can identify with that. Pretending for the sake of self-preservation.” 

“I don’t know you all that well, but you don’t seem — I don’t know. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would need to pretend.” He wonders if it’s too much, if he’s being presumptuous. Derek looks self-conscious now. 

“But doesn’t everybody do that, to some extent? I mean… trying to fit in. Everybody pretends a little bit.”  

“I don’t, really,” Spencer tells him. “I wish I could, but… I don’t really know how to be anybody else.” There’s a note of bitterness in it that he can’t quite hide. 

“Is it weird that I’m jealous?”  

“You really shouldn’t be,” Spencer tells him. He mulls that over for a second and adds, “I do pretend when it comes to… how I feel. I don’t like showing when I’m upset. It doesn’t work the same way, though, because pretending I’m fine really doesn’t ever make me fine.” 

Derek snorts. “Yeah, I feel you.” 

“I imagine who I could be. I imagine what my life could be like somewhere else, or as someone else,” Spencer admits, which isn’t something he’d usually just say like that, but talking to Derek doesn’t seem to have the same rules as talking to most people. “It’s not the same as pretending, but... “ 

“Huh.” 

Spencer feels strange — oddly vulnerable and raw — and maybe Derek does too, because he’s got a soft, wistful expression on his face when he turns his head. They look at each other for a moment. Spencer knows he must be blushing. 

Then Derek’s phone rings, loud and startling through the speaker, and Derek seems to shake himself before fumbling with the buttons. 

“Hey,” he says, and pauses. “Oh — no, that’s fine. Cool. See you soon.” 

Which sounds like Spencer’s cue to go. He doesn’t really want to. 

He sits up, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I should —” 

“My friend,” Derek says, and he actually sounds disappointed. “A friend is coming over, sorry, I didn’t — you could stay, if you want?” 

Derek’s been here for how long now? And he already has more friends in the area than Spencer’s made in years? 

“Nah, it’s fine, I should get back to  —” To my life. Because this isn’t mine, as much as I’d like it to be. “— home.” 

“Can we hang out again sometime?” Derek asks. The hammock is sagging in the middle, where their weight is pulling it down, and when Derek sits up they slide closer, the sides of their legs press together, warm and distracting. 

“You’re staying here?” Spencer asks, more breathless than he’d like. 

Derek smiles. “Yeah, for a while.” 

Before Spencer can ask questions, Derek’s passing him the phone, and he taps his number in carefully. 

“That’s me.” He clears his throat. 

“I’ll text you,” Derek says, typing, and a second later, Spencer feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket. 

Maybe it’s all the talk about pretending — maybe if Spencer pretends to be confident, he will be, someday — maybe it’s the recklessness that brought him here in the first place — something possesses Spencer, and in a moment of courage (or stupidity) he leans over and kisses Derek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth, right where his smile curves up. 

Spencer’s so shocked at his own daring that he can’t really take it in; he gets the briefest impression of soft, and then he’s pulling back, ice-cold with the adrenaline rush. 

They both freeze for a second, blinking at each other. Just as Derek shifts, opening his mouth to say something, Spencer jumps to his feet. 

“Bye,” he chokes out, and turns, fighting the urge to run. 

“See you soon, pretty boy,” Derek calls after him. 

Spencer’s hands are shaking as he walks quickly around the side of the house. He stares intently down at his shoes, because he’s not going to do something like a little Snoopy dance of joy until he’s sure he’s on the next block and fully out of view. 

He almost collides with someone on the sidewalk; he gets an impression of blonde hair and pink shoes as she squeaks with alarm and jumps out of his way. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says breathlessly, without stopping. 

She chirps out a cheerful, “No biggie!” 

When Spencer looks back, she’s ringing the Morgans’ doorbell, and there’s this awful bitter thing in the back of his throat as he realizes that that’s Derek’s “friend.”

It makes perfect sense, though. What did he expect? 

Spencer swallows his envy and keeps walking. 

.

.

.

[butsomeofusarelookingatthestars]

Forgotten: Part 1

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

AN/ I actually did it! Here’s Part 1 which hopefully sets the scene. I’m hoping to update this fortnightly on a Sunday evening. Big plans ahead! I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think x

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your back aching as you leant back in your chair to survey the empty room. The warm glow of your desk lamp was oddly comforting in the dimly lit office. Darkness pressed up against the windows and you could hear the bustling street outside, cars beeping and late-night revellers bristling with delight as they poured into the local bars. 

A part of you wished you were alongside them. 

Ping!

You glanced at your computer screen, your lips curving into a small smile as you scanned the email that had just come through. Another piece of the puzzle. 

Questioning and investigating had always been interests of yours. Even when you were young, your childhood games had consisted of mystery solving. Every school report had highlighted your natural curiosity and ability to challenge authority...or ‘backtalk’ as the teachers had put it. But journalism hadn’t even crossed your mind until your English teacher had encouraged you to take a work experience placement at a local paper.

You hadn’t looked back since. 

The long hours at university, the endless reports and tiresome essays had all been worth it to achieve your goal of becoming a fully fledged journalist at an independent news association. It wasn’t as glamorous as the movies made out. Most days were spent crammed into tiny offices with colleagues, chasing dead-end leads or struggling to piece together articles in time to make deadlines.

Pressure came with the job, but you had increasingly found yourself addicted to the thrill of uncovering secrets, holding the powerful to account and sharing truth with others. If you could make a difference in your own little corner of the world, you had to do it. 

It gave you a purpose.

“Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?” 

You almost jumped in surprise, too caught up in your emails to notice your boss staring at you in amusement from across the office. He gave you a knowing grin. 

“Another late night Y/N? I admire your determination, but you have to take a time out sometimes.” 

“I’m just finishing up a lead.” You explained, gesturing at your computer. “I’ll be done soon.” 

He flashed you a disbelieving look. He really did know you too well. 

“I promise.” You told him, smiling softly as he nodded in agreement. 

RING

You glanced down at your phone, your heart sinking as you recognised the Caller ID. Apparently your boss sensed your change of mood straight away. 

“I bet I know who that will be.” He said, gazing at you sympathetically. “Make sure you call it a night afterwards. You need some time to yourself sometimes Y/N.”

You nodded in agreement, your fingers already itching to take the call. “Will do.” You gave your boss a small smile as he waved goodbye, flashing once last concerned glance behind his shoulder as he disappeared into the elevator.

You took a deep breath before accepting the call. “Hi Anne, how are you doing?”

The familiar guilt began to build up as you heard her strained voice. It never got easier talking to victim’s families. In fact, with each one it got harder to accept that yet another family was experiencing unimaginable pain. 

“I know. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you.” You spoke softly, pausing for a moment as you heard her begin to cry. “Have you spoken to the support worker I put you in touch with?” 

Luke stifled a yawn, rubbing his eyes furiously in an effort to stay alert. It was late even by his standards, but he desperately wanted to finish writing up his reports for the day. For some reason, despite being a member of the BAU for the past year he still felt the need to impress. 

To go above and beyond had always been part of his job. Besides it was nothing compared to the 75th Ranger Regiment. At least this job didn’t involve warzones. Sometimes he felt himself missing the action of the military, but soon after joining the BAU he had realised how rewarding it was to work closely with his colleagues. 

Hunting down criminals was something that came naturally to him. Protecting others was something he felt like he had to do. 

He let out a sigh as his gaze fell upon his file. The victims’ names appearing to loom out at him. The downside to the job? At times, it did also mean getting too close for comfort with unsubs. Getting inside their heads became increasingly uncomfortable the more he got to know victims and their families.

“I know why I’m here...why are you?”

He jumped at the sound of Emily’s voice, flashing her an amused grin. Trust his Unit Chief to be the only FBI superior complaining about their team working late. 

“I just wanted to finish up before heading home.” He told her, chuckling as she shot him a disbelieving look.

“Well, consider it an order from me to go. Linda Barnes can’t force us all to stay chained to our desks.” She joked, rolling her eyes sarcastically at the mere mention of their troublesome superior. “Besides I’m sure Roxy will be happy to see you!”

Luke let out a bark of laughter. The sound of his mum complaining about him settling down popped into his head. When will you have someone other than Roxy to return home to mi hijo? 

He nodded in agreement. “I’m sure she will.” He replied, holding his hands up in defeat. “Just let me finish this update for one of the families first.” 

Emily’s eyes softened at his words. She gave him an understanding nod. She knew how much it meant. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” 

Luke gave her a small smile of appreciation before he turned his attention back to his work. It was important to him to communicate with families - whether it was an update about court proceedings against unsubs, appeals information or just to check in with them at difficult times. 

It wasn't as if he were addicted to his job. But it could at times be all consuming. After all, it was difficult not to think about the dark nature of the BAU and the suffering of victims. 

Perhaps it had been what had happened to Phil that fuelled his pursuit? He knew what the pain of losing a love one felt like. So, he wanted to do everything in his power to ease the suffering for others.

He understood. It would never be enough.

“I bring spoils of victory!” You sang happily as you entered the newsroom, a box of delicious smelling doughnuts in hand. “I got the best of Maxine’s freshly baked goods.”

Cheers rung out and you laughed softly at the sheer delight on your colleagues faces. It was always appreciated to have a special pick-me-up in the office. The job could feel overwhelming at times and, despite the pressure, you all pulled together and worked closely to help one another.

Showing your affection with sugary goods was always well received. 

“You’re the best Y/N!” Your friend Jennifer exclaimed, grinning widely as she eagerly picked up a doughnut from the box you offered her. “Anything you need help with this week, just give me a shout.”

“Careful, I may take you up on that.” You replied, flashing her a teasing smile. The two of you had always been close friends and, as colleagues, you worked together well. You were there when she needed a push and she was there when things got tough you...which seemed to be happening more recently.  

“Please never move jobs Y/N.” Archie, a fellow journalist who covered local politics, joked as he enthusiastically tucked into his selection. “This office wouldn’t last a minute without you...or the doughnuts.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully before taking a seat at your desk. A contented smile crossed your face as you took in the jubilant atmosphere. It was nice to have days like this.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last. 

Your phone rung out loudly prompting Archie and Jen to flash you nervous glances. But you ignored them, taking a deep breath before answering the call. 

"Y/N Y/L/N speaking...”

“There’s a breaking story.”

It was another early start for the BAU team as they sat around the bullpen. They had all gotten the dreaded message from Emily earlier that they’d received a new case. However, she seemed to have been trapped in meetings with the FBI higher-ups for the past thirty minutes...which meant there was something much bigger at play than a regular case. 

“I’m just saying newbie, if you insist on wearing shirts like that? Expect it to be noted.” 

Luke rolled his eyes holding up his hands in playful surrender. “Ouch! I didn’t realise my fashion taste would be such an offensive to you Garcia.” 

The trendy blonde surveyed him with curiosity, flicking her fluffy pen at his chest teasingly. “You call a grey plaid shirt fashion taste newbie?” 

JJ flashed Luke a sympathetic glance, but still joined in with the rest of the team’s laughter as Luke merely shrugged his shoulders in defeat and chuckled warmly. Even when he was being teased for his lack of interest in clothes, it felt nice to be part of the team. 

Sadly their good news didn’t last as Emily approached them, glancing in concern as her FBI superiors filed out of her office. Linda Barnes flashed them an icy glare before moving towards the exit.

“We have a case. It’s a bad one.”

AN/ There you have it! Spoiler: their paths will cross haha! Sorry for the delay. This was meant to be up on Sunday, but I’m still working full-time so by the time I get to the weekend I’m usually too exhausted to write. Thanks for sticking with me. I know there’s not much going on, but please let me know what you guys think - storyline, characters, length of chapter (I’m agonising over this haha!), whatever you want to share. x

Taglist:

@aimzonicles97​, @reidsstudies​, @exceptionallytiredzombie​, @illegalcerebral, @captaintightpants58​, @abitofeverythinggg​

[ronninoir]

Can I Steal You for a Second CH28

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Chapter 28

The van ride back to the mansion was blissful. Marinette was giddy about how well her conversation went with Adrien. The whole night was wonderful, and the icing on the cake was that she didn’t even have to pretend to like Lila since the two never spent any alone time together.

 As she walked in the front doors, Marinette heard a scream and was tackled with a hug. “Thank God you came back! I don’t know if I could have handled it if you went home and left me with Lila alone!” the voice of Juliette moaned as she squeezed the life out of Marinette. When Juliette finally let her go, she was greeted by Lucie as well, who hugged her enthusiastically.

The two girls dragged Marinette to the couch and asked her for every detail about the three-on-one date. She told them all of the awkward details, all except her declaration of love for the cameras. That she wanted to keep to herself a little longer. Right as she finished explaining that she didn’t know who had gone home because she left before she could find out, the door opened. All three girls held their breath, only to let out a small sigh as Lila entered the room.

Lila paused on her way towards the stairs and gave a curt, “What are you three staring at?” before disappearing out of sight.

Juliette just rolled her eyes and carried on like there had been no interruption. “Oh well, we can’t have everything in life.” Marinette and Lucie both began laughing as Lila huffily reentered the room.

She sat down on the couch and crossed her arms, quickly followed by Victoria, who was armed with her signature clipboard. 

“Great, now that we’re all here, we can discuss what next week is going to look like.” She conferred with her clipboard for a moment before continuing. “As you know, the next stop on your journey is Hometowns, where Adrien gets to meet your parents. The dates have already been planned for you as well as the locations, which will be in your town but not your house, for safety reasons, except for Miss Dupain-Cheng.” The other three girls turned and looked at Marinette, but she just shrugged, not understanding what made her different from the rest.

Victoria moved on as if nothing had happened. “That means you will get to see your family for the first time as well. You are not permitted to stay the night with them. You will wake up the morning of your Hometown in your assigned hotel room in your hometown, and you will come back the night of to that same room, are we clear?” 

Every girl gave a mumbled, “Yes ma’am,” before Lila spoke up, “What about my parents? Are we going to Italy and for how long?” Her voice was strained and she didn’t seem very excited about seeing her parents again.

“They are already notified of what is to come and they will be arriving in France a day prior to your Hometown and the leaving the day after shooting.” Victoria said, matter-of-factly. Victoria finally looked up from her clipboard and made eye contact with all of the girls, “Any other questions?” Marinette had a couple of questions, but she didn’t want to ask in front of the other girls and embarrass herself. Victoria gave a satisfied smile and seemed to relax a little. “Anyway, I wanted to congratulate you four for making it this far. We appreciate your dedication to Adrien and to the journey and I hope you’ll be patient with us, as these next few weeks are very critical to the success of the show and everything that happens from here on out will be closely monitored.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the room.

The girls sat quietly for a moment, allowing what was just said to soak in. Lila was the first one out of the room, and the other girls soon followed, wishing the others goodnight.

Marinette laid in her bed, with Tikki on the pillow next to her, thinking about Victoria’s final words. “Do you think they’ll notice when you disappear as Ladybug?” Tikki asked, voicing the question Marinette was pondering.

“Honest, Tik, I don’t know. I’m just going to have to be more careful, I guess, and hope that no one finds out.”

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

The next three days felt longer than normal. Without the cocktail party to stress about Friday and Saturday, the days stretched on and on. By Sunday afternoon Marinette was itching to transform. Right before she could escape, she was cornered by a random producer who wanted to officially inform her that her Hometown date would occur Monday, since she was the only local girl and Lila’s parents couldn’t fly in until Thursday.

Realizing that she only had mere hours before truly seeing her parents again made her want to jump and scream with excitement. She had miss them so much, even though they were minutes away from where she was now, it was still exciting to think that soon she would see them with Adrien in tow.

The thought of Adrien meeting her parents gave her butterflies. She knew that she was in it for the long haul, but it was still weird to think that she’d been in a relationship with Adrien long enough for parents to be involved.

As she rounded the corner to her room and walked inside, a horrible thought struck. “What if they don’t like him?” Marinette asked the room at large. 

Thankfully, only Tikki answered, “What if who doesn’t like whom?”

Marinette met Tikki’s eyes, and she must have looked truly worried, because Tikki immediately flew next to Marinette, offering up one of her precious cookies. “What if my parents don’t like Adrien? Like how are they to know that he’s my soulmate who I’ve been in love with for seven years? What do I do if they decide he’s not good enough for me or if there’s something completely wrong with him?” Marinette gasped as an even worse thought came, “What if they decide that I’m not good enough for him and they adopt Adrien and disown me and then I’ll be homeless and living on the street and I’ll have to beg for money and sleep in a cardboard box and my only friends will be the mice that live in my alley and the toothless hobo they call Smelly Todd.”

Tikki grabbed Marinette’s cheek and forced her to make eye contact with the god. Her blue eyes bore into Marinette’s and she felt her breathing relax and her heart rate go down. “Be sensible, Marinette. None of that is going to happen. Your parents are going to love Adrien because they will see how much of a gentleman he is and how much he loves you. Once they see how much you two care for each other, there won’t be any objections.”

Marinette felt herself nodding, Tikki’s words flowing over her and calming her down significantly. “You’re right Tikki,” she sighed, slumping down onto her bed. “Thank you for not letting me become a hobo and being friends with Smelly Todd.”

Tikki gently patted her cheek, “I’ll always be here for you, Marinette.”

Almost an hour later, Marinette was still thinking about all of the possible ways this meeting tomorrow could go, just without the hyperventilating, when she transformed and disappeared out of her window.

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

Chat had actually beat Ladybug to their meeting spot, and, as if it was some unspoken agreement, as soon as Ladybug’s feet hit the roof, both of them dropped their transformations. 

Plagg just glanced between the two of them as Tikki flew to join him. “Why does this feel like an ambush?”

Marinette gave a nervous giggle and moved to sit next to Adrien, who suddenly looked very stressed and worried. She gently grabbed his hand and he quickly entwined their fingers together as he took a deep breath and addressed the kwamis. “We need to talk about our new powers.”

Tikki let out a small sigh, “We figured you would eventually.”

“We just need a better understanding of how they work, so we know how to better control them.” Marinette said calmly, giving Adrien’s hand a small squeeze.

Plagg let out an exasperated sigh that caused Adrien to roll his eyes. “What do you want to know? They’re new and better and that’s about it.”

Adrien opened his mouth to say something, but Marinette beat him to it. “Please, Plagg, we need more information. We’re trying to figure out what happened during the last akuma attack, and how we can try not to destroy all of Paris while we’re saving it.”

“The thing is, Marinette, we can’t give out too much information. You have to figure out the new powers for yourself.” Tikki floated over and gently put her hands on Adrien’s other hand. She was looking at him so sadly that it made Marinette’s heart hurt.

Adrien stared down at his lap and whispered, “I just need to understand how I cataclysmed Montparnasse Tower.” Tikki and Plagg shared a look, and Marinette had a feeling that a mini argument was going on between them. After a few beats, Tikki huffed a “Fine!” and Plagg sped over towards Adrien, forcing him to met his eyes.

“Hey, kid, I know how much this has bothered you this week. But you need to know it wasn’t fully your fault. These enhanced powers allow for your cataclysm to last longer than it did before, which you couldn’t have known.” 

“You mean like more than five minutes?” Marinette asked, genuinely curious.

“Kind of. It’s hard to explain without demonstrating it, but you can use your power more than one time. You have more control over it.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped, and he stuttered, “M-more than one time?”

“Yeah, aren’t you listening?” Plagg asked, giving Adrien a teasing look before continuing. “Let’s look at what happened with Revengapop.” Adrien physically flinched at the name, but didn’t stop Plagg. “You summoned the cataclysm to destroy his popcorn-making machine. But, as you landed from your jump, you touched the roof with your right hand to balance yourself. Your cataclysm was still active when you touched the roof, therefore it cataclysmed the building. You could have done more damage, except once you realized what you had done, you willed the cataclysm away.”

As he was talking, Marinette replayed the event in her mind. She could see Chat jumping towards the machine, and then landing in a lunge with his right hand on the roof. That was when the building started to collapse, and she went into overdrive and grabbed the akuma while using her Miraculous fix.

“So, you’re saying that he can cataclysm more than one thing with a charge? Like it’ll just keep going until he’s done using it, and then he can just turn it off?”

“You got it, LB.”

“But wait, how does the countdown work, if he can cataclysm a number of things?” 

“The timer is the tricky part,” Tikki cut in. “Your timers last longer than 5 minutes now, but it will only gradually increase over time. So now you may have 5 and a half minutes before you detransform, but it’ll eventually become longer and more permanent as you continue to get older.”

“But when do the timers start counting down?” Adrien asked, his gaze dancing between the two kwamis.

“Yours, kid, starts once you turn the cataclysm off.”

“And yours, starts once you are done using your Lucky Charm, usually by throwing it for the Miraculous cure.”

“So, you’re saying I can fight an entire fight with a cataclysm charge on my right hand and my ‘kind of, sort of’ five-minute timer won’t start until I turn off the power?” Marinette noticed that the light was slowly coming back in Adrien’s eyes, and he actually seemed to be getting excited about all of this rather than worried like he was before.

“Yes, but that’s honestly all we can tell you. The rest of it you have to discover for yourself.” Tikki was calm, but it was clear that she was done talking about this topic with the Miraculous holders. Adrien, however, was not.

“So, the bigger jumps and connected thoughts and being able to walk around quieter are all part of the enhanced powers package too?”

Plagg nodded excitedly. “My favorite is the enhanced strength. With it, you can lift the largest piece of camembert ever made!” Marinette laughed at the thought of Chat just casually holding a piece of camembert the size of a car.

As Adrien and Plagg continued to get excited about all of the new powers he has, Marinette’s mind went into overdrive. There was something that Tikki had said after the Task when they learned about all of this that she needed to ask about. 

“I have a question.” She announced, which shut the boys up pretty quickly. “Tikki, when you told us about our new powers, you said more danger could come with it, and that we needed to be more careful. What exactly did you mean by that.”

Tikki paused, as if contemplating the best way to phrase her next statement. Do you remember the akuma Timebreaker?” Marinette nodded, thinking of that akuma from long ago. That was an akuma she would never forget, as she ended up working with another Ladybug as well as a Chat Noir, one Ladybug from the present and one from the past (of like 5 minutes, but still). “Do you remember how Chat got hit by Timebreaker and he dissolved?” Both Marinette and Adrien nodded grimly. They didn’t like to talk about all of the times something horrible had happened to Chat during a battle, but that particular instance was one of the worst. “If that were to happen now, your enhanced powers as Ladybug would go away until you saved Chat.” 

Marinette tried to comprehend what that would look like. Her timer would go back to 5 minutes exactly, her lucky charm wouldn’t be as strong, and she would be without her partner, which is always her greatest weakness. The idea upset her more than she thought it would. 

Tikki let her words hang there before speaking again. “That’s why I warned you to be careful. If something happens to either of you, even if it’s something that the Miraculous cure can fix, the other will suffer greatly.”

Marinette and Adrien exchanged a look. She could tell that he still thought she was the reckless one out of the two of them, but arguing about it won’t fix the problem. “I promise to be more aware of my actions, if you are.” 

Adrien smiled that beautiful smile of his and answered, “We both know I’m not the reckless one, but I promise the same. I’ll be safer if you’ll be safer.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes, but leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I meant what I said at the date last week. I only want you to be safe.”

Adrien turned his head and kissed her forehead, “I just want us to be safe together.”

Marinette closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying this moment with Adrien. Of course, that’s when Plagg decided to clear his throat causing Marinette to open her eyes.

“I hate to break up this moment, but I want cheese before we go patrol.” Adrien rolled his eyes and pulled away from Marinette gently, digging in his pocket for some cheese. He tossed it to his kwami as Marinette stood up, looking for cookies for Tikki.

“Don’t worry, Marinette, I don’t need cookies to transform.” Tikki said with a laugh as Adrien whipped towards her appalled. “Plagg’s just needy.” Marinette laughed as Adrien murmured, “I knew that,” before calling his transformation. Marinette watched as he was bathed in green light and then suddenly, Chat stood before her. She let out a small sigh, which caught Chat’s attention. 

“What was that, princess?” He asked with a smirk.

“Oh nothing. I just don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching you do that.” Chat let out a small growl-like sound before stepping forward and kissing Marinette aggressively. She got lost in the kiss as his claws ran through her hair and she was finally able to appreciate how skin tight his leather suit really was. Before either of them took it too far though, they broke apart and Chat rested his forehead on Marinette’s.

“We have a city to patrol,” he said rather breathlessly, the sound of which sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re right,” she sighed, wishing for once that she didn’t have to be responsible for the entire city of Paris. “Plus, we’ll have plenty of time for that kind of stuff in the fantasy suite.” She watched Chat gulp and grow slightly pale under the mask, which caused her to laugh. It was nice to know she could still get to him.

She quickly called her transformation, and the two of them flew off into the night.

~~~

Soooooo sorry friends for the long wait! My sister was having trouble finding the inspiration to write, BUT she FINALLY got her act together AND mapped out the rest of the story, so we have almost reached the end of this journey together! Thank you all so much for the support and the constant notes and shares. You guys are the best and this story wouldn't continue to exist without you!

Aaaanyway, we hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

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[uncommoncold]

Eyes On You

Summary: Separated by the holidays, Seonghwa and Yeosang share their yearnings through a late night phone call.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: Dom Park Seonghwa, Sub Kang Yeosang, Phone Sex, Masturbation

Yeosang checked his phone for perhaps the three hundredth time in the last two hours. Seonghwa was supposed to call him at some point in the evening but he wasn’t sure when. The holidays were killing him, they were taking a two week break and they had all gone home to spend time with their families. Yeosang was in Seoul but Seonghwa’s family lived in the middle of nowhere, Jinju was almost three hours away from Seoul. Before that, he had been with Yunho, Hongjoong, and Jongho in Tokyo. It had been three weeks since he had laid eyes on him and to be honest, he missed him. It was just as simple as that, he missed him. Yes, there was what they did together, what had begun as a slight itch was now driving him crazy.

There was more than that though, he missed his laughter, he missed teasing him, he missed the sparkle in his eye when they shared a moment that only they understood. He missed just knowing that he was in another part of the house or safe in the knowledge that wherever he was, that he would be home soon.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, that was the saying wasn’t it? Seonghwa’s absence seemed to have left a hole in his life and he was struggling to understand why that hole was so much larger than anyone else’s. He missed all of the guys but it seemed as though Seonghwa was all he could think about. Even a trip to the convenience store had him buying things that he thought the man might like.

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang whispered into the quiet of his bedroom in the empty house. Much to his dismay, he didn’t appear but there was a quiet ache in his chest as an answer.

Just then, his phone rang. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, the vibration scared the hell out of him. He looked and saw Seonghwa’s name. He couldn’t stop the smile that slipped over his lips as he thumbed the answer slider and lifted the phone, praying for a video call. His smile widened further as he saw Seonghwa’s smile on the screen. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call.”

“I had to wait for my family to go to sleep. Are you alone?” Seonghwa ran his hand through his damp hair and adjusted himself in the bed, turning off the light. It left him cast only in the bluish glow from his phone’s screen.

“Yeah, I came back to the dorm two days early because my parents were going to my grandparents. I’m the only one here.”

“All alone huh?” Seonghwa gave a mischievous grin.

“Uh-oh.” Yeosang said warily though his cock was already hardening and his heart picked up its tempo a little. He hadn’t even said anything yet. “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t know, should you? It has been a long time since we’ve seen each other and I admit, I’ve been thinking about you…” He bit the edge of his bottom lip and his expression reflected his thoughts. “Have you been thinking about me?”

A shiver traversed Yeosang’s spine, sweet tendrils of molten sugar unraveled in his stomach and reached down to his balls. “Yes… a lot.”

“What have you been thinking about?” His voice dropped a notch and his gaze was intense. He tilted the camera down a little to show him running a hand over his bare chest and stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about how much I miss you.” He swallowed in his suddenly dry throat.

“What have you missed baby?”

“Everything … you touching me, kissing me, using me, hurting me, fucking me.” The amount of times he had made himself cum in the past week made his entire life up to that point pale in comparison.

“Did you make yourself cum?” The camera tilted again, Seonghwa’s hand pressed against his pajama clad cock. Yeosang could see it jump beneath the thin material and gentle pressure.

“A lot… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He mimicked Seonghwa, dragging his hand down but instead of completing the action, he stopped just shy of his cock. He waited for what he knew was coming.

“Do you want to cum for me now?”

“God yes.” He wanted to cum for Seonghwa so badly. It was one thing to do it for himself but he wanted him to watch. He wanted him to tell him to cum, no to demand for him to cum.

“Take your cock out, I want to see you.”

He flicked a glance up at the door, making sure he locked it. He was home alone but there was no telling whether or not one of the other guys might decide to come home early as well. As long as it wasn’t Wooyoung and as long as it wasn’t any time soon, he didn’t really care. He just needed this. He tilted his phone down, showing himself slipping his hand into his pajama pants and pulling them down just enough to expose his acutely hard cock and his balls.

“You said you came a lot, show me how and tell me what you’ve been thinking about. I want to cum with you.” The screen showed Seonghwa’s long elegant fingers wrapping around his familiar length.

Yeosang’s mouth watered as he imagined wrapping his lips around him, “I wish I could taste you. I miss you fucking my face, forcing my head down onto your cock, fucking my throat.”

“Oh fuck baby… Show me.”

Yeosang fumbled putting his phone on the bedside table and angling it so both his face and his cock could be seen. “Do you want me to stroke my cock?”

“I want you to stroke your cock, I want you to fucking cum for me and then I want to watch you lick every last drop from your fingers, pretending its mine you’re licking up.” Seonghwa fucked against his hand. He wanted to go slow but being at home, he had to keep it quiet and his physical need contradicted his mental desire. He wanted to see Yeosang squirming, wanting desperately to cum but for now, he was sure he was the one who was desperate. Hungrily he watched as Yeosang’s hand expertly caressed and stroked. One of his hands cradled his balls and manipulated them as he stroked.

Seonghwa’s head fell back, his skin beginning to glisten in the glowing light of his phone. Yeosang was gorgeous, the way the muscles in his arm flexed, the set of his jaw, the expression on his face. He took in every last inch of him, “You’re going to make me cum baby.”

Yeosang whimpered and jerked inward, doing his best to make sure that his lover could see him. He wanted to make him cum so badly, “I want to cum for you, it’s been so long. Please …”

“Cum for me, Yeosang.” He fought to get the last words out as his balls tightened and pleasure ricocheted through him. “You- fuck, I’m cumming.”

That was all he could take. He couldn’t help the yelp that slipped past his lips as he came. It felt as if he hadn’t cum in months and was almost painful in its intensity. “Seo-Seonghwa.” His breathing came in short sharp gasps as his seed shot up over his still pumping fist, over his stomach and nearly up to his chin. He didn’t wait for his spasms to subside, he did as he had been told and lifted his hand to his lips and licked up every drop. Behind his tightly closed eyes, he imagined licking his lover’s cum from his cock.

Seonghwa groaned as he watched, “You are so sexy…I want, god it’s not fair I can’t touch you right now.”

“I want you to touch me, I wish you were here. I miss you.” His heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Was he going on a little too much? He didn’t want Seonghwa to think he was being clingy or anything. “I - I’m sorry.”  

A strange but sweet little smile quirked Seonghwa’s lips as he searched Yeosang’s face on the screen. He still had no idea… Well he wouldn’t rush him. They had all of the time in the world for him to figure it out. “Don’t apologize. I miss you too.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to get any time when everyone comes home?” He had a surprise for Seonghwa. There were times when the house was absolutely bedlam and he just wanted to get away. He had rented a small apartment, just to get some time to himself now and again. It would be a perfect place for them to spend time together. It still required time to be able to sneak away to use it. In truth, it would be a relief just to have him near again, whether they could sneak off or not.

Seonghwa sighed heavily, their schedule was pretty packed when they came back from holiday. Maybe he could leave a day early … his parents would want an excuse though. It wasn’t as if he could go home whenever he wanted. “I don’t know.” Yeosang looked gutted and his heart dropped. “Oh baby, don’t look so broken-hearted. We’ll work something out - even if we have to sneak out after everyone is asleep. We’ll manage some time together.”

He startled, he didn’t realize he had looked broken-hearted. He shook himself and offered his lover a smile. He knew that one of the things he missed most was Seonghwa’s smile. If Seonghwa felt at all the same, he wanted him to take that picture of his lover’s smile into his dreams. “I’m fine, we’ll work something out.”

There was a sound somewhere in the house, Seonghwa got still and listened. It sounded like his father moving around. He had a heavy tread. “Listen, I wish I could stay on longer but I need to go.” There was something he wanted to tell him but he didn’t dare, not now. Not yet. “Sleep well, alright? I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Okay, you too. Goodnight.” Yeosang watched the screen after the picture was gone and until the screen went dark. Sunday felt like it was a century away instead of a few days. Two more days… two more days until he could see Seonghwa again. Who knew, maybe they could sneak in another call before then.

Other stories can be found on my Master List.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Stud 8

Previously on Stud

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” 

“No, really,” she sighed. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” 

The panting of two bodies trying to catch their breath filled the room. Chests heaved and a damp kind of humidity hung over the bed and throughout the bedroom It smelled like sex. The winter weather outside of the window fogged up the corners as the snow fell, but that didn’t really matter, not at all, not a bit. 

“No, I mean it,” Lexa nodded and closed her eyes. “That was some of your best work yet.” 

A chuckle rumbled beside her, but she couldn't turn to look and see where it came from. Instead, Lexa listened to her own breathing and tried to save the tingles that filled her entire body. 

The sheets were tangled between legs, the heat from bodies keeping them well warm enough despite the lingering threat of weather and the missed arrival of spring. It was still well before noon, but Clarke’s bedroom was warm in the morning sun. Lexa froze and closed her eyes, memorizing everything that was happening, from the feeling of Clarke’s flannel sheets and the slight itch against her skin, to the draft from the window that let a small stream of cold air waft across her hip, to the light in her eyelids and the smell of her girlfriend. 

An arm settled over her chest as a nose found her cheek and a leg draped over her hip, now encompassed in the streaks of sunlight from the blinds. 

“I’m going to tell the world that you like to be the little spoon after sex.” 

Lexa smiled and refused to open her eyes. She ran her hand over Clarke’s hip, around her ass, toward her thigh, repeating the loop as she wiggled into the arm around her. Warm lips kissed her shoulder and she felt the breath there. 

“As long as you tell them about the amazing sex that earned me the little spoon spot.” 

“I will not tell anyone anything of the sort.” 

“I have a reputation.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Lexa smiled at Clarke’s tone and nuzzled against her nose, enjoying the closeness, absorbing everything that this feeling had to give her. 

“I would give anything to never have to move from this moment ever again,” Lexa sighed. 

“Did you ever imagine this would be us?” 

“I never imagined this for myself.” 

“Not even with all of the first thoughts about fucking me on a car?” 

Her lips tugged up into a grin but still, Lexa didn’t move or open her eyes. Clarke watched her entire being lighten. Gone was the girl who sat on the floor in search of her passion. Gone was the girl who worked sixteen hour days for a month straight. Back was the girl who took the time to be alive and be human, and Clarke was enamoured with how her body felt. 

“I had no idea you were about to change my life.” 

“I don’t think I did that.”

“You did.” 

“I like you on Sundays after sex. You’re so lovely,” Clarke whispered, her hand shifting to Lexa’s cheek and jaw where she felt skin and cheeks. 

“It’s just not lost on me who you’ve turned me into, Griffin.” 

“Me neither.” 

Finally, after a moment of Sunday morning, Lexa took in a deep breath and turned her head, coming nose to nose with her girlfriend, messy blonde hair and deep blue eyes firmly fixed on her own. 

It was their new routine, since the holidays calmed and the new year started. Lexa made sure to be around more, and they agreed to not do anything on Sundays. If they did, it was unrelated to any form of work. It led to very domestic days and long, dreamy nights. Lexa never slept better than in Clarke’s old creaky place with the warm, worn sheets and the girl in her arms. 

“I’m very in love with you, Clarke.” 

“I love you, too,” Clarke promised. 

“Even though I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do in the world?” 

“Even then.” 

“Even when I keep you in bed all day?” 

“Especially then,” Clarke smiled, allowing Lexa to finally push her over, settling atop her fixedly. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m better than ever.” 

“Don’t you start again,” she warned as a leg slipped between her own and Lexa smirked. There was something tender about it. Something needed. 

“One more.”

“If you must.”

XXXXXXXXXX

When she was a girl, Lexa used to love spending time in her dad’s office. There was something very wonderful about the giant wooden desk and the awards on the wall. She loved the smell of it, a heartiness that forever stuck in her head of warmth. When they remodeled the offices, she requested the old leather couch remain because it was imperative that something remained of her childhood. She was perhaps, the most sentimental of her family, though no one would ever think to call her such. 

The day she got her own office, across the hall, with her name matching her father’s, she stepped inside and waited until everyone left, her father hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead before he followed, and she stood in the middle and cried because she secured her place as his daughter. 

Now, she loved her office for more reasons than ever before. Even though she stepped back, her office remained, untouched. Indra moved into an office on the floor below, and though Lexa was not in her office every day, she could come back to it and she could feel like she was part of it all. There was still a bit of fear about disappointing her father. That hung heavy in her heart. 

But as she sat at her desk and surveyed all that she’d done, and all that she tried to do next, she felt like a kid again at a much too big desk and safe behind it. 

She looked at the picture of herself and Clarke at an event from just a few months ago and she smiled to herself because she somehow met and kept a beautiful girl for almost an entire year, and a fucking brutal year at that. It sat next to a picture of her graduation with her brother and parents, her mother hugging her shoulders tightly and smiling in the sun. 

“You look pensive,” her father offered as he cleared his throat. After a few moments of not being noticed, he felt it important. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Do you think Mom would be proud of me?” 

Not expecting such a loaded question, the patriarch stopped short of the chair he planned on taking and leaned his hands on the back, bracing himself to undertake the mental effort of thinking it. His daughter looked at him, waiting, so painfully like his wife. 

“You know she would be.” 

“I mean it though,” Lexa shook her head, not interested in the easy answer. “What have I done? Got caught up and burnt out? Skated through the past few months trying to be something?” 

“It took me years to figure out who I am. I know you’re an overachiever, but sometimes it just doesn’t work like that, kid.” 

“I remember her telling me to do good things, and I can’t imagine I am actually enacting any change.” 

“You work hard. You have a huge heart,” he promised as he took a seat across from her. 

“Do you think she would like Clarke?” 

Despite himself, Alex chuckled and adjusted his cuff link. 

“I really do. She’d love what she’s given you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Someone to dance with at the Christmas party. Someone to take you to the library on Thursday evenings. Someone to bring you lunch. Someone who makes you so desperate to be a better person.” 

“I keep trying to do something else, but I don’t want to be anywhere else than here with you. I just don’t know how to do it.” 

“Why don’t you take an actual vacation?” 

“I did.” 

“Two days isn’t a vacation.” 

“Sometimes, I want to tell Clarke about Mom, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to talk about her at all.” 

Alex sighed and shook his head as he sized up his daughter. She was one of his favorite people alive, and he wasn’t sure how to help her lately, and that ate at him. His wife would have known what to do. 

“You threw yourself into this whole company after everything, and I can’t tell you how proud I am, how grateful I am that you gave me time to grieve and help Aden, but I wasn’t the parent, and I didn’t help you.”

“I don’t need any help.” 

“You do though. You’re finally waking up from this frozen state you locked yourself into to survive, and now it’s all hitting you.” 

“I’m really okay,” Lexa promised, her best attempt to convince her father failing. “I really was just thinking about what a shame it is that Clarke didn’t get to meet Mom.” 

“I agree.” 

The two sat together, understanding that unique loss. Alex smiled slightly as his daughter sighed and adjusted in her chair. He so badly wanted his wife to help him, but also to see her daughter now, to be absolutely blown away by the hurricane of a person she’d had no small hand in creating. 

“Wanna get out of here for the day? Go see a movie or something?” 

“I have some stuff I have to do. Dinner?” 

“Sounds good,” he nodded and stood. “You okay though?” 

“I am.” Alex gave his daughter a look. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m here to help with whatever, you know that, right?” 

“I do,” she promised with a nod. “I think I’m happy now. I’m figuring that part out.” 

“You’re allowed to be.” 

Lexa smiled and blushed slightly. She played with a pen between her hands, tapping it against her palm nervously. It was a lot to admit and talk about. Her mind was swirling and she didn’t know how to make it stop, but this all felt like a good place to start. 

“That’s what my therapist tells me too.” 

Struck by the news, her father did his best not to seem too excited about the revelation that she was seeing and talking to someone. He asked her a few times over the years to consider it, often dismissed with weeklong disappearances under the guise of work in other time zones and continents. 

“Dinner tonight then. How about sushi?” 

“Sakana?” 

“I’ll text Aden that I’ll be home late,” Alex offered, pulling out his phone. “I want to hear more about what else you’ve been up to on this sabbatical.” 

Lexa just shook her head and watched him leave, oddly relieved to have said those words to her father. Maybe he was right, and she was finally feeling things, and this is what happened when she let the ache in, and when she tried to figure out how to be happy. It seemed like a lot of work for something that should come so naturally to most. But she caught sight of the picture of her  and her girlfriend and she decided she wanted to have more. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Just because she was directionless didn’t mean that she wasn’t working. Already after four months of sabbatical, Lexa discovered many things that didn’t particularly scratch the itch she assumed her father was talking about when he made her step down. In truth, she still found her way back to the company, unsure of what else to do. She was attached to the legacy and indebted to how it formed her. She didn’t know who she was without that part of her very being. 

But still, she tried everything else with equal vigor because she wasn’t a quitter, and for some reason, her life seemed to be going well enough when she tried to be happy. 

She had to believe that because she had a side of the bed in her girlfriend’s place and a key attached to her keyring that let her in, even when Clarke wasn’t there. It wasn’t a Park-view property with a doorman, but the little house on the corner outside of the city was cozy and quiet and Lexa was certain she thought better there than anywhere else. 

Sometimes she was afraid she was overstepping. Clarke made a compelling argument that they weren’t ready to live together. Lexa found herself never staying more than two nights in a row, and not even because she wanted to leave, but because she had a truce with Clarke to not ask any big questions and not expect any big gestures. Her girlfriend was committed but bad at believing there could be more. Lexa was there to convince her otherwise. 

With a yawn, Lexa stretched and rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses as she readjusted to continue reading the article about her old schoolmate’s success with her new company. She found herself envying the girl she once kissed in the bathroom after fourth period on a dare. But still she kept reading after taking a look at the alarm clock and wondering if Clarke would be much later on her Tuesday date with Raven. 

It wasn’t until Lexa was elbow deep in social media stalking that she heard the lock turn and the front door open as her clumsy girlfriend let herself in. She smiled and waited, eager. 

“I’m either very drunk or there is an extremely sexy, number seven on Fortune’s Top Forty under Forty finisher in my bed.” 

Her eyes were slightly off, squinting awkwardly against the light as she smiled mischievously. Her dress hung slightly on her shoulder, flowers and springtime and warmth over her skin. But Clarke was beautiful and charming and drunk and perfectly imperfect. 

“I didn’t know the CEO of Yahoo was in your bed,” Lexa furrowed as she looked around, lifting a pillow, returning the grin. 

“Shut up. What were you, number six?” 

“Four.” 

“Not that you keep track though,” Clarke teased before moving around the bedroom to get ready for bed. 

She stumbled slightly as she took out her earrings before turning on the light in the bathroom. Lexa closed her laptop and watched it all happen. 

“How’s Raven on this fine Tuesday?” 

“She’s good. Itching for a project, but has more than enough actual work to keep her busy.” 

“I’ll go buy something for her to fix up.” 

Clarke gave her a look from the mirror as she pulled up her hair. 

“Just like you miraculously found a couple grand in the couch cushions to give to the school for new musical instruments?” 

“Are you jealous I’m not spending any money on you, darling?” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Lexa knew the moment she said it, it wasn’t going to land quite right. She was met with quiet as the bathroom door shut. With a sigh she shook her head and put her laptop on the side table. 

The water ran and she could imagine Clarke scrubbing her face with such passion that was going to be geared toward her in a few moments. When the door opened and the light was flipped off, she waited for it. 

“I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. I know you hate when I am cavalier about money.” 

“I hate talking about it,” Clarke shook her head. 

“We’re going to have to one day, you know that, right?” 

“Well I have bad news for you, if you’re after me for my millions.” 

Lexa smiled as Clarke shook her head, dismissing the fight because she knew there was nothing new to be said about it and she was desperately afraid of that talk. 

“I’m actually strictly after your body.” 

“Oh?” 

Clarke paused, mid lift of her dress as she let it drop again. 

“I’m really glad you’re drunk and not letting me be an idiot that makes you mad.”

She smiled and put her hands on her hips. 

“Just another reason that I’m a better girlfriend than you.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Lexa shrugged. “I’m wearing considerably less clothes than you. I think that makes me the best.” 

Her shirt was on the floor a second later leaving her in just a sports bra and she watched as drunk eyes gobbled it up. Lexa pushed her hair around and away from her face, waiting for the return from her girlfriend. 

Clarke lifted her dress slightly, just enough to show her knees and then her thighs. She stopped as Lexa’s eyes followed the hem eagerly. 

“I was going to come home and put on sweatpants, but you’ve challenged me to a duel.” 

“Take off your dress.” 

“I don’t know if I want to,” she said as she let it drop again. 

“You do.” 

“Do I? Because I seem to remember you making me annoyed a few minutes ago. And that’s just very bad foreplay.” 

“You want to take off that dress,” Lexa informed her again. “Because you like that dress, and I don’t want to ruin it.” 

“Fuck,” Clarke sighed. “You are insanely hot. I’d put you at number one on the hottest person on the top Forty under Forty list.” 

“You can write a letter to the editor tomorrow if you’d like. For now, you should probably just take off your dress.” 

“Right, this old thing,” she nodded, looking down as she began to lift it again. She contemplated dropping it again, but she met Lexa’s eyes and watched as she put her glasses on the table. 

Clarke held her eyes as she lifted the dress, pulling it over her head. A blush crept up her chest as her girlfriend watched. It took a few moments after the offending fabric was tossed on the floor, but Lexa stood up and made her way around the bed. She watched as Clarke unhooked her bra and dropped it as well. 

“You are absolutely addictive, did you know that?” Lexa wondered aloud. All she got in response was lashes and lips and a shrug. 

She didn’t waste anymore time, cupping her girlfriend’s cheeks in her hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” Clarke murmured in the quiet as they settled in for the night. 

“Sorry love, but you have to. Want me to drop you off on my way?”

“You sleep in for me. I won’t make you get up early.” 

“Anya is coming back tomorrow. I’m going to go in early and take her a pastry and coffee.” 

“That’s sweet.” 

“I really missed her.” 

“I know, but it’s nice she gets maternity leave. Most people don’t.” 

“Yeah,” Lexa mumbled, half asleep as Clarke’s warm, naked body pressed into her side, molding against-- her eyes opened in the dark. “I don’t know if anyone else at my company gets maternity leave.” 

“I’m sure--”

“I don’t know if they get paternity leave. I doubt it,” she muttered to herself, pulling herself out of bed as she turned on the light by the bed earning a groan as blankets were pulled up beside her. 

“You can find out tomorrow.” 

“I was just reading about Maggie James’ doctoral studies in business growth through sustainable and ethical practices--”

Lexa was out of bed, grabbing at the magazines in her bag on the floor. 

“Is that the girl you first got to second base with?” Clarke murmured, completely hidden beneath the covers. 

“If I can find her bibliography, I can find some source material on HR stuff within high functioning conglomerations, and I can compare it to our practices. But I’ll need our guidelines first. I think someone once emailed them to me…” 

Her fingers and hands were moving faster than her mouth could process the words she was thinking, and surely the half drunk and completely sated girl in the bed didn’t fully care or comprehend what was happening, but still, Lexa kept muttering to herself. 

“Can’t you sleep first?” 

“I can’t. I have to know.” 

“I hate Maggie James.” 

“Are you jealous of a girl I haven’t seen since college after what I just did to you?” 

“Turn out the light please. I’m spinning.” 

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Lexa promised, kissing the mound of blankets as she turned off the light and juggled her materials. “But I think Anya’s uterus might have just given me the idea I need.” 

“Always the bridesmaid and never the uterus,” Clarke sighed. 

“Yours is great too, I’m sure,” her girlfriend promised. “Ten minutes. Fifteen tops.” 

“Night.” 

Lexa hurried down the hall her arms full of materials and her mind racing as she wondered quite simply if everyone got maternity leave, and if not, how quickly she could get Maggie James’ research. 

Next

[robinskey]

Apple Pie (Billy x Reader)

Request: Could I request a BillyxReader, reader is the girl next door and Billy finds himself looking for glimpses everyday after seeing her when he first moved in doing laundry, humming and just smiling which makes Billy not mind being at home because he knows there’s just this ray of sunshine. She brings a pie she baked to welcome his family & Billy is starved for baking cos his mum used to bake for him & he hasn’t had any in years. It makes him feel really happy? I’m ready for some fluffy goodness ❤️

A/N: This prompt is freaking adorable and I’m SO glad you requested it, @sweetboibilly.

Warnings: Slightly angsty and some foul language. Also, Neil Hargrove being a jerk/implications of abuse. Story under the cut.

Billy never expected to fall for the literal girl next door.

His first glimpse of you occurred on his first night in Hawkins. In the early hours of Thursday morning, Billy’s father had dragged him out of his warm bed. He was forced to load his entire life onto a moving truck, then follow it (and his father’s erratic driving) for thousands of miles in his Camaro. Susan, Billy’s stepmother, trailed behind him in his father’s pickup truck. In the rearview mirror, Billy could see her gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, terrified of wrecking it. Susan didn’t own a car; her driver’s license had expired years ago. She relied on her husband for transportation. Putting Susan behind the wheel had been a terrible idea. However, Neil had insisted that they didn’t have a choice. There were four people to transport in three cars, and he wasn’t about to let Susan’s fourteen-year-old daughter drive his prized possession across the country.

Late Friday evening, the caravan finally arrived at their new address. Billy found the run-down one-story house underwhelming, to say the least. Faded paint covered the chipped paneling, and overgrown vines crept up the sides of the house. The thud of Billy’s car door slamming shut caused a small critter to scurry off the porch.

After thirty-some hours of virtually-non-stop driving, everyone was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. But as the head of the household aptly reminded them, their new home was empty. They couldn’t collapse into a bed that wasn’t set up yet or press their heads into pillows that hadn’t been unpacked.

Billy glanced around, taking in his new surroundings. Flickering streetlights gleamed down on the fractured sidewalk. Small houses similar to his lined the street, all of them identically dead. 

Except for one.

In the house next to his, a light clicked on in a tiny room. The silhouette of a girl carrying a basket on her hip appeared. He watched as you placed the basket on top of a counter and started removing articles of clothing from it, then dropping them into what Billy assumed was a washing machine. Despite the chilly October air, someone had left the window open. You hummed a soft melody, which carried on the breeze to Billy’s ears. Your graceful, fluid movements mirrored those of a ballerina, the song to which you danced light and dreamlike. It was the sort of sound a person could get lost in, and Billy did-until the bark of his father bit into his trance.

“Billy! Get your ass over here, and unload these damn boxes!”

Regretfully, Billy stopped watching the pixie of a girl to help his father. He spent the next hour dragging heavy furniture into the house while his dad “supervised.” After sliding the last box into the living room, Billy collapsed on the front step, his face drenched in sweat and muscles aching. When he looked toward your house, darkness had consumed it once more, and you were long gone.

***

Billy, Susan, and Max spent Saturday unpacking boxes and reassembling furniture. (Neil had helped for about thirty minutes, but as soon as his easy chair was set up, he became useless.) Throughout the day, Billy peeked out the window whenever he could, hoping to steal a glimpse of you. Once, he spotted you walking your dog down the sidewalk. Another time, you were sweeping the porch. It wasn’t until that evening, however, when Billy was taping posters up on the walls of his new bedroom, that he was able to see you for more than a few seconds at a time.

The room across from Billy’s had been dead all day. Billy didn’t think much of it; he figured your family probably used it for storage or something. But then, a switch flipped, suddenly illuminating the space with color. To be more, accurate, actually, it illuminated the space with yellow. Everything-the pale walls, the sunflower-printed quilt over the bed, the painted dresser-everything in the room was coated in different shades of yellow. It might have made him want to vomit if you hadn’t appeared in the doorway, shifting his focus from the horrid color scheme of your bedroom to the princess who inhabited it.

He watched for several minutes while you paced around your room, ponytail swinging behind you. You brought one nail up to your lips to chew on it; clearly, something was bothering you. Eventually, you flopped onto your bed and reached for an object on the bedside table-a dandelion-hued telephone. To Billy’s surprise, he was able to make out the words you spoke into the phone-probably because of your bad habit of leaving windows open.

“Hey, Darcy. It’s Y/N,” you said. 

Y/N. What a nice name.

“Yeah, so I’m calling for advice...Apparently, we have new neighbors, and-I don’t know if they’ve got a son, Darce! My mom just mentioned at dinner that someone by the name of Neil Hargrove bought Mrs. Chesterfield’s old house...Wait, you recognize that name?” 

You listened for a moment, then shot up quickly.

“No way,” you said, almost too quietly for Billy to hear. “Wait, hang on, Darce. It’s really cold in here-I must have forgotten the close the window this morning.”

Billy dove towards the floor as you rose from your bed. Gentle footsteps padded across carpet. Then, there was a faint click of glass and the jerk of curtains being pulled. When Billy peeked out his window again, he could only make out a shadowy figure holding a rectangle up to her ear.

“You know, Billy, you’re a lot of things, but I never took you for a Peeping Tom.”

A wiry redhead stood in the doorway to his room, a smug smirk on her lips.

“Buzz off, Max,” Billy said, slamming the door in the know-it-all’s face.

***

Sunday morning.

After stirring out of bed, Billy headed towards his window. He squinted at the room opposite his in the bright sunlight, but there was not much to see. The house was still motionless, lifeless-the curtains still drawn over the window. He had no idea what time it actually was. His alarm clock read 9:32, but that couldn’t have been right. Neil never would have let Billy sleep past 7:00 for fear of him wasting the day away like a lazy bum. Finally, Billy remembered: Today, the elder Hargrove started at his new job.

Billy pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans before stumbling into the kitchen, still half-drunken with sleep. Aside from the television droning on in the corner of the room, the place was just as dead as the neighbors’. He knew Susan planned to spend the day applying to various jobs in town, but Max wouldn’t have wanted to tag along. Thankfully, a short note left on the counter explained her whereabouts: Skateboarding. Be back never.

God. They drag him to this stupid town and then ditch him within a day. 

Itching for a glass of orange juice, Billy whipped open the refrigerator door. It, of course, was empty, and it would probably stay that way for a few days, unless Billy made a trip to the grocery store himself. Not wanting to deal with the stares of overly-nosy fellow shoppers trying to place the new face, Billy settled for tap water.

He leaned against the sink as he tipped the glass to his lips. He downed the entire cup in one go, then gazed out the window. Across his overgrown lawn, Billy spotted a tiny flurry of motion. A small girl was making a beeline towards his house.

“Shit,” Billy mumbled. He panicked, knowing he had about a minute to make himself presentable. Billy wasted about thirty seconds making a mental list of hygenic priorities before realizing that if he kept thinking, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish any of them. He managed to gargle a bit of mouthwash and run a comb through his curls before a gentle fist knocked at the front door.

“Coming!” Billy called from his bedroom. He jogged through the hallway and flung open the door before actually halting to a complete stop.

You stood on the front step, slightly rocking on your heels. Billy first noticed that you were even prettier up close. Then, a sweet, fruity smell drifted to his nostrils, and he glanced down at the glass dish in your arms, covered by a dishrag.

You cleared your throat. Billy wondered if the strain in his voice had anything to do with the fact that he hadn’t showered yet today. But then you flashed him a shy smile, and it was enough to melt away his fears.

“Hi,” you piped up. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N? My parents and I live next door. I, um-I just wanted to welcome your family to the neighborhood.”

Billy chuckled despite himself. 

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me here,” he said.

“Consider me thoroughly disappointed,” you said with a wink. “In all honesty, though, it’s lovely to meet you, uh…”

“Billy,” he said, finally mirroring your grin. “Nice to meet you, too, Y/N.” He gestured to the covered dish in your hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” you cried in realization.

You tugged at the cloth, revealing a pastry with a beautiful lattice design sprinkled with sugar on top. Billy started salivating almost immediately. He hadn’t been this close in proximity to a homemade baked good like that in years. Not since, well…

“I didn’t know what kind of pie you guys would like. Heck, I didn’t even know if you guys liked sweets, but I wanted to do something nice for my new neighbors. I figured most people will at least tolerate apple pie, so...” You started bouncing on your heels again, and it was so cute that Billy almost forgot to respond.

“This looks...amazing,” he said honestly, then stepped back a little to allow you room to pass. “Do you want to come in for a bit? We could sample this masterpiece together.”

You bit your lip, gaze darting toward your house anxiously.

“I-I probably shouldn’t. My dad would lose it if he knew I was alone in a house with a guy.”

It was Billy’s turn to wink at you.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards. You glanced toward your home once more before darting into Billy’s, claiming that “one piece of pie won’t hurt.”

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