#all of this sounds suspicious as fuck i know honestly if i get my paycheck and it's actually what it is ill quit.

[cloudbends]

Also I'm beginning to regret getting a job

[2seokfan]

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 1

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 3.6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary: 

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year?  So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a rollercoaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

note: Hi! This is my first fic ever! I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna read this but I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile so fuck it.

You kicked off your shoes and threw your purse on the couch.

“God my back hurts!” 

Honestly with the amount of random bodily aches you experience on a daily business you could pass for being 70 years old. But this time you knew where the pain stemmed from. You just had to fall asleep awkwardly after a night on your phone. And of course today was a work day and you slept past all THREE of your alarms. But you know that feeling when you sleep for a suspiciously long amount of time and something doesn’t feel right? That’s the sixth sense that saved your ass this morning because your internal body clock was like sweetie I think you’re late. 

You only had time to slap on some makeup, hoping it looked semi decent, and throw your greasy hair into a messy, but passable bun because no one wants to see an ugly receptionist. You had to skip your morning Starbucks drive-through routine because you’re about to be LATE, late so you grab your keys and start your car, booking it to work.

You work at a private hybrid clinic which pays a little better than most but that means you also have to deal with a lot of attitude from rich “owners” (you hate that word). And you sat weirdly at work today so that did nOThing to help your back pain. Also how come everybody decided to book an appointment today?? It’s Friday for god's sake why does everyone and their mothers decide it’s time to call the clinic and book a checkup. They get so mad at you when you say this whole month is filled. You can’t change the schedule though?? The calendar’s filled lady either get over it and settle for next month or fuck off (of course you don’t say that out loud cause you’ll get fired). Also someone yelled at you today because they didn’t like the magazine choices in the waiting room.

Anyways your day sucked and you couldn’t be happier being back in your tiny apartment to binge watch netflix stand-up comedies until you collapse. Well you say it’s your apartment but you actually have a roommate. She’s nothing like you though, she’s the epitome of responsibility. You agreed to live with her even though you met her through Craigslist because once you met her in person you deemed her genuine enough, and also found out she’s hardly ever at the apartment but she still pays rent on time?! You really hit the jackpot with her honestly. Cause you can be a little bit messy sometimes but even when she is home she never complains. The only negative side of having her as a roommate is that you never really had time to bond with her cause she’s so busy and over your league that even after a year you two still aren’t anything more than friendly acquaintances.

Alright time to get out of your work clothes and into nothing but your favorite oversized t-shirt with no pants on because that is what you deem home-appropriate attire. But before you turn on netflix your tummy is making “feed me” noises so it’s time to check the fridge. Damn no leftovers. Time to crack open one of those Trader Joe’s frozen meals you have stacked in the freezer. You blindly pick a box. Guess you’re having vegan tikka masala tonight. Not gonna lie though those frozen meals are actually not half bad. Or maybe you’ve been away from good home cooking for so long you’ve become desensitized? Who cares, you’re hungry. Also it’s Friday, so no harm in cracking open a bottle of wine right?

When you’re all settled on the couch with your favorite plush blanket on your legs, a random comedian on tv, and a full tummy, your mind drifts away. It’s Saturday tomorrow and you have the weekends off. Maybe you should do something fun for yourself to make up for the crap you had to deal with today. You text your best friend Karli. You know she’s awake since it’s only 10pm.

You: Hey girl wanna go to the beach or smth tmrw?? <3

Karli: Yaaas ok I don’t work!! What time?

You: and we can walk around all the fancy stores and get coffee from that place we love.

You: hmmm how bout meet there @11??

Karli: Sounds good sweetie want me to pick you up?

You: no its ok ill meet u there i need to buy groceries after

Karli: Kk love ya see you then!!!

You: love ya! night bby

Karli knows that when you say “go to the beach” you really mean walk along the beach and the nearby stores because it’s early June and prime tourist season. That means the sand is packed with people and their kids and the water’s probably filled with pee so you’re not really down for that. Also the expensive shops near the beach are so cute and you love walking around window shopping, pretending like you can actually afford any of the items on display.

The wine is now getting to you cause before you know it you find your eyelids getting heavy. You muster up your last ounce of strength to turn off the tv and force yourself out of the couch cause your poor back doesn’t need another excuse to keep hurting. As much as you don’t want to wash your face and brush your teeth, you have to because you don’t want makeup on your pillowcase tonight. And when you finally crawl into bed you knock out instantly.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh fuck…”

You forgot that drunk you last night set an alarm today for 9am. Thank you drunk Y/N. 

Why 9am? Because you need to shower and get ready, plus the beach you’re going to is near the north part of the city, which is also the expensive part of the city, meaning it’s a LONG ways from where you live. But the stores are aesthetically pleasing and it contains both you and Karli’s favorite coffee shop so you’re willing to make the 25 minute drive. Karli doesn’t have to worry though because she lives a lot closer than you do. Girl has got her shit together. Honestly you’re just glad she decided to move back after graduate school cause the long distance friend thing sucks balls.

You hop in the shower and rinse yourself awake. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot. Unlike many people who prefer to dress up for a nice outing, you’re just the opposite. You’ve been forced to dress in nice business attire with a full face of makeup all week. Hell no are you dressing up on your days off too. It’s a sweatpants and tank top kinda day so that’s exactly what you wear. Ever since college you’ve spoiled yourself into only wearing comfy clothes whenever you have the chance and it’s become a minor problem in your life. You have some perfectly nice jeans in the closet but you haven’t worn them in forever. And you’re not gonna wear them today either. And makeup? Who needs makeup? You’ll just go barefaced since you have no one to impress. Actually just kidding maybe a little concealer just to cover up a few rough spots but that’s IT. You’re still a little self conscious and you know you have to work on that but not today.

It’s now 10:15. You grab your purse from the couch, slip on your favorite pair of slides and head to your car. You’re the kind of person who absolutely needs music when you drive so you quickly start blasting your favorite playlist. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the beach area. Parking is hard to find on the weekend but your lucky ass managed to squeeze into a street parking spot right as someone pulls out. You lock your car and make the trek to Cozy Coffeehouse, your favorite coffee shop hands down.

Karli is already here and she’s hopping up and down, waving at you. She looks super cute today in her little black dress and fishnets. She’s had the same taste since high school and you’re glad that even a Master’s degree hasn’t stopped her from dressing all punk on her days off. You jog over and give her a quick hug.

“Hey girl look at you!! You’re so cute!” You take in her makeup and you swear if she didn’t go the corporate route she definitely should have been a makeup artist. Her eyeshadow is amazing and you’ll never ever have the blending talent that she has, nor could you ever get your eyeliner to look that sharp.

“Aw thanks! You look comfy though I’m kinda jealous now maybe I should’ve dressed down.” 

“No I love your outfits! Besides, someone has to look nice in this relationship.”

You link arms and march into the cafe. It’s located near the fancy designer stores on a large hill overlooking the beach. When you step inside the whole atmosphere screams ‘cozy’, fitting its name perfectly. The interior is littered with mismatched sofas and armchairs but it somehow still looks aesthetically pleasing. Soft piano jazz is playing through speakers and when you step inside the delicious scent of freshly ground coffee beans immediately invades your nostrils.

You glance at their pastry display first. Today must be your lucky day because they have tiramisu and you absolutely love tiramisu but it’s usually sold out. No way in hell are you letting this chance slide, fuck breakfast norms you’re definitely getting a bite of that. Unfortunately you’re not a fan of sugary treats on top of sugary drinks so to balance things out you choose to order their house brew.

After you two order, you find a spot in one of the plush armchairs near the window and sit. You really are lucky today since window seats are usually taken. But not this time! You guys get to enjoy the gorgeous scenery displayed before you. The sun is bright, people are laying on the beach tanning, and kids are splashing each other with water. For the first time in awhile, you feel content with life, if only for a bit. 

Before long your orders are called out and you stand up to retrieve them. Once you’re settled, you break into conversation with Karli, eager to catch up on everything that happened since you two last spoke face-to-face. You talk about work, Karli’s boyfriend Sunny, that new pizza place that opened up near your apartment that actually has really shitty pizza.

“Like seriously how do you fuck up pizza that badly?” you exclaim in between generous bites of tiramisu.

“No I get you,” Karli responds, slurping her iced mocha frappuchino, “everybody knows what pizza is supposed to taste like, I mean it’s gotta take talent to actually fuck it up to the level you’re describing girl.”

“Exactly!!” You wave your arms in the air, wanting to physically demonstrate your frustration at the situation and your passion for good pizza.

“Anyways…” Karli gently sets her drink down and takes on a more serious tone. “How are you though, honestly.”

“Hmm, me?” You swallow your last bite of tiramisu, “I’m doing good. Works ok, life’s ok. You know. Everything’s… ok.”

“I get that everything’s ‘ok’ but you know I want you to be more than ok. I want you to be happy”

You see the genuine concern in her eyes. Bless this girl for being so soft-hearted.

She continues, “And when was the last time you dated? Like, what, 2 years ago??”

Of course she has to mention dating. Karli has always been a romantic. You? Not so much. Your brain tended to err on the logical, practical side, which is not always a good idea since it keeps you away from many potential relationships.

“I date!” You scoff, but you’re not convincing anybody, least of all yourself.

“Oh really?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise, “Tinder one night stands don’t count babe. You know what I mean.”

“Well you didn’t specify…” You mumble, trying to come up with any excuse to defend your pride. You know she’s just being a good friend and that she’s asking because she cares about you, so you don’t let her questions irritate you.

“Sweetie I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. It’s just… you mean a lot to me and you’re my bestie and I just want to see you be happy.” She takes your hand from across the table and looks you in the eyes. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, so when I do I want to check in on how you’re doing.”

Then she averts her eyes, which you find highly suspicious. “Also I may or may not have found someone who I KNOW will be a perfect match for you.”

“AHA I KNEW you were leading up to something!”

“Wait but hear me out. He’s an accountant and at first I was like hmmm is he too boring for Y/N? But then I realized I was judging him by his job and that’s not cool so I talked to him and he’s, like, actually super cute and super sweet and I think you two will get along so well!” She’s speaking very fast at this point, trying to squeeze out as much information as possible before you can interject. Then she finishes with one of her signature Karli smiles, big and wide and all teeth and she knows you can’t say no to that face.

“Dammit. Fine.” You lost this round. “Alright if he wants to meet up I won’t say no. How bout that?”

“Gee that’s so thoughtful of you Y/N.” Her tone is sarcastic but she’s still smiling so you know she means no harm.

After another half hour of conversation, locked in a heated debate about food again (this time she’s defending her stance that pineapple belongs on pizza), Karli’s phone rings. The sound scares the poor girl half to death, and watching her jump a mile from her couch had you snorting into your coffee mid drink.

She looks at the caller ID, muttering under her breath, “It’s Saturday what do they want?” then glances up with a sad little pout, “Sorry Y/N it’s work gimme a sec…”

From what you can hear on her side of the conversation, something has come up and she has to head to the office right away. 

“Ok I’ll be there in fifteen,” she hangs up and gives an exaggerated “Ughhhhh”. She takes one large gulp, finishing the last of her ultra sweet, ultra whipped frappuccino. “It’s like they can’t do anything when I’m not there.” She looks especially apologetic when her eyes land back on you, “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short…”

“Hey it’s ok! Duty calls ya know,” you give her a reassuring grin, hoping it passes for a smile instead of a grimace. You were really hoping to hang out today.

“No it’s not ok. We didn’t even get to walk around today! And I know how much you like to do that.” She stands up, slipping her purse onto her shoulder, “so next time I’ll plan a day where I guarantee I won’t get interrupted. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mk sounds good babe,” you give her a big hug, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

After she exits the cafe you finish the last bit of your coffee and glance out the window, staring at the people on the beach. Wow it’s really crowded down there today. You zone in on two kids attempting to build a sandcastle, but it’s too close to the water so the waves flatten it in two seconds. But it seems they didn’t learn their lesson because they keep rebuilding the castle in the same spot. Just move it further up little dudes.

You find yourself lost in thought again. Just because Karli’s suddenly busy doesn’t mean you don’t still have a whole day to yourself. You can walk around on your own. Also why not treat yourself to another drink? A fun one this time from their specials menu.

Ten minutes later you find yourself wandering around the various shops, hot hazelnut latte in hand, gazing at display after display of designer clothes and bags. Look, you may not be a huge fashion person, or have any expendable cash, but a girl can still appreciate art, especially when it’s laid out so nicely in front of you. 

Speaking of art, there’s an art gallery coming up that you absolutely love. You’ve always been too afraid to go inside because you’re the type of person who feels obligated to buy something if you enter a local store and you DEFinitely can’t afford anything there. So you opt to loiter outside, like some creep, looking a little too long at the featured art through the window. This time it’s an Impressionist style painting of a ship on hazy waters with a sunset in the background. You’re no artist but you can appreciate good quality work when you see it. The piece is mesmerizing and serene, transfixing you to the spot. Before you know it, you’ve been staring for 15 whole minutes.

While admiring the artist’s use of color on the display piece, you overhear a lady raising her voice not too far away, snapping you out of your trance. It sounds like drama, so being the nosy bitch that you are, you’re definitely gonna check it out, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘no’?! You’ll be perfect for each other!! Where’s your owner I bet he’ll listen!” At this point the lady’s voice is sounding downright aggressive.

As you shuffle closer to the scene of the noise, you spot a middle-aged, blonde lady pointing her finger at two hybrid men, almost jabbing one of them in the chest with her sharp, ruby nails. Behind her stands a gorgeous female arctic fox hybrid who clearly belongs to her as she pats her owner’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“I’m sorry miss but we just aren’t interested.” The taller of the two hybrids with orange hair speaks up, gently pushing the lady’s hands away. “Please leave us alone.” He’s being surprisingly calm, even after getting yelled at in public.

“Yeah lady get out of our faces,” the other white and grey haired hybrid is definitely more agitated, crossing his arms as he huffs in annoyance. You don’t blame him since the blonde lady is being ridiculously rude.

You can’t really make out the two males’ faces, since they’re turned away from you, but they are obviously hybrids. Both having incredibly bushy, soft-looking tails and tall, pointy ears sticking out of their heads.

Even if you can’t see their expressions, you can tell they’re uncomfortable with the harassment. Since you’re still somewhat unaware of the context, you stay out of the argument but decide to keep an eye on the situation in case the lady steps out of line. You’re just slightly around the corner, able to stay a safe distance away so that no one, especially the lady, can catch you eavesdropping. Pretending to admire the Gucci purses displayed in front of the shop you’re now standing at, and almost choking at the price, you cautiously side-eye blondie as she refuses to back down from the hybrid boys.

“Listen here you rude little pets, I’m not leaving you alone until I see your owner. My Sylvia here,” she gestures to the fox hybrid behind her, “would make a perfect partner for you.” She pokes the orange haired hybrid again, “I’ve been searching so long for her to find a mate and I’m not giving you up! Now where the hell is your owner!”

What the fuck?! How dare this lady talk to them like that? And in public no less! You now know exactly why she’s yelling at them. Working at a private hybrid clinic has opened your eyes to the harsh world of hybrids, and their selfish, rich owners. It’s not uncommon for owners to negotiate with each other and breed their hybrids. If two pretty hybrids mate, their children can be sold for loads of money. It's cruel and disgusting, with many of the children sold off before they can even get to know their parents. You’re all too familiar with this tradition, often catching owners in the waiting room of your clinic discussing in whispers about buying and selling hybrid children as if they’re livestock.

“Hey what the fuck did you call us?!” The white and grey hybrid is now also raising his voice. “Listen you wrinkly bi…!” He is quickly silenced by the orange hybrid, who abruptly clamps his hand over his buddy’s mouth.

Orange hair clears his throat. “What he means is, we don’t appreciate the tone you’re using with us. Please leave us alone ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Goodbye.” They attempt to brush past her.

“Hey hold on a minute! I’m not done with you!!” This lady even has the balls to grab onto orange hair’s arm. “I demand to speak to your owner!” Then some sort of realization dawns upon her because her eyes go wide, then quickly narrow. “And where are your collars? Aren’t owned hybrids supposed to have collars on? You know I just might have to call Hybrid Services.” 

You can see the boys visibly tense at her words as she sports a satisfied smirk. Poor Sylvia is now gently tugging on her shirt. “Please calm down, miss…” she says desperately trying to remedy the situation.

Before you know it, and without any plan of action, you round the corner and march up to the boys, standing defensively in front of them.

“Um…” You gulp, then clear your throat, speaking in what you hope is a more confident tone. “Sorry I took so long guys! You wouldn’t believe the line at the coffee shop!”

Next

[rafivadafreddy]

Pretty Little Psycho

A Nevada Ramirez and Nettie Perez Story. Part Two.

Part One

Summery: Nettie waits for Nevada to bring her bag back. When he never shows up, Nettie decided to take matters into her own hand and go after Nevada.

Word Count: 2,018 Warnings: Cursing. Talk about drugs and blowjobs. Nettie gets aggressive. Some explicit talk. Spanish! 

The next few days had Nettie anxious. She had not only back talked to the Nevada Ramirez but lived to tell the tale. Just at the thought that she would even dare tell anyone what had happened Nettie let out a pretty ugly snort as she stood at the café. Trying to figure out a way to retrieve her bag. Surely Nevada would have been kind enough to return it, or have his minions bring it back. Hell throw it at her through the car window. No need to stop. She just needed the fucking bag back.

Her phone, medication, gun and her last three paychecks were in that bag. Along with her wallet that had her I.D. Those shit were a pain in the ass to get made again.

“Mother fucker… hijo de puta…” she would mumble under her breath as she worked, honestly not caring since she maned the front of the café alone. Dalvin would always be in his office working on the finances and Camila would be baking.

As the day slowly came to an end, Nettie said goodbye to the two owners and left. On a mission. After asking around on her walk home, Nettie found out where Nevada or Trujillo usually hangs around at night. It was a Saturday, so she hoped he would be there.

Checking the time, Nettie narrowed her eyes and went to get a shower. Once clean, shaved and feeling a little better. Nettie started to get ready. Blow dying her hair, leaving her dark locks in semi-straight. She pulled her hair in a few braids but tied it off in a ponytail instead of braiding it all the way. Grinning and doing something simple with her makeup, Nettie put on mascara, foundation to hide the dark bags under her eyes, blush on her cheek bones and some liquid eyeliner on her eyelid, deciding against the cat eye look. Once that was done, she added a bit of pink lipstick and went to put on her clothes.

Black leather shorts, a simple black tank top underneath and her black studded leather jacket. Nettie was on a mission. Slipping her feet into four-inch heels that had a strap. Making it easier for her to walk and not worry about her heels slipping out of her feet with each step. Once ready, Netter lathered her lips with some gloss and left her house.

Walking to where the club was, Nettie suddenly felt her palms become sweaty and she started to rethink her decision. ‘What the fuck am I thinking…’ she thought to herself and walked right up to the bouncer at the door. Putting on a flirty smile, she whispered a few things in his ear. Mostly flirting while rubbing his arm up and down. Soon enough, she was let in with a smirk.

Looking around the dark club, Nettie furrowed her eyebrows and pushed her way to the bar. The club was so loud she almost couldn’t hear herself think. But once at the bar, Nettie grinned at the bartender.

“What can I get you linda?” he asked over the music.

Shaking her head, she leaned over the bar. “I’m looking for Nevada Ramirez.” She yelled back and saw the guys eyebrows raise.

“Look…” he started and sighed. “You seem like a good girl. You don’t want to get mixed up with Nevada and his stuff.”

Nettie almost laughed, knowing how it must look. Her asking to see Nevada. The druglord and ‘King’ Asshole of Washington Heights.

“I don’t want anything like that!” she yelled out. “His bodyguard, Miguel helped me a few days back and Nevada gave me a ride home! They have my purse and I need it back!” She explained and the bartender just looked uneasy.

But instead of saying, he pointed to the side where there were some stairs. A guard, well… guarding it and the bartender shrugged. “Take this up there…” he told her and handed over some papers. “I was going to go, but it’ll get you up there.” He smiled and Nettie suddenly felt grateful.

Taking her jacket off and the bartender placing it behind the bar. He winked at her and Nettie grinned. Pulling her shirt down further, giving a nice few of her cleavage and her practically see through lace bra. She turned and headed over to the stairs.

“I have papers for Nevada...” she held them up and after the guard looked over the papers quickly. He let her up and Nettie almost giggled.

‘this is going way too easy…’

Once up there, she rolled her eyes. Men sitting around, girls giving lap dances almost naked. Some doing a line of coke, others drinking. One even seemed to be giving some guy a blowjob. But Nettie paid them no mind. She quickly found Nevada and walked over to him. Throwing the papers down on the table in front of him. Ignoring the fact that the papers spread over the table and two even fell to the floor.

“Mira quién apareció.” He laughed and Netter rolled her eyes once again.

“Si, Si… I showed up. Don’t go creamin’ your pants now Nevada.” She taunted, smirking while her arms crossed over her chest.

Watching him lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Nettie watched as Nevada licked over his lips. His eyes trailing over her body. Looking at her exposed legs, that looked a lot longer thanks to her heels. Her bare arms and chest that was slightly thrusted outwards thanks to her arms being crossed under her bust.

“Now mami, we don’t want a repeat of last time… do we?” he questioned, and Nettie gritted her teeth.

“Mira aquí, Nevada. I didn’t come here to chit-chat.” Nettie stepped forward. “I came here to get my purse that was left in your stupid looking escalade.” She laughed, this whole situation was an honest joke. “So, can I please have it back then I’ll leave and never come face to face with you unless absolutely necessary.” Nettie bargained, tilting her head to the side.

Nevada just sat there, a little confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jose took that bag back to you two days ago.” Nevada waved her off.

Nettie just threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, yeah. OKAY. That’s why I’m here. Cause your guy brought my bag back. Yet, here I am. Telling you I don’t have it. Last time I saw it was when I got in YOUR escalade.” She exclaimed, voice raising now.

Taking a step back when Nevada got to his feet. Miguel stepped forward and Nettie was soon being dragged somewhere. Had she not caught her footing; Nevada would have ended up literally dragging her.

Entering a office, Nettie was pushed into a seat and Nevada ordered Miguel to grab Jose.

“I am really fucking tired of your pretty little mouth, mami.” Nevada sneered and Nettie sighed.

“If it was up to me, Trujillo I wouldn’t even be here. But I fucking need my bag.” She eyed him and leaned back against the leather seat.

Yet, before he could say anything. There was a knock and soon Jose was pushed inside.

“AH! Jose… Jose, Jose, Jose... I gave you a job to do the other day. You told me you delivered the bag.” Nevada stood up and walked around his desk to sit on the edge of it. “Now, I got little miss mami here. Saying she wants her bag back, which is hilarious. Cause, you told me you returned it to her.”

Nettie stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Where the fuck is my bag?” she asked, glaring at the man in front of her.

“I… I gave it to you, crazy puta.” Jose tried to sound tough, but Nettie wasn’t having it.

She stepped forward; Nevada didn’t even try to stop her.

“Oh, you gave me my bag. Huh. So why am I here then?” she asked him.

Jose just let out a laugh, one that sounded like a nervous chuckle. “The fuck should I know. Probably trying to get Nevada to pay you or something.” He looked over her shoulder to Nevada. “You know these putas are loca.” He laughed, but it turned into a painful groan in just two seconds.

Nettie was standing in front of Jose; her knee having encountered his dick and balls in one swift upwards motion.

“Call me puta… one more time. I will personally cut your dick off and shove it up your ass, making you my little bitch.” Nettie grabbed Jose's hair with a fist and hissed in his ear.

Miguel had to turn his head and let out a few very suspicious coughs that sounded like laughter to Nettie. Not that she was paying him much attention.

“FUCK… fine! I have your shit. Spent your money as well. Hoes like you deserve it. Thinking they a bad bitch!” Jose said in a painful grunt as Nettie pulled harder at his hair.

With wide eyes, her mouth dropped. Lifting her high heeled foot, she kicked Jose in the chest. Sending him flying back to the floor. Only to turn to Nevada. “I am going to murder him.” She told the man through her clenched teeth.

Shaking his head, Nevada looked at Jose before glancing at Miguel. “Go teach Jose here some manners… find out where her stuff is and bring it back to her.”

With that, Miguel picked Jose by the back of his shirt and pushed him out the door forcefully. Jose knocking into the door frame only to be pushed out.

Rubbing at her tired face, Nettie sat back down in the chair. “That fucker spent three months’ worth of my pay.” She scoffed and stood up. “If you could, get Miguel to bring me my stuff at my place? I need to get out of here.” She mumbled and headed to the door.

Nettie never stopped to see what Nevada would say. She just left. Pushing her way down the stairs and to the bar. Grabbing her jacket. She waved at the bartender and quickly left the club. The cool air outside felt heavenly against her skin.

Two hours later, Nettie was laying on her couch wearing a shirt three times too big for her and a pair of girl boxers that hugged her ass. Sipping from a wine glass that was filled halfway with the boxed wine she had in her fridge. When there came a knock to her door. Nettie stood up slowly and dragged her feet over to the door.

“Hola mami…” Nevada grinned when she opened the door. One of his hands held a cigar and the other her purse. “I believe this is yours.” He held it out to her, and Nettie smiled slightly.

“It is… thank you Nevada.” She grabbed the straps of the purse and frowned when he didn’t let go. Only pulling at it so Nettie stepped closer to him.

Nettie watched as Nevada licked over his lips as he glanced down to her lips. “Do I get a thank you… for returning your shit?” he asked, Nettie almost laughed in his face.

“Nevada… it was your men who didn’t return it in the first place.” She reminded him and shrugged. But instead of saying anything else. She gave him the softest kiss she could muster up. Her lips barley brushing against his. “Thank you… have a nice night now.” She slipped her bag from his hand and stepped back inside her home. Closing her door easily and letting out a breathless chuckle.

Locking the door. Nettie looked inside her purse, only to freeze when she saw it was filled with money.

‘Here’s Jose’s next three pay. Don’t spend it all in one place- Nevada.’

Read the note on top of all the money. Shaking her head, Nettie rushed over to the door and unlocked it. Pulling it open, she cursed when she saw that Nevada had left.

Throwing her purse on the couch, Nettie went to sleep. Deciding to deal with all that money in the morning.

Tagging- @the-baby-bookworm​ I am having so much fun writing this. If you’d like to be tagged!! Talk to me. <3 Don’t forget to Heart and Reblog! 

[turtle-steverogers]

alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is.  but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece.  so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

-

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio.  You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!”  And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day.  One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running.  And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances.  Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold.  But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another.  Self-preservation over morals and all that, right? 

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?”  His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time.  The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now.  Tonight had been a close fucking call.  

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway.  Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.  

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so.  He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash.  They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.  

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell.  He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn.  Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then.  It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him.  Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found.  And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one.  Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground.  Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices.  And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank.  He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff.  We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look.  Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now.  They don’t even have to leave the room.  Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view.  Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.  

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car.  It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop.  He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them.  Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on. 

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention.  Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view.  He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot.  A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man.  Race follows behind warily. 

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck.  His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint.  Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions.  Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story.  Well, actually it’s not.  You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert.  You two look like you need some help.  Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up.  The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary.  On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.  

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?”  When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured.  Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did?  Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time.  Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good.  You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck.  I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves.  Feel free to crash.  If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.”  With that, he’s gone.  Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’?  Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.  

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost.  It’s the cop, it’s gotta be.  Who else would be knocking before dawn?  And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run.  Go on without me.” 

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if.  Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer.  Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint?  I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up.  Anyway, how can I help you?”  There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep.  Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything.  I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night.  Yes sir, I- oh?  Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop.  Not without a warrant.  Mm, sorry officer.  Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning.  Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch.  I don’t see no warrant.  Okay, officer.  Yes. just around back.  Go ahead.  Alright, officer, okay.  Nice chat.  Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him.  They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail?  What if they still end up in jail?  He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest.  Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.  

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay.  I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him.  A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.  

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He’s not sure why he said that.  It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out.  But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders.  It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless.  Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy?  What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch.  The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry.  Also, bank robbers, huh?  Haven’t had your kind in a while.  You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy.  Anyway, drinks?  I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

-

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes@we-dont-sell-papes@suddenly-im-respecsable 

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert@technically-whizzy

@andthewoildwillknow@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog@localfakeitalian @have-we-got-news-for-you@musical-shitposts@thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent 

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing 

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen 

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend 

@auspicioustarantula 

@faithmil 

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@bxnesof92

@backgroundensemble

@sure-as-a-star

@skybert-daherty 

@eveningpaper

@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@heart-a-n-o-n

@bitching-newsboys

@orollyitsracetrackhiggins

@joshuaburrageenthusiast

@random-superhero-stuff

@awkwardstranger98

@falling-out-trees-101

@modern-race-owns-airpods

@asphodelnerd

@i-dont-do-sadness

@rockyroad236

@sirgrahamcracker

@godhatesjordan

@thats-our-que-boys

@bastille-smedry

@nerdsies

@toss-me-a-pape

@wolfbutterfly42

@revolutioninthesewers

@spot-the-brooklyn-pirate

@aintnosleevesinbrooklyn

@hats-or-badges 

@cassimalfoy

@kingofflushing

@racetrackyeetgins

@yeetwootyeetwoot

@for-the-star-reporter

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 5 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

He’d put the phone down on the counter while he made breakfast, but now that his hands were free again he still didn’t pick it up; after their initial awkward phone call, they’d started FaceTiming instead, and as much as he loved seeing her face, he was really glad she couldn’t see his right now.

“And I was soo confused, so I started telling her, like, ‘Seriously, Honey, he’s got this amazing blond hair that you just like, want to touch all the time and these big brown eyes and little freckles and plus I’m pretty sure he’s kind of ripped and I—‘ Kristoff, I heard the microwave go off already. Are you hiding from me?”

“No,” he muttered, his face turning even redder.

chapter 5

day 1

Sven was just stumbling into the kitchen when Kristoff came in. He frowned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“You look really happy for someone who just dropped off their girlfriend at the airport for a six-week trip,” he said, pouring a glass of chocolate milk. 

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Not the important part of that sentence.”

Kristoff snagged the bottle and poured himself a cup. “This is mine, by the way, so you owe me.”

“Fine, I’ll buy toilet paper l-- no, I know you, Bjorgman, you’re trying to distract me.”

Sven narrowed his eyes further, fixing Kristoff with a hard stare. He tried to look as innocent as possible as he went to rummage through the fridge, but then he remembered the way Anna had clung to him, the feel of her little hands in his hair, the press of her lips against--

“Oh my god! You kissed her!”

Kristoff stood, not bothering to hide his smile anymore. “Well, technically, she kissed me.”

“I fucking called it, man, I knew you wouldn’t be able to hold off that much longer.”

“We really did try.”

“You didn’t even make it a week, my guy,” Sven said amiably, meandering into the living room. “You tried harder at Mario Kart the other night. Which, by the way, I know you lost on purpose so Anna could win.”

Kristoff considered arguing, but then his phone lit up with a text from Anna, so instead he grinned and walked away to the sound of Sven sighing dramatically. “I heard that buzz! I know it’s her! Jesus, I’d say get a room, but--”

Kristoff didn’t hear the rest as he shut his bedroom door.

kris!! theres wifi i can text you

Im in first class look 

..

That’s crazy

They gave you champagne this early in the morning?

..

supposed to be for mimosas

but it’s like 5 o clock somewhere

specifically romania so

..

That jet lag is going to be rough.

How long is your flight?

..

10 hrs to london then 3 to bucharest💀

but i think my seat turns into a bed so ill try to sleep

theres sooooo many movies tho!

omg theyre bringing more snacks….i feel like a movie star already

..

You kind of are.

..

havent made the movie yet!!

oh the director is here he wants to talk ttyl

..

:)

---

day 4

For some reason, her hands were shaking as they hovered over the green button. “Just do it, Anna,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just Kristoff. He told you to call.”

Thanks to the time difference and long flights, it had taken most of two days to even get here, and on her first full day in Romania she’d been so overwhelmed with the film set and meeting her co-star Adam and talking to the directors and producers and costumers and cameramen that she’d completely crashed the moment she’d gotten back to her hotel room. She’d woken up in the middle of the night and sent Kristoff a quick text apologizing for not calling; he’d responded almost immediately, reassuring her that it was fine and to just call him the next day. At a reasonable hour, he’d made sure to add, not at 2 A.M. Go back to sleep.

She had, and then she’d nearly missed her alarm and hadn’t had time to call him in the morning, and then she’d been filming her first scene and been so overwhelmed by all of that that now it was nearly six o’clock, and it was the first time she’d gotten to look at her phone all day.

He’d texted her once at around 9 A.M. her time. Good luck today! You’ll kill it. Her heart had done a funny little flip at the message, simple as it was; every time she thought of Kristoff, it didn’t feel quite real, like it was just a daydream she would wake up from, but here it was, concrete proof that even literally halfway around the world-- more than halfway, actually-- he was still thinking of her, still caring about her.

The remembrance of that was what finally gave her the courage to hit call. She felt too nervous to FaceTime him, especially considering she was already in sweatpants and halfway through eating a bowl of pasta on her bed. He picked up on the third ring, sounding breathless for some reason.

“Hey! Anna! How are you?”

“I’m, um, I’m good! How are you? You sound kind of...out of breath?”

“Oh, yeah, you caught me at the gym, so I--”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, let me hang up and--”

“No, don’t! I’m almost done, just--”

There was a quick beep in the background, and a whirring noise she hadn’t noticed until now stopped. “Okay, sorry, we’re good.”

She couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like right now, with his hair hanging in his eyes and sweat dripping down his very well-muscled--

“Anna? You there?”

He’d just asked her something, but she’d been too busy daydreaming to catch it. Maybe it really was for the best she hadn’t gone for FaceTime; she probably would have been struck speechless at the sight of him. “Sorry, I was just-- sorry. Um. What did you say?”

He laughed softly. “I asked how your first day of filming went.”

“Oh! It was good, really good, actually. We filmed that scene I auditioned with, actually. They changed the bit about the cowboy boots.”

“Thank god. I don’t know anything about movies, but I know that was awful.”

“Oh, yeah, Adam-- that’s who’s playing Jesse-- he said they’d have to double his paycheck if they wanted him to say shit like that, and then we kind of improv-ed something else and it went really well.”

“That’s awesome!”

Anna felt herself blushing, just barely, at the sound of the genuine pride in his voice. “It was, um, it was nothing, really.”

“So how’s all of it going? Are the...um...honestly, I don’t know who all is involved in making movies. But are the other people nice?”

“Yeah! I really like the girl who does my hair and makeup, her name’s Honey. Isn’t that cute?”

Kristoff laughed; she could hear him starting the car in the background. Anna bit her lip. “Oh-- did you get to shower?”

“I will at home, don’t worry. Anyway--”

“You need to focus on driving? Yeah, I totally get it, seriously. Bye!”

She hit the red button and quickly dropped her phone. Her heart had been pounding the whole time; god, she was really out of practice with this whole thing. Embarrassment swept over her, and she buried her face in her knees; how the hell was this going to work when she was too self-conscious to talk to him for more than five minutes? God, she’d be lucky if he ever bothered to call her again after this.

To her surprise, the phone buzzed only a moment later. She debated picking it up for a long moment, then decided to go ahead and rip the bandaid off and snatched it up.

Just FYI, I was feeling really nervous, too. Want me to call you back after I get home and shower?

For some reason, tears started to fill her eyes as she typed a response. 

yes please :)

She showered, too, taking her time as she let the hot water work its magic on the tension in her shoulders, drawing in slow, deep breaths to steady herself. It wasn’t that every guy she’d ever dated had been bad, per se, just that it had been quite a long time since she’d been with someone who made her feel this nervous and excited and terrified and joyful all at once-- actually, now that she thought about it, she didn’t know if she’d ever liked someone else this much right off the bat. Since coming to L.A. almost two years ago, she’d had a string of bad luck with men, and it was strange readjusting to the notion that one would want to talk to her as much as she wanted to talk to him, that he actually wanted to hear about her day, that he saw right through all her embarrassing little defense mechanisms and somehow knew just what to say to make her feel better. Of course they knew each other, but this was something different, something more, as if she didn’t even have to say something for him to understand.

Her phone buzzed again ten minutes after she got out of the shower; with a smile, she picked it up.

“Hey, Kris.”

“Hey, Anna.”

“Ready to try again?”

“With you? Always.”

---

day 9

“So I was telling her, like, ‘I wish I had a recent picture of him to show you because he’s like, super super hot.’ And she kind of made this face and was like ‘that won’t make a difference.’”

He’d put the phone down on the counter while he made breakfast, but now that his hands were free again he still didn’t pick it up; after their initial awkward phone call, they’d started FaceTiming instead, and as much as he loved seeing her face, he was really glad she couldn’t see his right now. 

“And I was soo confused, so I started telling her, like, ‘Seriously, Honey, he’s got this amazing blond hair that you just like, want to touch all the time and these big brown eyes and little freckles and plus I’m pretty sure he’s kind of ripped and I—‘ Kristoff, I heard the microwave go off already. Are you hiding from me?”

“No,” he muttered, his face turning even redder. 

Anna giggled. “Then show me your face.”

He did so reluctantly; to his surprise, she didn’t laugh. “Kris, you know you are, like, super handsome, right? Seriously.”

“I’m, um, I’m just gonna—“

“I mean it. Like I get why you’re feeling shy about it and stuff but just know that, okay?”

He only nodded, feeling a little better, although his face was still heated. Anna, knowing when to leave well enough alone, smiled at him and continued her story. “Anyway, I told her all that and she just started laughing, and finally when I was done she was like ‘Anna, I’m gay’. And so then I showed her a picture of my sister, and I’m just saying, when we’re back in LA, we’re definitely doing a double date.”

—-

day 15

She didn’t know why she felt so nervous about telling him about it. She’d already texted him that morning telling him what scenes they were filming, and it wasn’t like it had meant anything; it was just part of the movie, and Adam was married anyway— but then again, it wasn’t that part that had really been bothering her. She still wasn’t sure until she was explaining it all to Kristoff, forcing herself to maintain eye contact as she held up her phone inside the blanket nest she’d constructed on her bed. 

“And like, he and I are good friends now, so that at least made it easier. And we were all in character and stuff, so, you know, it felt right, and then they started the fake snow going and we just did it, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Kristoff said, his voice neutral. 

“That like— this doesn’t bother you, right?” she asked quickly. “Because seriously, it didn’t mean—“

“Anna, I know. This is literally your job, I’m not jealous or anything. But please tell me if I ever make you feel like I’m mad or something, because I’m seriously not.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “I— I know. I just...wanted to make sure. Because it still, like...still felt weird to me, you know? And I can’t figure out why.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Have you done this before? Like, stage kissing and stuff?”

“Oh, yeah, lots of times. But this time felt kind of different. I just don’t know why.”

He considered it for a moment, looking so thoughtful she couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little flutter in her chest at the thought that he really and truly cared about helping her figure this out. “Enough about me, though, tell me about that crazy to-go order you texted me about. Did you end up getting to see the person who’d ordered it?”

They talked for so long Anna lost track of time, until she yawned so widely Kristoff stopped talking mid-sentence. 

“Anna, what time is it there?”

“Um...close to eleven?”

“What time did you get up this morning?”

“...four.”

He laughed softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow morning, okay?”

She wanted to argue, but honestly she’d been fighting to keep her eyes open for the last half hour. “Night, Kris.”

“Night, Anna. Sweet dreams.”

He said that every night, but the way he’d smiled tonight— she was thinking about it until long after she’d hung up her phone and closed her eyes. Then, suddenly, she sat upright and snatched it up again, typing furiously. 

figured it out...before, there’s never been someone i ACTUALLY wanted to kiss instead 

..

:)

I wish it had been me, too. 

—

day 21

hey kris!!! sorry i know it’s the middle of the night there so i hope this doesn’t wake you up but i set an alarm on my phone for the exact time and as of like 10 seconds ago we’re halfway there!!!!!!! 😊😊😊

To her surprise, a response came just a few minutes later. 

:) Knew we could do this.

—

day 23

“I got my class schedule today.”

“Yeah? Show me!”

He held it up awkwardly to the camera, and she squinted at it. “Oh, wow, that’s a lot of blocks. Are you still going to work at Starbucks?”

“Yeah, I’ve been there the whole time I’ve been in school. Just work less hours on weekdays, usually pick up some early morning weekend shifts.”

“Oh, that sucks.”

He shrugged. “It works out. I, uh, I’ve got some scholarships that cover most of my tuition, so then it’s, y’know. Rent money and stuff.”

Anna frowned, feeling suddenly acutely aware of how much money she was making for a lot less work. “Will you have, like...any free time?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding nervous. “I promise I’ll still have time to hang out with you and stuff, just--”

“No, no that’s like-- shit, that’s not what I meant, Kris, I mean I kind of did but like-- I’m not trying to like, pressure you or--”

“No, I get it, I--”

“No, I mean like school is way important and you like--”

“Seriously, when I say we can--”

Anna took a deep breath. “Okay. You talk first.”

“I, um. I don’t want you to think, like, I won’t make time for you or something, though. Um-- that was all.”

She smiled, wishing she could be there in person; it was so much easier to reassure him when she could just squeeze his hand. “Seriously, that’s not what I meant. I was just worried about you, ‘cause that’s, like, a lot of stress. So if there’s anything I can do to like, help or whatever, just...just let me know. Like...with anything.”

“Seriously, I think it’ll help a ton to just have a pretty girl keeping me company while I study.”

She felt her cheeks turn pink. “What if I end up wanting to distract you?”

Now she wasn’t the only one blushing.

---

day 30

“Miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

Tonight, there wasn’t really anything else to say.

—- 

day 34

He’d stopped leaving his phone on silent overnight; it was silly, really, but he always had a tiny fear that maybe something would happen over in Romania while he was asleep, and maybe Anna would need to reach him, and there probably wouldn’t be anything he could actually do...but still.

Despite that, though, it still took a lot to wake him, so when his phone went off one night close to three in the morning, he nearly missed the call. “Hello?” he mumbled sleepily, putting it to his ear.

He heard a familiar little giggle. “It’s FaceTime, Kris. I’m sorry to wake you up, I just-- I really wanted you to see this.”

“Oh-- hang on.” He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, sliding them on and blinking blearily at the screen. “Um...where are you? I just see, like...the ceiling?”

“Oh-- that’s cause I gave my phone to Honey, just a second, and she’ll show you.”

The phone was lifted up suddenly by a pretty woman with bronze skin and dark hair thrown up into a bun. “Nice to meet you, Anna’s boyfriend.”

He wondered if she could see him blush even in the dark room. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready!” he heard Anna chirp from somewhere. “Turn the camera!”

Honey did with a laugh, and Kristoff sat upright, his eyes wide. Anna was in a deep blue ballgown that fit perfectly to her torso before flaring out into a long, shimmery skirt. Her hair was down, set in curls that shone especially bright against the dark color of the gown, and she was smiling so brightly he thought his heart was going to burst.

“You look beautiful, baby,” he said, half-convinced he was still dreaming.

She was quiet for a moment, and then he realized she was blushing bright red. He heard Honey giggle, and then the phone was being handed back over to Anna. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“What, beautiful? I definitely--”

“No, I--” Her blush deepened. “Kris, are you wearing a shirt?”

He glanced down. “Oh-- uh, no, I’m not. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be able to see without the lights--”

A mischievous glint was twinkling in her eye. “Trust me, Bjorgman, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

Now he was blushing, too. “Um-- so you’ve got to be filming something special today, right?”

“Yeah, the big ballroom scene. I just...I really love this dress, and the way Honey did my hair and stuff, and I, um...I wanted you to see.”

He smiled softly. “I’m glad. You really do look so, so beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but then he heard Honey call, “Hey, Anna, say bye to the boyfriend, they want you on set in five.”

Anna turned back to the camera, looking suddenly nervous. “Kris, are you my boyfriend?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned, no longer sleepy. “Okay.”

Anna laughed. “Okay?”

“Hey, it’s still the middle of the night, and I’m still kind of speechless after seeing you in that dress. Cut me some slack.”

“Go back to bed. Sorry I woke you up.”

He yawned. “I’m not.”

---

day 40

“Look! All packed!” She grinned, turning her phone quickly around the room to show off her only slightly overstuffed suitcases. “And ready to come home!”

“Do you think you’ll miss it?”

“No, I mean...it’s beautiful and all here, but it’s still not home.”

Kristoff grinned at that. “You still want me to pick you up from the airport?”

“Um, is that even a question?”

He laughed. “Just making sure! I mean, six weeks is a long time, don’t know if you got tired of me.”

“Kristoff, the second I get back to LA, I’m like, jumping on you again and kissing the fuck out of you.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “And then?”

She could tease him, too. “And then you’d better hurry the hell up and take me back to your apartment so I can show you how much I missed you.”

“....Jesus Christ. Why does waiting two more days suddenly feel so much longer than the other forty?”

[stoopsbookstore]

Stress Relief -M-

Synopsis - Doyoung is rethinking his decision to give Jaehyun's cousin an internship. He's constantly messing up the shipping orders, he spills coffee everywhere, he takes too many breaks, but Jaemin is his best friend's cousin, so Doyoung deals with it. One day, Doyoung has been stressed out so much because of Jaemin's bullshit, he freaks out. His maid offers a source of relief.

Warnings - Office sex, Window sex, Phone masturbation (it's on speaker while they're doing it), mentions of a pregnancy/breeding kink, Power dynamic (CEO/Maid), Soft Dom!Doyoung (probably could've written him more dommy, but I was feeling a bit soft)

"I know he's your cousin, but holy hell, Jay, Jaemin can't do shit right," Doyoung held his head in his hand as he talked to Jaehyun about his cousin's daily antics, "he fucking ordered 500 tons of printer paper, we only needed 50."

"It's a simple mistake, I promise. He's just a ki-"

"He's 19 and he's a dumbass. This isn't the fuckup he's done," Y/N came over to Doyoung, handing him a peppermint tea and a croissant to Jaehyun, "Thank you, Y/N. I know you're related and I'm doing this as favor, but shit, dude, you couldn't given him an internship? If his parents wanted Jaemin to get experience, why not just do it with family?"

Jaehyun wiped his mouth as he took a bite of his pastry, "Blatant favoritism. Since we are related, the company would see it as a conflict of interests. It was either ask you or have him clean vomit up at the carnival with Yuta's younger brother, Yuto."

"Baking soda or corn starch," Y/N started wiping down the trophy case, full of Doyoung's medals and awards from years past and present, "Dries it out, that way you can easily vaccum or sweep it up. No smell as well."

Doyoung nodded towards Jaehyun, a smug smirk on his face, "See? No smell."

"Ok, asshole," Jaehyun threw a napkin at the older male, "I'll talk to him, tell him to shape up or clean up. Y/N, always a pleasure. I wish you could come clean for me, but what from I've heard, sounds like Doyoung gives you a hell of a paycheck."

"3 year contact, full benefits, an pet-friendly apartment with half-priced rent as well as Holidays off? I sure hope that's a hell of a paycheck," Doyoung stood up, shaking Jaehyun's hand.

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

"Jaeh-" Doyoung was standing in his office, pants soaked in various caffeinated beverages, his phone on speaker.

"I know! I know! He accidentally spilt coffee on your pants in front of Mr. Park and his son, Jinyoung! Just send him ho-"

"We were so close to a possible merger! A small startup was in my grasp! He even flirted with Y/N as she was cleaning up his mess!"

"Listen, I'll knock some sense into him, just one last chance, please?"

Doyoung ran his fingers through his hair, Y/N taking Doyoung's jacket as she attempted to clean, "Fine. One last chance, but if he fucks up again, he's out."

Before Jaehyun could say his thanks, Doyoung hung out, slamming the speaker, a piece flying onto the floor. His head pressed against the desk in annoyed anger as Y/N stopped cleaning his jacket to grab the disjointed speaker piece. Doyoung noticed as Y/N bent down, her skirt rode up, a sliver of her black cheeky panties showing. He quickly diverted his attention when she straightened up, placing the small object on his desk. Doyoung fiddled with his tie as he continued to watch Y/N cleaning his office, poorly hiding the thoughts in his mind.

"Y/N, you're always so hard working. Don't you have a social life? Any friends or boyfriends or girlfriends," Doyoung tried to talk in his smoothest voice, concealing his speech of any suspicious tones.

"Nope, I'm single and I don't really go out. Honestly, Mr. Dongyoung," a strain in his pants emerged as Y/N's voice became more sensual to Doyoung, maybe a sip of water would help, "I just kinda stay home, watch some Netflix or Hulu and play with my cat."

Doyoung choked on the water a bit, his mind dirtying up Y/N's sentence, "your cat?"

Y/N grabbed the feather dust out of the office closet, her movements much more fluid than Doyoung has ever realized, "Yeah. She's a little puffball, only about 2 years, her name is Mimi."

"Oh," Doyoung let out a relieved sigh, a hand reaching under his desk while his free hand continued scrolling mindlessly through a document, hovering the mouse over his two screens, "I bet she's really cute."

Y/N chuckled, "She's an asshole, but a great cuddler. So basically it's like having a boyfriend, except the cat knows how to take care of itself."

Doyoung palmed himself through his pants, continuing to watch Y/N as he pretended to be interested in the annoying numbers that appeared on his screens. Y/N smirked, feigning innocence as if she hadn't noticed Doyoung craning his neck when she bent over again to fluff the couch cushions.

"Is there anything else you need help with, Mr. Dongyoung? I know you're stressed, so I can stay if you'd like," Y/N subtly bit her lip at the growing tension, walking over to fill his mug up with more tea, "maybe help with some stress? I know peppermint tea can help."

Doyoung chuckled at the question, "we have very different ideas of stress relief, Y/N."

"What's your idea of relief?"

"Call me forward, but bending you ov-"

The phone rang, Jaehyun's number appearing on the caller ID. Doyoung breaking out of his melodic way of speaking and answering it with anger and annoyance, Y/N hiding her surprise at Doyoung's bluntness.

"What, Jaehyun?" Doyoung almost growled, a shot of hotness going to Y/N's core, "I'm sort of busy."

"So I talked to Jaemin," a groan out of Doyoung's mouth as Y/N placed his tea on the desk, rubbing his shoulders, "Don't groan. He says he's sorry for messing up the order, he said Ten's handwriting was atrocious and he misread it. He also said he wasn't flirting with Y/N, he was just trying to be nice."

"I think he was being more than just nice. Talking to Taeyong about how he would love to make out with her in the 15th story hallway closet?" Doyoung heard a little giggle from Y/N, a sense of annoyance coming over him. Doyoung pointed to the couch, Y/N thinking he meant to clean it, but as she went to grab the lint roller, he signaled her to just sit on it. He scooted his seat from out under the desk, turning it to face Y/N, the bulge in his pants noticeable, "that's not being nice, Jung."

"He said that? The little shit told me Taeyong said that!," the air started to grow hotter between the two, Doyoung pointing to the door and making a locking motion with his hands, Y/N making her way, locking it as Jaehyun continued to defend his cousin, "anyway, he just became an adult this year, we did stupider shit when we were his age."

"Name one time I fucked up by ordering 10 times the amount of product needed or I tried hitting on my boss's employee," Doyoung motioned Y/N to take off her panties, Y/N sliding them down her legs as she walked back to the couch, throwing them at Doyoung, the fabric landing on his black suit pants, "Seriously dude, one time."

Jaehyun stammered as he failed to register one time that Doyoung had fucked up as badly as Jaemin, "there was that one time at Cube Cafe where you spilt coffee o-"

"On Y/N. Who, if I remember correctly, said it was her fault, we exchanged numbers and three years later, in a cruel twist of fate, became my employee," Doyoung unzipped his pants, his free hand going in his pants, the sight entrancing Y/N to start teasing herself, "The defense being one situtation was two college students being dumbasses on campus while the other is a college intern being a dumbass towards a CEO."

"Fuck, I hate when you're right. But you know you did that on purpose so you could 'talk to the pretty girl with the caramel frappuccino', don't even lie" Jaehyun sighed over the phone, Y/N unzipping the back of her uniform, exposing a matching black bra, Doyoung finally pulling out his cock as he started pumping, "I'll talk to Yuta, see if he can give a job to Jaemin that doesn't involve vomit. I'll call you in a bit, bye dude."

"Alright bye," the line went dead as Doyoung let out a growlish moan, his eyes watching Y/N push in one finger, "God, I needed this release."

"So you were saying?" Y/N pulled out one of her breasts from her bra, rolling the nipple with her free hand as she added another finger, "how do you relieve your stress?"

"Where was I before I was interrupted?" Doyoung kicked off his pants, pulling his boxers up as he walked over to Y/N, pulling her fingers out of herself as he helped her up to her feet, "I think I was talking about bending you over my desk, in your maid outfit or even naked. But I like the outfit better, it just reeks of desperation, so hot and passionate, I couldn't wait to strip your clothes, so I just said fuck it and started fucking you."

The two walked over to Doyoung's desk, him grabbing at the papers and files, moving them out of the way, Y/N playfully swaying her hips. Doyoung pulled down his boxers again, this time taking them off as he leaned Y/N over his desk. He flipped her skirt up and pulled her bra all the way down as he reached in his desk junk drawer to pull out a condom. Rolling it on, he rubbed his cock over Y/N's core, gathering some of the wetness that had occured.

"Of course, a condom for safety. As much as I'd love seeing you with a swollen belly and covered in my cum, we can't do that right now. You'd look so beautiful carrying my kids, then I'd get to spoil them as they grow up," Doyoung pushed into Y/N, a moan escaping her lips as her breasts pressed against the glass table, the coldness bringing a new sensation against her warmimed body, "we can talk about that later, if you'd like. To be honest, I've thought about you and I doing this ever since I spilt that drink on you."

"Was it in purpose like Jaehyun said?" Y/n questioned as Doyoung kept thrusting, the glass desk moving in rhythm with the pair, "needed a reason to talk to me? It seems like you got a bunch of more confidence."

"Could you tell? Becoming a partial CEO with your brother of a multi-million clothing company can do wonders," Doyoung admittedly regretfully pulled out, bringing Y/N to his chest as he became nibbling on her neck.

"Why did you pull out?" Y/N arched her back and started rubbing her thighs together, "do you have a meeting?"

"No, hell no, not until later. I would cancel it if I did," Doyoung walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk, opening the curtains as he looked over the 6th story pane of glass, "come here."

Y/N walked over to Doyoung, his hands finding their way to her hips as he turned her around, unzipping her top the rest of the way and throwing it aside, leaving Y/N in just her bra, skirt and stockings, Doyoung slipping off her kitten heels as he kissed up her legs.

"So gorgeous, so beautiful," Doyoung kissed Y/N's back, shivers spreading throughout her body as Doyoung reached her neck, light bites accessorizing her skin, his long fingers tangling in her hair, pushing into Y/N, "I don't think you've seen my house in the few years we've known each other, we should change that, show you some of my toys I have, maybe get you some."

The sharp, calculated thrusts and smug taunts from Doyoung made Y/N hum in ecstasy, Doyoung's free hand reaching down Y/N's skirt to play with her clit. Y/N grabbed at Doyoung's forearm as he started at a fast pace, his fingers rolling the small bundle as he kept up fucking Y/N into the window. Doyoung pulled out for a second time, spinning Y/N so the duo is now face to face, Y/N biting Doyoung's lips. Slipping in one more time, Doyoung lifted Y/N's leg to rest on his hip.

"I want to take you on a date, I want to make you mine, years of seeing you in those skirts and shirts that my brother has designed," Doyoung leaned down to kiss Y/N's breasts, his thrusts starting to be more sloppy, "your tits peeking out of them, your skirt raising up everytime you reach up to clean the higher shelves."

Y/N leaned down to bite down on Doyoung's neck, her moans muffled and vibrating against his sweaty skin. Doyoung felt his high coming on, his thrusts slowing down, milking every drop into the condom. He pulles out, tying the condon and throwing it away. Noticing Y/N didn't get off, he dropped to his knees, spreading her legs apart, kissing her thighs.

"Doyoung, you don't have to do that, I'll be fine, I should get back to work, the 4th floor needs to be done and I have a vibr-"

"It's the gentlemen thing to do," Doyoung kiss her clit as Y/N leaned her head back on, the pleasure spreading through her body, "I'll have Hongjoong do it, don't worry."

Doyoung sucked and lightly nibbled on Y/N's clit, pushing 3 fingers into Y/N as he thrusted them in and out, working to Y/N's high, he would feel bad if he got off and she didn't, even though he's her boss and this started because he need some sort of release. Y/N's thighs started to shake as Doyoung continued licking at anything he could find, his fingers going at a merciless pace once he found the spot that made Y/N go high-pitch in her moans. Y/N didn't even notice her high had came until Doyoung stood up and brought her in for an intense kiss, her essence on his lips as she could taste herself on him. Doyoung helped Y/N over to the couch, taking off his jacket and giving it to Y/N as he gathered her clothes.

"I can't believe I just screwed my bo-"

"The next word out of your mouth better be boyfriend," Doyoung kissed her forehead as he walked over to his desk, looking for a specific piece of paper and calling the front desk, "Hey Ms. Sana, can you cancel the rest of my appointments for the rest of the day, Ms. Y/n isn't feeling well, so I think I'm going to give her a ride home and make sure that she's okay. Also, ask Hongjoong to clean the fourth floor, I'll give an extra 1,000 dollar bonus this month."

"Ok, Mr. Kim, I'll do that right away."

The phone hung up with a click as Doyoung texted the valet to bring the car around to the back, Y/N putting on her shirt and Doyoung's jacket. Doyoung helped Y/N up as he slid her shoes on.

"Where's my underwear, those are kinda my favorite pair."

Doyoung took them out of his pocket with a smirk, "they're mine too and I think I'm going to keep them with me. I'll get you more pairs, one in every single shade, hue and color."

The pair walked out of the office, Sana looking concerned and shouting an admittedly adorable "Y/N fighting!" as Doyoung and Y/N made their way down the hall to the back elevator. They waited for the elevator to come to the 6th floor, Doyoung's hand gazing over Y/N's.

"So, I assume we're going to your house."

"Like I told you, I've known you for a few years and I want to show you my house."

Y/N sleepily groaned, "I kinda want a shower and a nap first."

"Fine, a shower and a nap first," Doyoung put his arm around Y/N's waist as they stepped in the back elevator, her head resting on his chest as she curled up into him. Then with one last devious smirk on his face.

"But then, I'll give you a tour. Maybe show you some of my playthings."

[appleblossomgirl0305]

Chapter 16 of Holiday is posted here and on AO3.

Aloha! So we've finally reached the end of this Holiday. I hope you've enjoyed reading it half as much I've enjoyed writing it. I want to express my gratitude to the @d12drabbles moderators who inspired this story with their weekly prompts and for creating a platform for new and experienced writers alike. And to @xerxia31, I owe you more than I can ever adequately express for your time, your incredible support, your excellent humor and genius assistance. And most of all for your friendship.

I've never finished a WIP before, so I'm pretty nervous about this chapter. Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated. Seeds have been planted for an epilogue, proving that even when I finish something, I don't actually finish it. *Sigh*.

Thank you for reading and joining me on this Holiday!

After placing the cake carefully on the passenger seat, I jumped into the driver’s seat and tried to jam the key into the ignition several times before it finally slid in. I couldn’t get the damn seat belt on either and realized that I was essentially fighting against every inanimate object I came in contact with because my hands were shaking so hard.  I beat my palms against the steering wheel in abject frustration before giving up and resting my forehead against it. I slumped against the wheel and let the full impact of how much I'd blown it settle around me. I had exposed the fragile soufflé of our relationship to a drafty room, the delicate bud of our love to a hard frost, the spun-sugar confection of us to enough pressure for it to crumble and slide through my fingers. Whatever cheesy metaphor you chose, I had totally fucked up.

I forced myself to take several deep breaths. Being a total wreck wasn’t going to help me right now, I needed to get a grip before I got to Katniss’ house. I took a moment to hate myself for letting the evening go so tragically downhill. For not standing up for her in the way I should have. For letting her believe for even a single second that she wasn’t perfect.

I fought back my mother’s voice telling me I was a lost cause, that I should just tuck my tail between my legs and crawl back inside before I embarrassed myself further. But whether it was a lost cause or not, Katniss deserved to be fought for. So I sat up, started my car and drove to her apartment.

I had never been in her building before. The Seam was on the border between town and the forest. The woods were privately owned by an international logging company, so not many people had reason to go there. Though over the years, I had heard snippets of Katniss and Gale’s conversations about hunting trips beyond the fence. Imagined her there, walking silently among the trees, arrow notched, but bow loose at her side. There were so many things to learn and discover about Katniss, I needed more time. Hell, I needed a lifetime.

The light on the front of the building was out and the dark street felt perilous. I hated the idea of Katniss and Prim having to feel unsafe, particularly at their own house. I grabbed the cake and double-checked that the car doors were locked. The entrance buzzer didn’t seem to work, but an older lady weighed down with plastic handle-bags pushed her way through the front door with a grunt and I grabbed it and held it open for her. She eyed me suspiciously as she passed, and asked in a voice raspy with disuse, “Cake?”

I nodded, holding it in front of me for her inspection and she nodded, apparently deciding that a guy holding a cake didn’t pose enough concern to warrant further discussion. I nudged through the door, feeling like I’d make it through the first trial of my quest. I made my way to Katniss’ ground-floor apartment, wondering if the old lady would have let me in if she knew that the only reason I had Katniss' address at all was from surreptitiously peeking at her paychecks.

I took a moment as I stood at her front door and ran my free hand through my hair, hoping it wasn’t too messy. Taking a deep breath and making a quick prayer to Clementia, the goddess of forgiveness and redemption, I knocked.

I heard footsteps approach the door and stop at the threshold, presumably to peer out the peephole. I held my breath, hoping Katniss would let me in, let me explain. My heart was in my throat as the door swung open and I was met with Prim’s blue eyes instead.

“Hi Prim, is Katniss home?” I asked, brandishing the cake in offering.

“Hi Peeta, she’s not. Would you like to come in?” She sounded apologetic and I tried not to look disappointed.

I walked in feeling like a deflated balloon. I hadn’t really stopped to consider that she might not be home.

“I’m not sure when she’ll be back. She’s at the Hawthorne’s.” My expression must have shown my devastation as visions of Gale’s hands undressing Katniss, his lips sliding over her neck or worse, him whispering soft comforts into her ear as he wrapped her in his arms, made me feel faint. “To see Hazelle,” Prim added hurriedly. “She’s kind of a second mother to us.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice and knowing that this information was still somehow a check in the Gale column of the imaginary ledger I assumed Katniss kept. A lovely mother was not something I had to offer. It was difficult to imagine that Hazelle Hawthorne would counsel Katniss to give me another chance. The realization that I could really lose her, maybe had already lost her, slammed into me so hard I nearly staggered backwards.

Prim reached out and took the cake from my hands and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

I cleared my throat and nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

As she prepared the tea, I took a moment to take in the apartment. Katniss’ description had not been wrong. It was shabby and small and I could detect a slight smell of damp, but it was tidy and homey. It was also a treasure trove of Katniss-related information. There was a small bookshelf populated with various field guides (mushrooms, native plants, birds), some outdated medical textbooks that I assumed were Prim’s, a couple of cookbooks as well as a number of paperbacks by Whitman, Thoreau, Cather, Dostoevsky, Atwood, and Krakauer. I wanted to touch each one, run my fingers over the dog-eared pages and broken spines, to worship any object that had captured her attention and imagination.

The formica countertop that divided the living room from the tiny, dark kitchen was a horrible pink-beige with several prominent cracks scarring the surface. I couldn’t help wondering how many times Katniss had run her fingernail along those cracks as she scarfed down some insubstantial meal standing at the counter. I peeked down the dark hallway carpeted in dingy gray carpet that I assumed must lead to the bedrooms.

Prim slid a steaming mug of mint tea across the countertop to me. “Do you take anything in your tea?” she asked.

I shook my head and thanked her before blurting out, “I’m so sorry for what my brother said tonight. He didn’t mean it like it sounded, but I can’t believe I let you both leave thinking it did. I’m so sorry.” I had meant the apology for Katniss, but owed it equally to Prim.

“I know, Peeta. And I think Katniss does too, deep down. He just said exactly what she was afraid your family would think.” She shook her head giving me a small smile. “I’m having trouble figuring out what to say. Katniss is such a private person, I don’t want to say anything that will upset her.”

I nodded, completely understanding her conundrum, but desperate for anything, any crumbs of insight or information she could offer me on what Katniss might be thinking. I blew into my cup and waited while she sorted it out.

“I don’t know how much you know about us, but Katniss is a survivor. She kept our family alive, literally, after our dad died and our mom succumbed to depression. She hasn’t given herself much room to enjoy life. I don’t think it is a betrayal to tell you that she has trouble trusting anything good.” She grinned up at me over the rim of her cup as she added, “And you, Peeta Mellark, seem too good to be true.”

I sputtered out an incredulous laugh and she shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “If I hadn’t spent years watching you stare at Katniss from afar looking utterly smitten every time, I’d be skeptical too. Did I mention that Katniss is also completely blind to the obvious?”

Despite still feeling sick with worry that I’d blown it, I found myself smiling back at Prim. She really was as sweet and lovely as Katniss said she was.

“So what can I do?” I asked, feeling like the entire world rested in Prim’s response.

She shrugged and took a tentative sip of her tea. “You give her some space. You leave her messages letting her know how you feel, but not pushing her to respond until she’s ready. You leave her that amazing-smelling cake, minus a piece for her sister.” She winked at me, then continued, “I know it sucks, but a lifetime of living with Katniss has taught me that giving her time to sort out her feelings is the only way. She processes her emotions at a glacial pace, but she usually comes to the right decision for what she needs. And I honestly think that you're what she needs, Peeta. I hope she allows herself to give things with you a chance. I think you’re just what the doctor ordered.”

I took several scalding gulps of tea to keep myself from begging Prim for the Hawthornes’ address and tracking Katniss down to plead her forgiveness and her favor. But I knew Prim was right and that I was lucky to have gotten her advice.

She picked up my empty cup and placed it in the sink before turning and adding, “I’m sure she would hate that I’m telling you this, but I’ve never seen her like this before, Peeta. I’ve caught her scrolling through pictures of you two on vacation more than once. She’s talked about your adventures and your friends and you practically nonstop, which is unprecedented.”

Relief and hope coursed through me and I offered Prim a shaky smile as I assured her, “I promise not to tell. And I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m heading back to school tomorrow. Just give Katniss a couple of days to sort through things at her own frustratingly slow pace.” She squeezed my arm, before adding, “I promise I’ll put in as many good words for you as I can. It might not seem like she listens to me, but I swear she does sometimes.”

“Are you kidding,” I asked grinning, realizing that maybe even Prim didn’t know all of Katniss’ feelings, “You’re her very favorite person in the world.”

She laughed, “It’s a pretty short list, but I’d wager that you’re near the top too.”

Impulsively, I leaned over and hugged her, feeling a thousand times better than I had an hour ago. “Have a safe trip back to school, Prim. Promise to come into the bakery next time you’re home, I owe you big.” She laughed and promised she would.

Walking back out to my car, I couldn't help wondering what my life would have been like if I’d had a sister as wonderful as Prim.

When I got home, I texted Katniss that I was desperately sorry about how our night had gone, and that I hoped she’d give me a chance to explain. And that I missed her and wanted to see her whenever and wherever she would allow. I stared at my phone, gripped tightly in my fist, willing it to light up with a response from her. It didn’t. Sighing heavily, I plugged it in to charge and closed my eyes.

Despite my exhaustion, I knew sleep would be elusive tonight. I followed my exhausted brain down into the depths of my worst fears and anxieties. All the dark, dank chasms with slimy walls and perilous pitfalls that assured me that I would never be happy, never be able to make anyone else happy, that I would always be alone. I knew these labyrinthine tunnels by heart, but there was no way out until the sun came up. So I tossed and turned until morning, extraordinarily grateful for first gray rays of morning light.

There was still no response from Katniss the following morning. After the twentieth time I had obsessively checked my phone, Rye asked, “Did you talk to her?”

I shook my head miserably.

“So it’s not over, you may still be able to fix it?” he asked.

I shot him a withering look, expecting to find his signature cocky smirk, but finding a cautiously hopeful one instead. I didn’t trust him, but I could feel myself wanting to, wishing that I could. I shrugged and he clapped me on the shoulder as he pushed past me into the walk-in.

There was still nothing from Katniss as my shift ended. The thought of hanging out in the apartment made me feel like the walls would crush me. Despite my exhaustion, I pulled on my running shoes and headed out for some fresh air. The relief once I got outside was immense and immediate. I took several deep breaths, feeling the constriction in my chest lessen as I took the first few jogging steps.

I started out on my usual route, past Katniss’ building, with equal parts hope and worry that I would run into her. I knew I couldn’t force things between us, and that she would likely attribute a chance encounter in front of her building as more stalking than fate. So instead of turning east to stay within the boundary of the town, I kept going north towards the meadow.

As my feet rhythmically slapped the pavement, I felt my muscles relax into movement and the tight knot of my thoughts untangle a bit.  The burn of my lungs was demanding enough to pull my attention from the repetitive cycle of anxious thoughts. As my feet marked the transition from the taut slap of the pavement to the quiet thud of the packed earth of the park trail that snaked through the meadow on the border of the woods, the one thought that I worked so hard to suppress came bubbling up out of nowhere. Okay, not nowhere, from that deep, dark place where every insecure, self-loathing thought dwelt. And that shameful truth was this: No one had ever truly loved me. And even worse, maybe no one ever would.

I realized something I had always known but never consciously acknowledged, I had always hoped that if Katniss, the epitome of strength and beauty and self-sufficiency and defiance could love me, it would override all of the other loves I'd been denied: my mother's kindness, my father's loyalty, my brothers' kinship. It would make those missing pieces matter less. It would redeem me.

But the truth was, the lack of all of those things sucked. Their absence had stunted me, deprived me of a sense of security my entire life. But I didn't have to keep letting it. A light went on somewhere deep inside me. It was small and dim, but it illuminated a place where some of my nightmares lived and it wasn't as dark and ghoulish as I would have thought. I wasn't irredeemable and Katniss wasn't my savior. I still wanted her more than anything in this world, but even if she didn't want me, I wasn't worthless. Maybe this just wasn't our time yet, maybe I just needed to give her the space I had promised, but never really understood the need for.

And while it was true that no one had ever truly loved me, for the first time in my life I realized how fucked up that was. Everyone deserved to be loved. I deserved to be loved. I looked out over one of my favorite views, over the misty pond and woods beyond, and let that sink in. I realized that’s what it must feel like to love yourself. To be outraged on your own behalf for the unfairness of your life, to feel a blazing recognition that you deserve more.

I slowed my pace to a walk, hands on hips, breathing hard. I stood at the fence line and stared into forest beyond. As my heart rate slowed and my breathing evened out, I let my eyes blur the riot of green and imagine the Hawaiian forest speeding by Finnick’s car window. I closed my eyes and imagined the perfume of overripe earth, of tropical blossoms, of the sea.  I let the memories wash over me - the silkiness of Katniss’ hair as it slid through my fingers, the throaty sound of her laughter, the exact color of her eyes with the technicolor sunset reflected in them. I pulled up the picture of her on my phone that I had taken at the airport on our last day, that incredible orchid tucked behind her ear, her eyes luminous as a small smile played on her lips. I clutched the screen to my chest letting all of those precious memories overwhelm me. I would've given anything to have any one of those days back. Her smile, her sun-kissed skin, her eyes like wisps of smoke. I wanted to fall head first into the past. But even as that hypnotic pull of the gilded past beckoned, I recognized it for the trap it was. It was time to fight for a future.

I took a deep breath and allowed the smell of pine forest and sweetgrass flood my senses. Those experiences had existed, we had shared them. And whatever came next, good or bad, they had meant something. But we were here now and as much as I wanted to give up and crawl under the covers and daydream horrific punishments for my brothers’ behavior, this wasn’t hopeless. The fat lady had yet to sing and I still had time to become the man Katniss Everdeen deserved.

Maybe it was the runner’s high and the sunshine or the infusion of hope, but I felt some of those raw, empty places inside of me fill up and heal over. I felt a foreign resilience flood through me. Certainty was its own kind of strength. I loved her. I’d be here, waiting for her when she was ready. But I would live my life the best I could until then.

I jogged home, feeling fortified and knowing what I would do when I got there. I would do the things that made me feel like my best self. I would paint. I would experiment in the bakery and take whatever I baked to the Boys and Girls Club for their after school program. I would hold on to this hopeful feeling with both hands for as long as I possibly could. Because, after all is said and done, hope is all any of us really have.

I spent the afternoon making various types of cheese buns. The one with the swirl of pesto was the most promising one. I imagined that this would be a perfect morning treat to try out on Katniss given her preference for savory breakfasts. I loaded up the truck and headed over to the Boys and Girls Club to drop off my the best batches.

Vic, Gale’s youngest brother worked there and was shooting hoops with a bunch of kids as I pulled the trays out of the truck. He broke off and grabbed a couple of the older kids to come over and help me unload.

“Hey, Peeta, it’s been awhile. What’d ya bring us?” he asked, inhaling deeply over a tray that a tall, dark-haired girl had grabbed from me.

“Hey, Vic, good to see you. I hope you guys like cheese buns.” I handed the next tray to him. Despite my initial aversion to him due to the uncanny resemblance all of the Hawthorne brothers shared, Vic had always been a good guy. And if anyone understood about not being judged by their brothers’ actions, it should be me.

“If they taste anywhere near as good as they smell, I do now!” He handed the tray over to another one of his charges before grabbing a bun and shoving it into his mouth. He let out an exaggerated, “Mmmm,” shaking his head in appreciation. My heart swelled.

I grabbed a box of day-old bread to leave for any of the families that needed it, and Vic and I walked in side by side.

He finished chewing and said, “I heard you and Katniss had a really good time in Hawaii.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. “It was an amazing trip.”

He nodded, clearing his throat, “Yeah, Prim told me.” I glanced over at him and caught the flush in his cheeks at the mention of her name.  I knew that look. I knew it very well. It was surprisingly companionable to see Vic visibly smitten. Seemed I was in good company.

I bumped his arm lightly with my shoulder and said conspiratorially, “Those Everdeen sisters are something else.”

He shot me an equally sly half smile and said, “Yeah, they sure are.”

I stuck around long enough to see the kids devour the cheese buns in a delighted feeding frenzy. It felt good. There were very few things that were more satisfying than feeding a throng of ravenous teenagers. My mind flashed back to Katniss throwing her arm around Konani’s shoulder and comparing her appetite to that of a teenage boy’s. Before my mood could turn wistful, I grabbed the empty trays and headed out.

Walking back to the truck, I glanced up and saw Marvel across the street. Though we’d texted a couple of times, it was the first time I’d laid eyes on him since the night I’d helped him into his town car and accepted the tickets that would change everything. As I raised my hand to wave to him, a gorgeous dark-haired woman stepped out from behind him. I watched, my hand frozen mid-wave as he leaned over and kissed her before slapping her ass and ducking into a waiting town car.

I don’t know why I was so surprised. Glimmer had been the worst fiancee imaginable, running off with Marvel’s best man was beyond shitty. She didn’t deserve mourning or wasted regret. But I couldn’t help the indignant shock that he could have moved on so quickly, not to mention looked so carefree about having done so. I thought about how you can stand next to someone, you can share experiences with them, hold their hand through parts of their lives, letting them skim across the surface of your heart without really sinking in, and then change partners and start over. That’s how most people lived their lives.

Every relationship I had ever been in before I left for Hawaii had been like that, temporary and insubstantial. But I understood in that moment, or maybe I’d always known, that I wasn’t really built like that. I had just been booking time until Katniss noticed me. A life with Katniss was my only real option. Now that I understood how good it was possible to feel with the right person, how complete I could be with her, there was no going back. She had germinated in my heart that fateful kindergarten day and her love had grown like Maleficent’s   thicket of thorns around my heart. I had tended those thorn bushes, weeding, watering, sharpening their thorns. There were no other choices now. I would have to figure out how to make this work or accept a lifetime alone.

Despite the nagging exhaustion from my bad night that made my limbs feel leaden and clumsy, I loaded a ladder on the truck and headed back over to Katniss’ building. I worked fast to change the lightbulb over the front entrance. I had a sneaking suspicion that Katniss would consider this overstepping my bounds. The old lady from last night sauntered by with her plastic bags and gave me a nod of approval. I couldn’t do anything about the streetlight, other than put in a call to the City, but I felt better knowing that I had chased away at least a little of the darkness in Katniss’ life.

The sun set on my drive home, coloring the sky a soft peachy-orange amidst the wisps of gray clouds. A pale imitation of a sunset by Hawaiian standards, it was lovely all the same. I fought the creeping anxiety that set in as the sky darkened into night.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat the leftover lasagna for dinner, so I scrambled a couple of eggs and ate them with one of the pesto cheese buns I’d made that afternoon. It was good, but I had to force myself to taste it. My incessant yawning announced that this long day was coming to an end, and despite the fact that I had kept busy enough all day stay a few steps ahead of the despair that was licking at my heels, I was dreading the moment when I would run out of road and have to be still with my thoughts. When I would have to go to bed alone.

There was still no word from Katniss at bedtime, so I sent her another text wishing her sweet dreams and begging her to call me. Despite being nearly incapacitated by fatigue, I dreaded closing my eyes. I tried to take some deep breaths, to assure myself that I was being ridiculous, that maybe tonight would be better. But I couldn’t help worrying about what was awaiting me in the depths of my subconscious.

Bolting upright, I found myself momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of the sun reflecting off of the water. I quelled the panic surging into my throat. As the world came into undulating focus, I understood that I was suspended over the water by some sort of platform. Some twenty yards away there was a metal walkway leading to a metallic sculpture where a battle was raging.

Katniss! I knew she was there, but couldn’t see her. Terror ripped through me when I took in the mayhem unfolding around me and realized I couldn’t find her. Spotting her on the walkway, I was overcome with relief that she appeared to be safe and intact. Finnick was swimming out to me and I went limp as he towed me to Katniss. She kissed me and handed me an arsenal of weapons I wasn’t sure what to do with, but that I tucked into my belt.

Once we reached the beach, I just wanted to collapse into the sand and hold Katniss until this mayhem stopped. But I knew we couldn’t, we weren’t safe, the only option being to head into the jungle. The foliage was thick and the earth beneath our feet black and spongy. Despite the tree cover, the heat was relentless and I was drenched in sweat as we climbed.

Monkeys appeared as if from nowhere, a shrieking mass of orange fur that converged on us, fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switch blades. I hacked and slashed, trying to reach Katniss.

But she was lying on the ground, an unbreakable glass wall between us as she screamed and writhed, tormented by winged demons disguised as birds. I slid down the wall, pressed my face next to hers and prayed for it to end.

I woke up sweating and shaking, the sheets balled in my clenched fists, her name lodged in my throat. I was in agony without her. I missed her terribly, achingly. I said a prayer into the darkness that she was alright, that she’d talk to me today. I grabbed my phone off the floor beside the bed and sent her a quick text telling her so. It was all I could do right now.

Feeling completely wrung out, I forced myself out of bed. I groped my way down the hall in complete darkness. I was used to starting my day in the dark, but this was early even for baker’s hours. After a long, hot shower that made me feel at least halfway human, I dressed quickly and headed down to the bakery to get a headstart on the morning chores. I preheated the ovens, turned out the dough that had proofed overnight and began to knead it. The warmth from the ovens and the rote activity loosened my mind and muscles and I felt a little better. I loved these peaceful moments when I had the bakery to myself. Maybe someday I’d open my own bakery and do something I loved in a place that wasn’t built on a foundation of pain and bad memories.

My mind began to run with ideas about how to get myself unstuck. I needed to move out. It was so obvious, I was shocked I hadn’t realized it earlier. I would probably need to take on another night at Abernathy’s to afford it, so I added talking to Haymitch to my mental to do list. Before I knew it, I’d formulated a plan and had several sheets of cheese buns that I slid into the hot oven to bake. Maybe if I just went ahead and got my life together, then by the time Katniss was ready to talk with me I’d be ready to share it with her.

Trudging out to the dumpster in the predawn light, I almost walked right past her. She was huddled on the bench outside the bakery peering out at me from under a knit cap. She looked so adorable and so miserable, I instantly wanted to pull her into my arms.

As soon as I had convinced my sleep-deprived brain that she was not a mirage, I ran the few steps that separated us, reaching for, but not actually grasping her shoulders as I knelt in front of her, afraid of what could have brought her here at this ungodly hour of the morning. “Katniss, what are you doing out here? What’s wrong?”

I took in her messy braid snaking out from under her hat, the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. I ran my thumbs over her cheeks and asked softly, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

She tipped her head forward, pressing her cold nose into my neck before mumbling, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” I said, meaning so many apologies at once. I waited for her to continue but she just sighed into my skin. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “And I’m so happy to see you.”

Though mostly healed, the the cut on my knee hurt as the sidewalk asphalt dug into it, so I pulled away to sit on the bench next to her. I could feel the frustration rolling off of her in waves and wasn’t sure what she needed from me. I reached for her hand and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She let me take her hand, but didn’t look at me or say anything. I took the opportunity to say what had been eating at me since she stood up from my dining table. "Katniss, I'm so sorry about dinner. My brothers were horrible. And I was a coward and an idiot. I should have fought for you while you were there. I was so shocked, I just froze. I don't even know what to say." I hung my head, too ashamed of my failings to meet her eyes.

She shook her head dismissively, like that wasn't what she wanted to talk about, but she said absently, “I've seen your mother, her pinched face and mean words, I always figured she was the worst of it."

"Oh, she is. My brothers aren't the best, but... Let's just say we were forged by the same hammer."

"Your dad?" She looked so perplexed.

"He's an incredibly kind man. He's just never really been able to stand up to her."

"So he's never stood up for you."

"Ah, no, not really." I cleared my throat, willing my voice not to crack. No one had ever talked to me about this before. And as humiliating as it was on the one hand, the relief of Katniss caring was almost overwhelming.

"And both those big brothers who should have protected you, not only didn't, but made things worse." She wasn't asking and I was too choked up to answer. The whole sorry story of my life was laid out before her. How each of my family members had appraised me and found me wanting. Worthless.

"You've been let down by so many people." She wove her fingers with mine. "And yet, you're so kind."

I looked over at her, tears of relief gathering in my eyes, making the world shimmer. That she didn't lump me in with them, that she could see me differently, that she was holding my hand. My heart felt as if it was trying to reach her too, and would beat through my chest if necessary.

She shook her head. "I always figured you had it so easy. But really, we just had it hard in different ways."

"Makes your apartment seem like less of a big deal, right?" I tried for levity, but the tears were still blurring my vision and my voice fell flat.

"It certainly puts it in a different perspective,” she said ruefully. “I've always known your mother was awful. But even though my mother was awful in a different way, I've always had Prim. We're a unit. She's the cornerstone of my family. Having her has made everything else bearable. Worthwhile, even. It kills me to think about how alone you've been."

The lump in my throat kept me from responding, but I squeezed her hand. She continued, “I’ve had depend on myself for most of my life. I’ve had Prim, and she’s great, but that isn’t really what I mean…” She huffed out a frustrated breath, then continued, “And I figured I always would be. Alone. It’s safer that way. I’ve figured out how to keep my head above water and that was the best I could hope for. But since I’ve gotten to know you.... Well, I’ve started to hope for more. I can’t seem to help myself. I want to be with you.”

I was stunned, afraid to move and shatter the perfection of this moment. The perfection of her saying these words to me. She glanced up at me, searching my eyes, looking for all the world like she was worried about how I’d feel about this confession.

In that moment, I had never been more grateful or loved anyone more. I couldn't help myself, I pulled her into my arms. I felt like every conversation, for the rest of our lives, should happen with my arms encircling her and her head resting on my chest, so she could hear my heart as plainly as my words. She scooted up tightly against me and allowed herself to be swallowed in my embrace before pulling back slightly. She met my eyes and there was still a question in hers.

“I gotta be honest, I’m not really seeing a problem here,” I offered, sniffing a little and clearing my throat. “That’s actually kinda the best news I’ve ever heard.”

Scowling, she stared at our clasped hands. “The problem is, I can’t sleep without you. I miss your arms, your warmth, your heartbeat, your,” she huffed out a breath and gestured towards me, “You.” She looked upset as she finally met my eyes and said defeatedly, “I miss you.”

My heart felt like a sparrow caught in the rafters and I wanted to spring off this bench and break into song, but she still looked so miserable. Instead I asked, “Why is that a bad thing?” I couldn’t keep the joy exploding within me off of my face much longer, my eyes felt squinty with the effort to keep from grinning like a manic fool.

“I hate wanting things.” She scowled and my heart sang.

“You really want me?” I asked teasingly, nudging her with my nose.

“It isn’t funny, Peeta,” she murmured, her scowl deepening.

"I'm not laughing. Honest." But I couldn't keep the grin off my face. “These,” I held out my arms to her, “are yours anytime you want them.”

“You can’t promise that.” She looked so sad and uncomfortable, I was dying to gather her to me and hold her forever just to prove how possible it was. But I took a deep breath and tried to quell some of the elation that was filling my chest at the knowledge that Katniss missed me, had wanted me when I wasn’t there. At the possibility that she would want me tonight. She pushed me back a few inches and looked straight into my eyes. "What if you change your mind. What if you leave."

I barked out a laugh, I couldn't help it, it was such a preposterous proposition. "That's impossible."

She pulled away, scowling. Not understanding that I was as serious as a heart attack.

I grabbed her hand to keep her facing me. Running my fingers down the length of her braid, I whispered, "Katniss, It’s not like that for me…” How could I explain this to her? Simply seemed best. I shrugged and continued, “I'm here for as long as you'll have me."

“I’m not easy. I’m grouchy and demanding and solitary in my ways,” she warned.

“I don’t want easy.” Taking my life in my hands, because she still looked as prickly as a porcupine, I kissed her nose. “I just want you. Snarling wildebeest and all.”

She sighed, "You say that now..."

"I don't know what to say to make you believe it, but I want this. I want you. Always."

"How can you know that?" she demanded, looking upset.

"Because I know” I said, shrugging. “I've always known. I guess you're just going to have to trust me."

"I'm scared." It was almost a whisper. I tipped her head up so she'd meet my eyes.

"I'm gonna do everything I can to make you understand every day just how much I'm not leaving." It was all I could say right now, all she was ready to hear. I couldn't keep the stupid grin off my face.

"You're ridiculous, you know that right?" Her mouth was still trying to scowl, but her eyes were smiling.

"Yeah. I can't help myself around you. You're just gonna have to get used to being adored." I shrugged, it really was out of my hands. “And while you’re right, I don’t know what the future has in store exactly, what I do know is that I just want to spend every last minute of the rest of my life with you.”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She fell into my arms and pressed against my chest. Nothing had ever felt better than her arms wrapping around my back as I pulled her snugly to me. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the heavenly scent of her.

“So,” I asked, trying to keep the naked hope out of my voice, “your place or mine tonight?”

“Mine,” she mumbled into my shirt, “less brothers.”

“Good point. See I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” She pulled away to shoot me a scowl before burrowing back into my neck and inhaling deeply. “If only you were good with a bow, you’d be the whole package,” I joked.

She pushed away from me before pulling my arm back around her. “Don’t make me show you my bow skills, Mellark.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. I was literally on the verge of tap dancing. And I had no idea how to tap dance.

I heard the relentless chime of the timer from inside as if it were a mile away. Finally, my mind grasped the meaning of the incessant noise and I cringed.

“What?” she asked, concern etched around her tired eyes.

“Oven timer,” I groaned, hating to move a muscle for fear I would break the magical spell that had allowed me to dream this up this reality. “The cheese buns will burn.”

Her stomach growled audibly. “Can we go in?” she asked, her eyes sleepy. “I’m cold and tired. And now I’m hungry.”

“Absolutely. That’s one of the perks of dating a baker. And since we generally fall asleep by 8:30 at night and get weirdly competitive about baked goods, you have to take advantage of whatever perks you can.” I waited to see what she would say about me casually slipping in a dating reference like it was no big deal.

She stood up and grabbed my hand, leading me back toward the alley door, “Speaking of falling asleep early, what movie do you want to watch?”

I squeezed her hand, “Whatever you want.”

As if on cue, the sun lit the sky and the first pink rays of morning light streaked across the sky, echoing off the gray clouds and gilding her in a golden glow. As she reached for the door, I stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at me, her eyes like silver mirrors reflecting the rosy blush of sunlight.

"Let me get that," I said, clearing my throat to cover the rasp in my voice. I reached around her, grasping the door handle in one hand and lacing my fingers through hers with the other.

"Okay." Her smile was small and a little shy, but it was mine.  It was passion fruit cocktails and technicolor sunsets and Narnia all rolled into that magnificent quirk of her lips. And I was willing to work for another one every day for the rest of my life.

She stopped just before she stepped through the door, her eyes luminous as they met mine. “So we’re really gonna do this?”

“Yes,” I said, “we really are.”

~Fin~

[ethereal-mists]

Of Fame and Misery Ch.2

Summary:

Trevor is a fighter in an underground ring. Adrian is an actor and model for his father’s esteemed agency. It seems unlikely that their paths would ever cross, until Adrian starts receiving death threats with no idea who’s sending them, or why.

With his son’s life at risk, Vlad Tepes hires him a bodyguard. Though they don’t quite get along, Trevor and Adrian are stuck with each other now, and with the help of Adrian’s co-star Sypha, they will find a way to keep him safe.

( Also on Ao3 )

***This is chapter 2. If you’d like to start from Chapter 1, please click the link under the description***

                                                      Chapter Two

It's early, almost noon, and the sun is shining high in the sky, reflecting off the windows of the buildings that surround him. It might not be considered early at all for someone with a regular job, but to him it’s way too early. And yet Trevor finds himself awake by some miracle, dressed in the nicest clothes he owns; a white long sleeve shirt, his one pair of jeans, and an old worn bomber jacket that he fished out of a thrift shop bin two summers ago. He gets the feeling that it won’t be up to Carmilla’s standards - if how she was dressed to a shitty bar fight is anything to go off of - but that’s her problem, not his.

Honestly, it all feels like something he dreamed up in a drunken stupor, like something out of a fairytale where a beautiful fairy Godmother appears out of nowhere and sweeps him up out of his miserable life, offering him a chance for something better. Something more than a bug-infested apartment with barely any room to move, and eating cold spaghetti straight from the can because the fucking stove doesnt work, just like everything else in his life. Its a stupid analogy, but some fairy Godmother magic would do him good.

The building standing in front of him is tall and fancy; the kind of building he’s walked by a thousand times but never stepped foot into. It looms before him ominously, stern and immaculate like a tombstone with reflective glass windows, waiting for him to enter and meet this Mr. Tepes guy. Trevor briefly muses whether or not he could call him Mr. T, like that guy from TV, but quickly discards that idea. Maybe if this works out and he gets to know the guy a little better. Maybe.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s nervous about the whole thing. More nervous than he's felt in a long time. It’s like asking out his highschool crush all over again; hands clammy, mind and heart racing, and thinking of all the ways that it could go wrong. Hopefully it wouldn’t go as badly. People walking by are staring at him, and he realizes that he’s been standing there for a while now, just staring and trying to gain the courage to walk through the elegant rotating doors. The same doors that are turning as a familiar figure comes through from the other side. 

Carmilla is dressed like she's a model instead of an assistant, as expected. Her hair is pulled up into some fancy braid-bun, and her black dress is adorned with bits of gold flecks that match her necklace and earrings. It makes Trevor realize that her outfit from their first meeting likely was her version of casual. A pit of dread falls in his stomach, weighing him down as he realizes just how out of his league this job probably is. He still needs to try, though. After all, he didn’t spend over an hour scrubbing at his shirt with a bar of soap at 4am just to give up before even walking inside. 

She stops in front of him and neatly crosses her arms over her chest. He gives her a small wave, and she gives him a frown. “Just so you're aware, this building has cameras and you’re lucky it's me coming out here to get you instead of security.”  she huffs, and continues, her voice incredulous, “Just how long have you been standing out here, twiddling your thumbs?”

If he had to place a guess, it's been about ten minutes. But he’s not telling her that. Not a chance. Instead, he shrugs. “Hello to you too. Oh I’m doing great, thanks.”

She sighs, clearly not in the mood. “Get inside. Mr. Tepes is waiting.”

She turns around and Trevor follows her towards the doors. “What do you mean he’s waiting? I’m…” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes early.”

She halts and whips around to face him again. “Mr. Belmont, this is L.A., not some sweaty basement fightclub. Fifteen minutes early is considered barely on time, and on time is late. In the future, try to be here a half hour before your appointment. Do I make myself clear?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” he says, wryly.

“Good.”

He expects her to turn around and lead the way again, but it's at that moment that she finally takes notice of what he’s wearing and looks him over, pale hair practically glowing in the midday sun as her mouth curves down in disapproval. Trevor can’t help but feel self conscious, and decides that examining the well-groomed bushes planted neatly by the entrance is suddenly very important. 

“Is that really,” she points to his shirt, or maybe all of him, “Your idea of being presentable?” she asks. “This is a job interview, not a Steak n’ Shake.” 

“How about I make you a promise?” he says more than asks, “When I get my first paycheck, I’ll wear whatever the hell it is you want me to wear. Until then, yeah, this is the best I’ve got. Is that a problem?”

She actually manages to crack a smile. “Not a problem at all.”

“Good.” He says, and they finally go inside.

When they enter the building, they’re immediately greeted by security. Upon seeing Carmilla, they sweep themselves aside to let them pass, and the lady sitting at what must be a security monitor gives Trevor a suspicious look that he ignores.

The whole place is extravagant. Marbled floors, and walls lined with elaborately framed portraits of famous actors. Trevor recognizes a few of them and notices that each one is signed.

“What's up with those?” he asks.

“Clients of Mr. Tepes. He owns and runs Tepes Talent. This,” she motions around them, “is our head office.”

This Tepes guy is sounding less and less like mafia and more and more like some snobby rich guy. That's perfectly fine with Trevor, though. The less involved with crime lords he is, the better.

They walk to the elevator in silence, and Carmilla presses the button for the eleventh floor. As they go up, Trevor looks at the mirrored walls boxing them in, watches the floor counter change as they go up, and avoids looking directly at her. 

“So, uh… What’s Adrian like?” he asks after a moment of prolonged silence. He figures he might as well know something about the person he’s supposed to be guarding.

“Hm. He’s… How should I put this?” she purses her lips as she contemplates. “He’s talented, but a bit spoiled if you ask me. It's no surprise, really. The boys been living in luxury since day one.” 

“Talented and spoiled, got it.”

“Oh please, you make me sound like I hate the boy.”

“Do you?” he asks, shifting his blue gaze to catch her reaction.

“No. Of course not.” 

It's hard to catch a glimpse of her face, but through the mirror he can see the harsh lines of her eyebrows knit together. “It’s just,” she sighs, “hard for me to deal with him sometimes.”

He wants to ask her what she means by that, but thinks better of it as they reach their floor. The elevator opens up to a lavish hallway decorated with beautiful landscape paintings and potted plants. He steps out and can’t help but marvel at just how… How clean the whole place is. Clearly he’s been living in squalor for far too long.

“Do you really think someone is plotting to kill him?”

She snorts, “No. No I don’t. But his Daddy is the overprotective type. So what I think about the situation means very little.” she sighs. “But you never know. There are crazy people out there.”

“Can’t argue that.”

They stop in front of a thick oak door. She knocks.

“Come in.” says a deep voice.

She opens the door and steps inside, urging Trevor to follow. Like the hallway, the room is impeccably tidy and well decorated, to the point where Trevor feels afraid to touch anything. There’s a few bookshelves and movie posters lining the wall, and hanging elegantly behind the enormous desk that takes up the centre of the room, is a beautiful oil painting of a family - a couple holding a young child. The scene is peaceful, serene, and Trevor can’t help but notice that the man in the painting is the same as the man sitting at the desk. However, unlike in the painting, he seems to be brooding over some paperwork, no sign of that serene beauty to be found. Carmilla clears her throat, and he looks up at her, and then to Trevor. Something about the way he looks at him gives Trevor the feeling that he’s being appraised.

“I’ve brought Mr. Belmont here for his appointment.” she announces. The man, Mr. Tepes, stands up to greet them, and Trevor is taken aback by how… imposing he is. And, oddly enough, familiar. 

“Good.” he says, and Trevor freezes where he stands. He knows that voice, and knows why he looks familiar. He’s seen him before, in movies and on billboards. “Please, take a seat Mr. Belmont.”

“I- uh, yes. A seat.” he says, stupidly, eyes wandering over to the name plaque on the desk. Vlad D. Tepes. As in the Vlad Tepes, an accomplished actor whose career shot off when he landed the leading role of Dracula in Love Bites, a famous romantic tragedy that came out over ten years ago. Or maybe it was considered more of a horror than a romance - Trevor wasn’t sure. It’s been a while since he’s seen it, and all he can really recall are the fight scenes. Masterful choreography, really.

“Let’s get started.” He says, and they both take their seats. He looks at Trevor with those intimidating dark eyes of his, and then his gaze slides past him. “Carmilla, I need you to print out the forms for Mr. Belmont. I’ll need an NDA form as well - Adrian’s form, not the standard one. Thank you.”

“Right away.” she says, turning to leave.

“Oh, and if you could bring us some tea.” He adds.

“Of course.”

“No tea for me. Just, uh. Water. Just water.” Trevor requests, and gets a subtle glare in return.

Once she’s gone and the door is shut, Mr. Tepes turns his full attention to Trevor. “Now then… I’m sure you were told this is an interview, but I’ve already made up my mind. There are few people in this world that I trust, and Carmilla is one of them. She seems to think highly of you, and I trust her judgement.” He really doesn’t know what to say to that, but that's ok because his new employer doesn’t give him much time to respond. “I’m sure Carmilla has filled you in on the situation.”

“Yes. Your son-”

“Is in danger.” he finishes for him. Silence hangs heavily in the air between them, and Mr. Tepes suddenly seems tired and weary beyond his years, sighing and sitting half slumped in his seat. “I’m putting my faith in you, a complete stranger, to protect him. To keep him out of harm’s way. Carmilla has never lead me wrong, and despite my wariness, I feel I have no choice but to trust you. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Mr. Belmont; I will not lose my son. I’ve lost too many people over the years. No more.”

“I won’t let anything happen to him.” Trevor assures him, putting sincerity and confidence into his voice. Mr. Tepes still doesn’t look too certain, though, and so Trevor hesitantly adds, “I… also know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. You won’t lose him. Not with me around. I swear it.”

It seems to work, because Mr. Tepes takes a deep, relieved breath, and relaxes a bit. “Good… good. Now, let's go over some of the terms of your employment, shall we?”

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

By the time Carmilla returns with their drinks and the forms, they’ve covered a great deal of the conditions. They seem fair and reasonable for the most part, but Trevor’s head is starting to spin the more he realizes just how much of his life he’s going to have to change for this job. No more fighting is a welcome change, but moving out of his dingy apartment is a bit overwhelming. It's not the leaving that bothers him, it's the feeling of starting something new and unfamiliar, like there's a wave crashing towards him and he doesn’t yet know if it'll sweep him off his feet or not. And even more daunting is that he’ll be sharing a living space from now on. He’s hopped from shitty apartment to shitty apartment over the years, and has always avoided having a roommate if it wasn't absolutely necessary. This new arrangement would have him living in a guest room, just a few doors down from Adrian. As someone who values his space and privacy, it's not ideal. But for the amount of money Mr. Tepes has proposed paying him… Well, he supposes he can manage.

“I’ll just need you to fill these out and sign them, and then I’ll send Isaac with you to help with the moving preparations.”

“My lease isn’t up-” 

“Isaac will handle it.” Mr. Tepes cuts in, voice filled with certainty. 

He shuts his mouth and doesn’t bother asking who the Hell Isaac is.

There’s a knock at the door, and Mr. Tepes calls out for whoever it is to come in. A familiar figure steps into the room, golden haired and wearing a floral-printed turtleneck, spotless white pants, and a pair of sunglasses which rest neatly on top of his long hair like a crown. It’s the same man Trevor has seen in TV ads for men’s cologne and slim-fit designer jeans. It occurs to him that he might run into a lot of celebrities in this new line of work. It’s not something he particularly cares about, really, but it’s an interesting perk.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.” he apologizes. 

Mr. Tepes shakes his head. “Not at all. Couldn’t have better timing. Adrian, I’d like you to meet Trevor Belmont - Your new bodyguard.”

So this is Adrian. From how Carmilla spoke of him, Trevor was expecting a child, not a grown man. It’s… surprising. But at least he doesn’t have to watch his language or guard him in a McDonald’s ballpit.

Adrian looks at him, and Trevor almost feels offended by his immediate look of distaste. 

“I don’t recall asking for a bodyguard.” he says, clearly unhappy with the situation.

“Well, you have one.” Mr. Tepes says, firmly. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

Adrian sighs, and for a moment no one dares to speak. He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if suppressing a strong and sudden migraine, and says, “I get a few rude fanletters and you decide having some goon follow me around is the solution?”

“Oy, I’m not ‘some goon’.” Trevor interrupts, unable to help himself, and Adrian’s furious gaze is on him now.

“Then what are you?” he demands. Trevor doesn’t answer, no one does. “A nuisance is what you are. Nothing more.”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Tepes stands up, exuding authority. “I have hired this man to protect you, whether you like it or not. I’ve asked Hector to prepare his room as we speak. I understand you’re upset, but please,” and suddenly, he’s pleading and his gaze is full of sorrow and loss, “Let me do what I can to keep you safe.”

Adrian looks like he wants to argue, but then his gaze softens and his shoulders hang limp and defeated. “Very well. For your sake, I’ll allow this. For now.” He relents. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things I’d like to do before my privacy is stripped away from me even more than it already is.” he nods politely at his father, casts one last glare at Trevor, and then storms off.

“Well that was a fucking disaster.” Carmilla states once he’s gone.

“You can say that again.” Trevor agrees.

[theeurekaproject]

Mutata Fatum

The Revelation was beautiful from its perfectly-polished floors to its inexplicably high cathedral ceilings, which was precisely what Athena didn’t like about it.

First of all, it was made with taxpayer money, like everything else Acidalia owned. So, in a way, the Revelation should be Athena’s and everyone else’s—its cost had come out of their paychecks, after all, and from what Athena could see, it was probably not cheap. It had top-notch shielding and cloaking systems, and way too many onboard weapons for a luxury spacecruiser, but even that wasn’t really the problem. The problem came with the frills around the edges—the completely unnecessary, inane decorations that turned every piece of the ship into a shiny, sharp work of art.

It was maddening, really, the thousands of credits that had gone into designing this thing. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into a starry nothingness, bisected occasionally by the laser-light glow of another distant starship. It had glitteringly clean floors polished by a staff of needlessly adorable white robots that skittered around the place like dinner plate-sized mice. It had art, mood lighting, chandeliers, centerpieces at every table, gourmet food, feather-stuffed pillows, stocks of makeup and inordinately fancy dresses, and a collection of shoes that probably could have made Athena a multi-millionaire if she had the courage to steal and pawn them. Honestly, she could probably make a killing easily by selling all of the Imperatrix’s junk on the black market—Acidalia was rich enough not to notice. “How much do you think this costs?” she asked Carina absentmindedly, balancing a silver-colored decorative hair comb between her fingers. It had about two dozen little pearls, but she had no idea if they were genuine or not. But would someone as important as Acidalia even own fake pearls?

“Stop it,” Carina said. “She lost her brother less than an hour ago. Now is not the appropriate time to steal her things.” “She’s a multiquadrillionaire, it’s always an appropriate time to steal her stuff. Eat the rich, right?”

“That’s mean.”

“You don’t understand my desire to be edgily controversial at absolutely all times,” Athena replied, pocketing the comb anyway. Even if Acidalia eventually emerged from the massive, overly elaborate museum-with-a-bed she called a bedroom to come collect her belongings, she wouldn’t care that Athena had taken one small thing. Not if she was at all unlike her mother, at least. From the corner of the room, Carina shot Athena a death glare.

“This is my ship, sorta,” Athena said defensively. “It all comes from taypayer credits, you know that?” “That isn’t how taxpayer supported things work,” Carina retorted.

“Why not?” “I don’t know. I just know that stealing is impolite.” “The Imperial family stole my money.” “Taxes aren’t stealing.” “They are when they benefit rich individuals instead of society as a whole.” Carina groaned. “Where did you even learn about politics? I asked you who the Proregina of the Lunar Colonies was last week and you couldn’t even give me an answer, but now all of the sudden you know about taxes?” “I’ve always known about taxes. Or, more specifically, how to commit tax fraud.” “That is astoundingly illegal and stupid.” Athena gasped in mock offense. “Don’t speak to me like that in front of my 27 dependents!”

Carina didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response. She turned away, rolling her eyes, while Athena giggled just out of her view. She didn’t feel that bad about stealing from Acidalia—the staggering income inequality on Eleutheria was enough to displace any feelings of guilt she may have ever held. Dead brother or living brother, money was money, and Athena going on an impromptu vacation to wherever this resort-with-an-engine starship was heading would almost definitely cost her a job. She didn’t particularly feel like being strapped for cash again—especially not while surrounded by some of the most excessive luxury she’d ever seen in her life.

Actually, no, scratch that. The most excessive luxury anyone could ever see in their lives, period. Acidalia was rich beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations. The amount of money she had was too large for human minds to even comprehend. Quadrillions of credits. Quadrillions. She had more credits to her name than there were stars in the Milky Way and Andromeda Galaxy combined. This was fuck-you money of the highest order, and most of it came from citizens like Athena—citizens who stressed about rent and affording necessities and paying off bribes and medical debt. Why should Acidalia get to have fancy pearl-encrusted hair combs while ordinary Eleutherians grasped at straws to afford basic cybernetic implants? That was bullshit, Athena thought. So it really didn’t matter if she stole stuff from Imperial cruisers or committed tax fraud every single Aperire; her crimes were all victimless.

*** Two hours later, Athena was dressed in an incredibly fancy dressing gown that looked like exactly the type of thing the Imperatrix would wear to bed. It itched—a lot—and she never would have thought to put it on if there wasn’t such an abundance of hidden pockets beneath the fluff and diamonds. (Who sleeps in diamonds?! she thought.) Her plan was to pretend she was cold, and hopefully Acidalia would let her borrow the stupid bathrobe and never question the fact that all of the beauty products and jewels were missing from her vanity. Honestly, judging by the thin layer of dust that sat over everything not clearly accessible to the cleaning robots, Athena assumed Acidalia hadn’t used this ship in a while, and would thus be unfamiliar with where things were stored. And, even if by some misfortune she took notice of all the mysteriously vanished valuables, Athena could just blame it on ‘staff.’ The Imperatrix had to have staff, right? “Do you think this place has maids?” Athena asked absentmindledly. “Or butlers?” Briefly, she pictured rows upon rows of frozen maids packed into storage like Han Solo in carbonite, just waiting to be woken up. The royal family seemed like the type of institution that only gave people human rights when it was convenient for them.

Carina looked up from the magazine she was reading—some sort of science-y looking journal on biology. “No,” she said. “Acidalia doesn’t like them.” “She doesn’t like… servants?” “She likes robot servants because they’re more private. I kind of understand—having actual humans hovering everywhere and watching you constantly could get kind of annoying after a while, I guess. But Aleskynn used to make fun of her for it all the time—normally they don’t really view the help as ‘people,’ so to speak, so she doesn’t understand why anyone would be disconcerted by the constant presence of Ministratoras.”

“That’s kinda messed up,” Athena said.

“A lot of things in Aleskynn’s life were kind of messed up.” Carina thumbed through another page, looking bored. The magazine was marked 4045, so all of the articles were probably outdated already. Part of Athena wondered why someone as wealthy as Acidalia Cipher would still use print media, but the other part of her already knew the answer: aesthetic and pretentiousness.

Another few minutes ticked by, punctuated only by the sound of Carina lazily turning pages. The rest of the ship was suspiciously, worryingly silent, and if Athena didn’t know better, she would have assumed that she and Carina were the only two people aboard. Maybe it was because the Revelation had some kind of fancy noise-cancelling technology, or maybe Acidalia’s injuries were worse than they seemed and she was either incapable of moving, or worse. Athena didn’t know how she felt about that possibility.

She opened another drawer of a dresser that stood in the hallway. There was a crown in it, an elaborate headpiece too large to fit in a dressing gown pocket. Athena picked it up and appraised it in the light, wondering if she could pry any gemstones or shiny platinum pieces off and hold onto those instead. Then, with disappointment, she noticed that the jewels were brown instead of blisteringly white. They held diamond fire, but they were so discolored it was hard to believe they had any sort of value beyond industrial applications. Athena wondered why Acidalia would have a tiara like that, then she noticed the handwritten note attached to the brim with a curled-up white ribbon—I thought this would match your eyes. <3 Aleskynn. The metaphor was clear.

Bitch, Athena thought, and slammed the drawer shut. She had half a mind to send the spoiled princess a vial of cyanotoxins with the caption “I thought this would match your eyes.” It wasn’t even the fact that she’d insulted Acidalia that bothered Athena—it was the gossipy, too-cowardly-to-say-it-to-her-face passive-aggressiveness. Though, to be fair, she didn’t know why she expected anything more from Alestra’s daughter.

There was nothing much left in any of the other drawers—there were books, but none that looked valuable or even interesting to read. They were mostly indecipherable ancient texts and classics that nobody but Acidalia would even want, and though they had gilded edges and artfully decorated covers, Athena didn’t dare risk stealing them—they were all embossed with A.P.C. on the first blank page, and that made them traceable. Kalyn had taught her years ago that you couldn’t take anything if the police could trace it back to someone, and these books certainly weren’t worth that risk. Then there were piles upon piles of notebooks, all made of leather and filled to the brim with what looked like the ramblings of a madwoman—the same sentences and song lyrics, repeated over and over again—until Athena noticed that the penmanship improved between the first and last pages and realized they’d probably been used to practice Acidalia’s immaculate, looping calligraphy. Under those were datadrives, which Athena very clearly didn’t have the genome to open—they all had tiny iris scanners at the end, so only the Imperatrix would be able to view them. And, just when Athena was beginning to think this entire thing was worthless, her hand brushed against food packaging—which turned out to be concealing a small collection of healthy snacks that no person in their right mind would willingly consume.

“Look at this,” she said to Carina, holding up a shrink-wrapped package of very crumbly, grainy-looking pastries. “They took cookies, and made them healthy. Who does that?”

“People who want to cater to rich women who constantly think they need to lose weight.”

“Lose weight? Acidalia has the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s the corsetry,” Carina said.

“Still, Jesus. Out of every person I’ve ever met in my life, Acidalia is the one who should be concerned about her body image the least. All of the uppercrusts are genetically-modified mutants with abnormal metabolisms; why would they of all people be concerned about dieting?”

“Aleskynn was eighty kilogrammos when I met her,” Carina shrugged. “Being raised by Alestra gives people weird views of themselves. Besides, how do you know they even taste bad?”

Athena tore open the package and took a tiny bite from one cookie. She wrinkled her nose. It tasted exactly like—no, worse than—straw. “Just take my word for it,” she said.

As she looked around for a garbage can, the sound of tiny, delicate footsteps echoed down the corridor, and she realized with irritation that they must belong to Acidalia. Carina instantly stiffened, standing up like a statue and brushing her hair behind her back so it looked neater than it was. As if Acidalia—Acidalia the high queen, Acidalia the almighty—would pause for a second to notice how tidy and organized Carina Stellara, random scientist with no clout, looked. She was so far above such things that even trying to make an effort felt worthless.

Still, for reasons she didn’t entirely know how to explain, Athena stood up at attention anyway. She stared at the door with strange fascination, wondering why her heart was pounding so quickly, waiting for something, anything to happen. And then, with an extremely anticlimactic swoosh, the door moved sideways, and the Imperatrix Ceasarina entered in all her glory.

If Athena was told that this was the same woman who’d barreled past her into this ship a few hours ago, bearing news of a dead brother and a murder attempt, she wouldn’t have believed it. This Acidalia looked astoundingly different from post-assassination-attempt Acidalia, yet so inexplicably like her at the same time, and it put a bad taste in Athena’s mouth. She bore such a strong resemblance to her late brother that their relationship should have been obvious in hindsight, but her face was utterly, completely neutral—almost relaxed—and she did not seem at all like someone who had just lost the closest family member they’d ever known. Judging by T’s impassioned reaction to his sister’s imminent demise, Athena had assumed they were very close; apparently, that assumption was wrong, because Acidalia clearly hadn’t shed a single tear. She looked every bit the put-together dictator the media liked to portray her mother as—the only thing missing was the scary blue eyes.

“We’re about two away from the Mare Acidalium Quadrangle,” Acidalia said softly, yet briskly. “The cloaking seems to have held up for this long, but I know that there are probably dozens of ships lagging just a few hours behind us. I will let you decide what you want to do when we land, but I want you to know that I cannot stay, and you will be targets if anyone ever finds out that you spoke to me.” Her posh, lilted accent and calm tone didn’t match her words at all,  which was almost more frightening than if they had.

“What do you mean, targets?” Athena asked. “Nobody saw us, we made sure of that.” She actually hadn’t made sure of that, but she’d taken the liberty to assume that nobody would question two young women dressed in gray wandering around a hangar at night. They were both wearing standard grays, common enough for them to be mistaken for practically any caste, and neither had any key distinctive features for anyone to remember them by—she hadn’t worried about their identities being revealed at all.

“Alestra sees everything,” Acidalia said, “and there is a very real possibility that you will be hunted down and imprisoned, killed, or imprisoned, then killed.” “What, no torture first?” Athena joked. Carina shot her a death glare, and she muttered a sheepish “sorry.” “If that’s a genuine question, then yes, they absolutely will torture you first,” Acidalia replied, utterly nonplussed. “I know you both came here to warn me, and that is an honorable thing to do, but it is incredibly risky, and now that you are here, you have my mother’s attention—or, at the very least, you will very soon. My plan is to rendezvous with David Seren—you wouldn’t know of him; he’s a reasonably high-ranking authority on Mars—and return to Eleutheria, hopefully with the Martians backing me and David and his family on their way to safety. I don’t know where you would like to proceed from there, but you need to understand that after what you’ve done today, there can be no return to normalcy for either of you.” “Yeah,” Athena said, ignoring Carina’s petrified look, “I kind of assumed that when I snuck out in the middle of the night to tell my best friend’s mom about my other best friend’s friend’s mother trying to commit—is it filicide or regicide? Sorry, I’m not too up to date on my murder terms.” “Stop trying to be funny, this is serious,” Carina hissed. Acidalia gave a humorless smile.

“So what you’re saying is we’re totally screwed,” Athena continued.

“No, not at all,” Acidalia replied, equally as casually. “Many people have committed acts of treason and lived.” “That’s not how the media makes it look,” Carina said shakily,

Acidalia sighed. “Always question the media. I don’t want you to think you don’t have options. You do—many of them. I just want you to know the gravity of your situation, and how impossible a return to what you might call ‘normal’ society will now be for you. I can give you a list of paths to choose right now if you’d like, but being regular caste Scientias again is not on it.”

“What if we don’t want to be regular Scientias anymore?” Athena asked.

A spark flared suddenly in Acidalia’s brown eyes. “Then you’re in a better situation than I predicted.”

Athena could already see where this conversation was headed. “This is going to end with an elevator speech recruitment pitch type thing, isn’t it?” “Do you want it to?”

Athena hesitated. Was this it? she asked herself. Was she really joining an anti-Alestra revolution? Two days ago, she’d been laughing at the excessive glamour of the Ciphers, who were nothing but glittering silhouettes in a far-away place on a television screen, and now she was standing right in front of one and speaking to her like this was all normal. A week ago, she was laughing in the break room about how much it must suck to be forced into the ridiculous life of ceremony and politics the ruling class set up for themselves, and now she was genuinely considering entangling herself in the complicated games they were playing. This was, in every sense of the word, completely insane.

But Eleutheria being torn in half was insane. Ciphers killing Ciphers was insane. Acidalia’s very existence as an Imperial dauphine and a traitorous bastard and a rebel leader was insane. Everything else in the world had lost its mind and any sense of sanity it might have, at one point, held, so maybe Athena could afford to go a little nuts, too.

“Yes,” she said, and with that, she could almost feel Morta raise her scissors. But, strangely, she didn’t much care.

[juxtaposie]

Take Two

Title: Take Two

Rating: M for language, and brief nondescriptive mentions of sex

Genre: Fluff ‘n stuff

Fandom: RIverdale (2017)

Characters/Pairings: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones

Summary: He could feel his jaw tightening. "You could have just told me."

"I know this is the exact wrong thing to say, but you would've just said no."

“Because we totally haven't set a precedent for that,” he said, the anger he was feeling finally creeping into his voice.

"Please," Betty said finally. "I love you. Please, just... trust me."

And the best, worst part was, he did.

OR - Betty Cooper takes another stab at birthdays.

Notes: This was supposed to be a quick piece and instead wound up being 8k of two kids communicating openly about their relationship and trusting each other.

AO3 Link

They were walking home from Pop's on a Tuesday evening, Betty's fingers laced tightly with his own, when she said, "Hey," in that way that meant something was about to happen.

 "Yeah?" Jughead asked when she didn't  elaborate.

 She pulled out of his grip, and clasped her hands together under her chin plaintively. "Can I ask you a big favor?"

 "Probably," he replied, brow furrowing in suspicion

 "Can I borrow FPs truck on Friday?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

 His shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t even realized they were tense. "Is that all?"

 Of course this would be a big favor for Betty. Most of the time he could set aside how fundamentally different their upbringings had been, but every once in awhile something like this stood out. It didn't bother him too much anymore, but it was always interesting to note. In Betty's world, you didn't ask for favors like this. You didn't ask to borrow a car. You didn't invite yourself and your kids to dinner on the Thursday before your paycheck came in, because there was no food in your fridge, but you knew they'd gotten paid the previous Friday. You didn't offer to cut someone's grass, or help them move furniture, or babysit for free. You didn't do it, because you could pay someone else to do it, but in the trailer park that had been everyone’s reality. You shared what you had with people who didn't have enough, because you knew when the time came they would do the same. That was how you survived.

 "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need to-"

 "It's fine," he cut her off. "When do you need it?"

 Her face twisted apologetically. "In the morning? Before school? I need it all day."

 "Sure." He took her hand up again. "I can walk."

 Betty offered to drop him off, and pick him up, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The Teller’s, his foster family, only lived a mile and a half from the school. He would hoof it.

 "And you're going to pick the truck up how?" he asked as they slowed in front of her house.

 "Archie can drive me over in the morning," she replied, twining her arms around his neck.

 Something occurred to him. "Can't you borrow Fred's truck? That seems a lot easi-"

 She cut him off by kissing him soundly, and with a little more fervor than she normally used in their regular goodbyes.

 "Text me when you get home," she said turning on her heel, and before he could protest she was already inside, smiling at him as she closed the front door.

 Something suspicious began to uncurl in his gut.

 ***

 Betty called him during lunch period on Friday, and the first words out of her mouth were, "Please don't be mad."

 "Okay?" he replied, instantly uneasy. "What am I not mad about?"

 "Well," she said heavily, and in the long silence that followed he could just picture the way she was biting her lip, rolling it nervously between her teeth. That feeling of suspicion crept back in, but he didn't prompt her, and eventually she continued, "Your birthday is on Sunday."

 The way his heart dropped into his stomach (and the way his stomach dropped right out of his body) was surprisingly violent, but the flash of anger he felt melted quickly into hurt. "Betty-"

 "It's just you and me," she cut in remorsefully, "and a couple of really good movies. And maybe something a little better than stale movie popcorn."

 "I happen to like stale movie popcorn," Jughead answered. He wanted desperately to believe her, but all he could think about was how betrayed he'd felt when he'd realized why she'd really wanted to leave the movie theatre this same time last year. He'd forgiven her for it, and they'd been able to move on without looking back, but she'd done more harm than good that night, and his feelings on birthdays hadn't changed a bit. "I don't know, Betts. I don't think..."

 "I know," she said. "I know I messed up. And I know you don’t hold it against me, but I still feel really bad about what I did, and I just want a chance to give you the birthday you deserve - the birthday you wanted in the first place. Please, Jug."

 She sounded so sincere, and so apologetic, and so very Betty. His heart stuttered a little, and something that felt dangerously, disgustingly like hope unfurled in his chest. It helped that she'd told him beforehand this time, but she also hadn't been completely honest either. "Is this what you need to truck for?"

 "Yeah," she admitted guiltily, voice small.

 He could feel his jaw tightening. "You could have just told me."

 "I know this is the exact wrong thing to say, but you would've just said no."

 “Because we totally haven't set a precedent for that,” he said, the anger he was feeling finally creeping into his voice.

 The silence that ensued told him the jibe had landed, and somehow he just felt worse.

 "Please," Betty said finally. "I love you. Please, just... trust me."

 And the best, worst part was, he did.

 ***

 After lunch, the rest of his day had dragged. Pre-cal was tedious to begin with, but after Betty's phone call Jughead couldn't even pretend to concentrate. American Lit passed in much the same fashion, though he was marginally more engaged, and by the time he'd gotten to Spanish he was completely done.

 Abram and Ben had been kicking around the possibility of going back to Ben's house and digging in for a long evening of Borderlands, and they'd invited him and a couple of the other kids he'd gotten to know in the last few months. He was contemplating blowing Betty off to join them. He knew how badly it would hurt her, but he honestly didn't think they would survive a repeat of last year. She'd asked him to trust her, and since that night she'd given him very few reasons not to, even with everything that had gone down after FP's arrest. How deep would it cut her if he disappeared into the South Side for the weekend, hunkered down with a friend she'd never met (didn't even know about), and turned his phone off?

 That he was even contemplating it was enough to tie his stomach in knots.

 Knots that didn't ease when the final bell rang, and his phone buzzed. Come outside, Betty's text read.

 If he was going to bail, now was the time.

 She sent another text while he was staring at his phone screen. Trust me, followed by a winking face emoji, a heart, and a lip print. From any of his other friends, emojis just made him roll his eyes - Veronica was the absolute worst - but coming from Betty it was sort of cute. He resolved to at least hear her out.

 "What's with the dumb smile?" Nora asked, sliding in between him and Ben in the hallway. "You texting Betty?"

 On his other side, Abram laughed. "Looks like Jones might have something better to do this weekend."

 "Fuck off, Abram," he said, still trying to look at his phone and navigate the teeming masses of students filing out of the school. With the upcoming weekend, the halls were rowdier than usual.

 "Holy shit guys I think she's outside!" Nora exclaimed, attempting to grab his phone out of his hands. "Oh my god can we meet her?"

 "Come on!" Abram wheedled when he made a face. "We're not gonna bite."

 "We might if she asks," Ben quipped. "Have you seen her? She-"

 "Hey," Jughead interjected before Ben could get any further. "I said fuck off."

 Ben and Abram just laughed. "Awww," Nora cooed. "Guys, he likes her."

 "That's sort of why we're dating, yeah," he said, finally pushing through the front doors and out into the bright sunlight.

 It wasn't hard to find Betty in the crowd, mostly because they were giving her a wide berth. She'd parked FPs truck right in front of the school, and was leaning against the passenger door, one foot propped behind her, wearing an outfit that was not at all her usual wardrobe. If he was putting it down on paper, he'd have been tempted to say she'd dressed up by dressing down. She had on a white blouse that left both shoulders bare, the shortest denim skirt he'd ever seen in real life, and stacked black heels. She'd teased and curled her hair in a way that reminded him of Brigitte Bardot, and her lips were a bright, almost alarming shade of red. She was posed perfectly, the picture of ease, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that it was all affected.

 When she finally picked him out of the crowd, the smile that lit up her face was brighter than the sun. His stomach lurched, and his heart jumped, and hadn't they been dating long enough that she wasn't supposed to be able to do this to him anymore?

 Ben gave a low whistle behind him. "You're not coming over, are you?"

 "No," he said slowly,  all but tripping down the front steps without looking back. "No I'm not."

 Betty's smile stayed in place, but she didn't come to meet him. There was a small ring of empty space around her and the car, but it seemed like every single member of the student body was standing between them. He wanted to run to her, sweep her up in his arms, and he was man enough to admit that the only thing stopping him was the crowd. He was only half aware of his friends following him down the sidewalk. Why had he ever even entertained the idea of ditching her? Standing there by his father's old pickup, all made up just for him - somehow he knew it was just for him - she looked as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get.

 He didn't stop until he was close enough to put his hands on her waist. "What are you doing here?" he asked, too excited to be embarrassed about the eagerness in his tone.

 "Hopefully upping your street cred," she replied, blushing a little. Her left hand came to rest against his cheek, while her right  arm wound its way around his waist, under his jacket.

 "Wow," he teased. "My street cred? Did those words just come out of your mouth?"

 Betty's face flushed deeper, but instead of retorting she dragged him down into a harsh, open-mouthed kiss. Her hips surged against his, and then together they fell back against the passenger door. He had a hand in her hair, an arm around her waist, and she was everything he could taste and touch. Behind him, someone let out a loud whoop, and Betty stiffened in his arms but kept up the kiss for a few more seconds before pulling away.

 "Happy Birthday to me," he mumbled, pressing their foreheads together for a few blissful seconds. Betty laughed, and kissed his chin before pushing him gently away from her.

 Following her lead Jughead turned back toward the school, but kept an arm around her waist, hand resting on her hip. People had stopped staring, but Ben, Abram, and Nora were standing close by, all three of them wearing very similar shit-eating grins.

 "Well?" Nora said finally. "Is this her?"

 "It had better be," Betty answered, glancing up at him before offering her hand. "I'm Betty."

 Nora moved to take it but Ben beat her to the punch. "Hi," he said warmly. "Ben Morton. It's good to meet you, Betty. We've heard so little about you."

 After a few long moments, Jughead reached out and gently extricated her from the awkward handshake Ben was still performing. "Betty, this is Nora, and Abram. We have some classes together."

 "Ooh!" Abram exclaimed, clutching a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Ouch! We don't even rate as friends at this point?"

 "I wouldn't take it personally," Betty offered. "I've known him since first grade, and I wasn't even sure he knew my name until middle school."

 "Ah, yes, the era of 'that girl' and 'Archie's friend'," Jughead said wistfully.

 Nora said, "No fruitpunch mouth."

 Betty and Jughead exchanged a look. "What?" they said at the same time, eliciting a snort of laughter from both the boys.

 "Fruitpunch mouth," Nora said unhelpfully. "You just tried to suck each other's faces off. Why don't you both have epic fruitpunch mouth?"

 "Oh!" Betty's eyes lit up despite her blush. "It's a lip stain. My friend found it on a Korean makeup website. Soap is pretty much the only thing that'll take it off."

 Ben laughed again, and Abram said, "So you're telling me you can just put your mouth on an-"

 "Don’t finish that sentence" Jughead broke in, his tone easy even as his arm tightened around Betty.

 Betty fished the keys out of her back pocket and shoved them into Jughead's free hand. "We should probably get going anyways, Juggie."

 "Thank God," he breathed, turning to open the passenger door for her.

 "Wait," Ben said. "Wait, before you go, I have a motion to pass. I move that we never call Jones anything except 'Juggie' for the foreseeable future."

 "Seconded," Abram and Nora chorused.

 "All opposed?"

 Jughead raised his hand, then shot Betty a dirty look when she didn't follow his lead. "Seriously?"

 Sorry, she mouthed, though the smile on her face said she was anything but.

 "It was nice to meet you," Betty said through the truck's open window as she closed the passenger door.

 "You too, Riverdale," Abram replied. "You kids have fun, now. Don't do anything Ben wouldn't do."

 "Ben swallowed a dollar's worth of dimes once just to see if he could," Nora informed them. "I'd probably draw the line somewhere before that."

 Betty was still laughing when Jughead climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "See you assholes Monday," he said by way of farewell. Betty waved politely, and then they were pulling away from the curb and sliding slowly into the after-school traffic.

 ***

They rode in companionable silence through the jam of cars surrounding Southside High. When they stopped on the corner, Betty slid over into the middle seat. In his peripheral, he watched as she rebuckled her seatbelt and settled her left hand over his thigh, her fingers spread wide and warm.

 "I like your friends," she said finally. "They seem nice. They suit you."

 "They're a bunch of dicks," he replied absently, looking in the rearview as he signalled to turn. "But I guess they're okay."

 He could hear her smile in the ensuing sigh. "School's okay too? Classes still good?"

 Jughead grimaced, both touched and annoyed. Grades had never been his favorite topic, especially in the last few years. Before his family had fallen apart, school had been an escape. He'd excelled in class, even as his behavior problems had escalated, and he'd gone into high school in the top 3%, which he'd been able to maintain until halfway through his freshman year - when his dad had well and truly spiraled. He hadn't realized what a sore spot it was until he'd been exiled to Southside. The graduation rate was so much lower, and the classes so much easier, and suddenly he was making As again, while exerting the same effort he'd been putting in at Riverdale. It felt a little like cheating, but he was willing to take any win he could get. The last year and a half had been hell.

 But Betty knew all that. He'd told her. That's why the questions had been so casual. "Classes are still good," he said, turning on to the main drag. "The counselors are pushing college apps and scholarships and other related shit. Our graduation rate is about sixty percent, and the college attending rate is even lower, so they're focusing most of their attention on the kids they think will make the cut."

 For a long time the sound of the engine, and the other cars passing, was the only noise in the otherwise silent cab. When he chanced a glance over at her, she was gazing at him with a look of quiet appreciation.

 "What?" he asked the windshield, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long.

 In the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head, then her hand was on his cheek, cupping it gently as she leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "That's you, huh?" she said finally.

 He shrugged. "I guess."

 Making a little noise of delight, she nestled under his arm. The hand on his thigh wrapped tight around his middle, and she hugged him close for the next few blocks. Her voice was warm, and bursting with pride, when she said, "Let me know if you want any help. Maybe we could keep each other company while we fill out forms."

 There was a smile breaking on his face, but before he could say anything Betty was pointing. "No, take a right. We're gonna get on the highway, toward Greendale."

 "Oookay," he said slowly. "What's in Greendale?"

 Betty settled back into the seat, her fingernails scratching across his stomach before her hand settled again on his thigh. "An awesome used book store," she said. "And Cheryl's present."

 ***

It was a forty-five minute drive south down FM 130 to Greendale. Once they got on the highway, Betty cranked up the music - a playlist she'd been curating for months, she touted - and rolled both the windows down. She pulled his right arm around her shoulders and cuddled up close to his side, and they drove in companionable silence, letting the wind and the music dift through them. Creedence Clearwater Revival was blasting through the speakers, and her hand was on his stomach again, up under his shirt, running lazy lines back and forth above the waistband of his jeans.

 "You're wearing the jacket to school," Betty said between songs, apropos of nothing.

 Jughead took his arm back to turn the radio down, but she didn't shift away from him. There'd been nothing accusatory in her tone, and when he glanced down at her she returned his gaze with a gentle inquisitiveness. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't bother trying. Betty threaded her arm through his, her hand curling around his bicep while her head tilted this way and that, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. She didn't seem upset.

 "I'm just worried," she said eventually. "I don't know what it's like at Southside, but at Riverdale-"

 "At Riverdale it's a target, " he finished for her. "I know."

 "So what is it at Southside?"

 He took and deep breath, and blew it out hard enough to displace the curl lying against his forehead.  "It's a lot of things. It’s like - like wearing a letterman jacket. No one messes with you because they know there’s someone at your back.”

 “It’s armor,” Betty said softly. Her hand tightened on his arm, and she turned her face into his shoulder.

 He laid his hand on her leg, fingertips grazing the soft skin on her inner thigh, and squeezed. His palm was warm. “Yeah.”

 She laced her fingers through his, and kissed the back of his hand. “As long as it does it’s job.” Then she pulled his arm back around her, and turned the radio back up. Peaceful Easy Feeling filled the cab, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

 ***

 “Cheryl got me a bookstore?” Jughead said when they pulled up. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful of her.”

 The store in question was situated in an old theatre. The unlit neon spindle still read “THE IRIS”, but the letters on the marquee spelled out “Books and Crannies”. He’d been there a few times before, twice with his mother and JB, and then once by himself. It was a large space, packed floor to ceiling with secondhand books, both common and obscure. There was a little community theatre still thriving on the second floor. He wondered if the fat black-and-white cat he remembered as a child was still prowling the property.

 “Actually, I think she got you a gift card,” Betty responded, waiting for him to come around and open the door for her. He wasn’t sure where all the chivalry had come from (his father had certainly never been big on it) but the longer they’d dated, the more he’d doubled down. Betty had lived most of her life trying to make everyone else happy, and so he’d spent a long time thinking of all the small ways he could make her happy. He liked to hold doors for her, and carry her things. He knew she was perfectly capable of doing everything for herself - in truth, she was one of the strongest people he’d ever known - but it hurt him to know how alone she’d felt,  and he’d silently promised himself that she wouldn’t have to do anything trivial if he could do it for her.

 When he pulled the passenger door open, she smiled up at him - the same sweet, loving smile she offered at every one of his gestures. Their earlier conversation played in his head, and the Serpents jacket suddenly felt a little heavier on his shoulders. Instead of taking her hand to help her down out of the cab, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her.

 She mumbled his name into his mouth, caught off guard. “What’s wrong?” she asked when he pulled away.

 “Are we okay?” he asked. She could see the worry lurking behind his eyes as he searched her face. Unthinking, she reached out to stroke his forehead, trying to smooth the worry lines that had appeared. “You’re not… upset?”

 “I’m not upset, Jug,” she said gently. “I’m not going to pretend I understand, but...  I love you, and I trust you, and if you say it’s safe then that’s good enough for me. We’re okay.”

 He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, and smiled down at her. He was still holding her face, his thumbs stroking across her cheeks, so Betty grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him back down to kiss him again.

 “Besides,” she said, climbing out of the truck. “It does look really good on you.”

 Grabbing his hand, she hurried into the bookstore, pulling him along behind her but still unable to hide the way she was blushing.

 His first impression was the overwhelming smell of old paper and ink. The lighting was fluorescent and cheap, and the carpet obviously hadn’t been changed in the last twenty years, but the place was full to bursting, and every shelf was labeled in a meticulous, loving hand. The middle-aged woman behind the desk looked up at them as the bell on the door jingled, and Betty wasted no time. “We’re here to pick up a gift card,” she said, all but shoving him against the counter.

 There was a pair of glasses hanging around the woman’s neck from an elaborately beaded chain. She lifted these onto her face, and smiled at him. “What’s the name?”

 “Jones,” he said, glancing back at Betty, who was beaming to put the sun to shame. “J. Jones.”

 The woman, whose name tag he read Denise, frowned down at the card box she was rifling through. “Honey, I don’t see a J. Jones. I’ve got an F. P. Jo-”

 “That’s me,” he broke in, shoving his ID at her. Betty let out a little laugh behind him.

 Denise just barely glanced at it, then smiled brightly and pulled an envelope out of the card box. “All right Mr. Jones. Here’s your gift card! The balance is three hundred dollars, and it expires never. Happy hunting!”

 She turned back to the computer, but Jughead had stopped listening after she’d said three hundred dollars.

 “Betty,” he hissed, grabbing the hand-written gift certificate and turning to face her. “Betty, I can’t take this.”

 To her credit, the look on Betty’s face said she was as shocked as he was. She grabbed it out of his hand and gave it a good, solid frown. “Jesus, Cheryl,” she muttered. “I said fifty bucks.”

 “Fifty bucks? You knew about this?”

 Betty’s eyes darted up to meet his, but she looked away just as fast. “Of course I did. Why else would we be here? I didn’t think she’d-”

 “Didn’t think she’d what? Play to type?” He couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his tone. It hadn’t even really felt like they were celebrating anything, until this had happened, but the sour feeling was back, turning his stomach into knots. “She’s a Blossom. If she’s being this generous, then she wants something, and whatever it is she’s not going to get it.”

 Betty gave him a long, appraising look before sighing. Instead of doubling down with him, and backing his convictions, she pressed the paper gift card back into his hands. “I don’t think she wants anything, Juggie.”

 He took it from her, then wrapped his hand around hers and refused to let go until she looked at him. “You seem awful sure about that.”

 Instead of deflecting, Betty held his gaze and gripped his hand confidently. “I am. She’s being weird about it, but I think she’s trying to apologize. She’s been giving out crazy gifts the last six months. I think she’s misinterpreting something her therapist said, but there’s that whole thing about not looking a gift horse in the mouth, so...”

 He took another look at the card. He knew Cheryl’s handwriting (like he knew a lot of people’s handwriting), and this had obviously been phoned in. “You know, the last time she did something like this-

“I know,” Betty said, letting go of his hand to touch his arm, “but I honestly don’t think this is… that. She made Archie take the Les Paul for Christmas.:

 He couldn’t help the derisive laugh that jumped out of his mouth. “That’s different. She’s wants to get him in bed.”

 “She gave Veronica that Fendi purse. The one from the Lucy Liu photo shoot in Cosmo,” she offered.

 “I’m honestly not sure what that is,” Jughead replied, “but Veronica bought her that weird little wallet-” (a clutch, she offered) “-and it cost more than my family’s monthly grocery budget, so she was probably just returning the favor.” Betty made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and something occurred to him. “So what did she get you?”

 Betty had the good graces to look embarrassed. “Earrings.”

 “That’s it?”

 “Diamond earrings.” She grimaced, then pulled out her phone and scrolled through the pictures. “Three sets, in white gold. To replace the ones I always wear, because they’re ‘tired and boring’. Then she made me take a picture with them.” She handed him the phone and he couldn’t help laughing. There was Betty, holding up the tiny jewelry box, making the most uncomfortable face he’d ever seen. “And I can’t ever wear them because they cost more than all the other jewelry I own and whenever I put them on all I can think about is how I’m probably just going to lose them.”

 “I don’t know,” he said slowly, still reluctant even with the mounting evidence. “This still feels a little weird. I’m not even sure where I’d keep all the books, anyways.”

 “It’s weird because you’re not used to people doing nice things for you,” Betty said, wrapping an arm around his waist and nudging him gently in the direction of the stacks.

 “No, it’s weird because it’s Cheryl,” he retorted. “If this was from you-”

 “If it was from me it would only have been fifty dollars, and you’d still be telling me to save my money,” she interrupted. “It’s your birthday, Juggie. This is what your friends do to show you they’re glad you were born.”

 His brow furrowed. “Cheryl and I aren’t friends.”

 Betty laughed. “Well I wouldn’t tell her that. Who knows what she’d do to try and convince you.”

 Jughead took another look at the gift card, took a deep breath, and made a valiant attempt to relax. It only sort of worked, but Betty must have felt the tension easing. She kissed his chin and said, “You can store some of the books at my house, if you want. It’ll give you an excuse to come see me.”

 “Like I need one of those,” he said absently, realizing for the first time just how many goddamn books there were in front of him. “This might take awhile.”

 She was grinning ear to ear when he glanced at her. “We’ve got to be at Pop’s around 6:30, so you’ve got a couple hours.” She gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the books. “Go spend your gift certificate.”

 ***

 Betty disappeared after about half an hour. She touched his arm and told him to take his time, then went to curl up in one of the armchairs near the register. The black and white cat never showed, but there was a skinny little tabby who followed him up and down the rows, winding around his ankles and meowing softly. She butted her head against the toes of his boots, flopping over and demanding attention every time he stopped to pull a book out. He worked his way methodically through the nonfiction section, at first keeping a running total of the cost in his head, then not even bothering once he realized he’d pulled out twelve books and barely made a dent in his budget. There was a strange sort of giddiness overtaking him by the time he had enough books to necessitate dropping them at the register so he could keep browsing. Betty looked up from her copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, the smile on her face matching his own.

 On a whim, he turned toward the poetry section, and rifled through the selections until he found a small, well-worn volume of Love Poems, by Pablo Neruda. There was no inscription in the front, but it had been lovingly dog-eared, which somehow made it all the more endearing. He only hoped Betty would share that opinion.

 The pocket-sized book stayed firmly on the bottom of the new stack of novels and autobiographies, which accumulated almost as quickly as the first stack had. He still couldn’t believe that he was only about half way through the fantasy/sci-fi section when Betty sidled up. He was totally unaware of her presence until she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his forehead. “We need to get going soon,” she said gently. “It’s 5:30.”

 In the end, he bought thirty-eight books, and spent two thirds of his gift certificate. The poetry book was tucked safely into his jacket pocket, and Betty seemed to be none the wiser as she helped him haul the paper bags out to the truck. It wasn’t until they were depositing the books in the truck bed that he realized there were other things back there.

 “What’s with the blankets?” he asked as he helped her up into the cab. “And the overnight bag that I’m pretty sure is your middle-school backpack?”

 “I might not be going home,” she said easily, “depending on how the night goes.”

 There was something deliciously promising in her words, and he couldn’t help the stupid smile stretching across his face as he started the engine and pulled onto Main Street. There were more cars than there’d been when they arrived, but even with the after-work traffic it took them less than ten minutes to make the highway. Betty turned the radio back on, but kept the volume down this time.

 Something occurred to him. “Betts, the movie starts at seven. Are we gonna have time to eat?”

 “We’re getting dinner to go,” she said. He glanced over to find her smiling breezily at the windshield.

 “I’m pretty sure they don’t let you bring outside food into the theatre.”

 “Well,” Betty said, “It’s good we’re not going to the theatre then,” and leaned forward to turn the music up loud enough to drown him out.

 ***

“Wait here,” she said when they pulled into the parking lot. Jughead started to fish his wallet out - Betty hardly ever let him buy her dinner, but he could at least pay for his own - but her hand on his wrist stilled him. “Uh-uh. Archie’s buying.”

 He watched her go, waiting until she was safely inside, out of view, before letting the smile slip from his face. (Why was it so exhausting to pretend to be excited?) There was a little curl of fear in the pit of his stomach, and he was trying very hard to beat it back, because he trusted Betty - he did - and so far, the day had been good. Amazing, even. The bookstore had been a nice surprise; probably the first nice surprise he’d had in years. Riding in the car with her tucked under his arm, her fingers drifting up and down his thigh - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so simply, perfectly content. They’d spent the last year mostly apart, in different schools and neighborhoods, with different friends, and somehow they’d only gotten better.

 Jughead took a few long, deep breaths, trying to will his heart to slow down. He was worrying for nothing. No one knew him the way Betty did. She wouldn’t break his heart.

 The sound of churning gravel drew him back into the moment. He tried to compose himself and paste the smile back on, but he must have failed, because Betty’s grin dropped clean off her face when they made eye contact.

 “What’s wrong,” she demanded through the passenger window. “What happened?”

 He leaned over to open the door for her, and she climbed inside, scooting over into the middle seat and dropping the takeout bags beside her. “Hey,” she said gently, her hands finding his face. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

 “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Everything is - everything’s great. This is great - you’re great. I’m just… wondering if we shouldn’t quit while we’re ahead.” He watched her forehead crinkle in concern, and continued when she didn’t say anything. “I can’t help feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m pretty sure you’re not the one who’s gonna drop it, but today has been too good for me to let the universe fuck it up.”

 He thought she might cry, but then she took a shaking breath and smiled. “Okay,” she said softly, her hands falling away. “If that’s what you want.”

 Jughead couldn’t help the surprise in his voice. “Just like that? You’re gonna let it go?”

 She shrugged, trying gamely to mask her hurt and only just barely succeeding. Anyone else probably would have been fooled. Her voice was steady when she replied, “It’s your birthday, Jug. We can do whatever you want. I just want you to feel special.”

 It was corny, but she was so sincere he couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Betty, you want the whole world to feel special.”

“No,” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder and slipping her hand into his. “Just you.”

 “Oh my god,” he groaned, pulling away from her and leaning back against the door. He ran his hands over his face and into his hair, pushing his beanie off. “Oh my god, okay. Do you promise,” he held his hand out to her, pinky up, “on your unbreakable relationship with your sister, that you’re not taking me to a party with a whole bunch of people I don’t know? It’s just you and me and the burgers and the movies?”

 Betty blinked the tears out of her eyes and turned to face him. She held her hand out to him, and linked their pinkies together. “I promise, on my unbreakable relationship with you, that tonight is just you and me and burgers and movies.”

 “Okay,” he breathed, and she surged forward to kiss him. Her arms came up around his neck, and and after half a second she was climbing into his lap. She held his face like he was something precious, something to be cherished, and he could only hope that his fingers splaying along her waist conveyed the same care.

 She pulled away, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and said, “Scooch over.”

 It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with his ears. “What?”

 She laughed, and began to edge off him, the weight of her body pushing him toward the middle seat. “Move over. I’m gonna drive.”

 ***

 “You should eat,” she said fifteen minutes down the road. “I know it’s been more than four hours since you ingested anything.”

 He gave a perfunctory, “If you insist,” before digging into the take-out bags. There were six burgers, as many orders of fries, and four milkshakes - one each of chocolate, vanilla, cherry, and strawberry. He inhaled the burger, but went slower on the fries, watching Betty as she tried not to sing along too loudly  to Foreigner’s I Want To Know What Love Is. She was smiling again, face bright, and glancing obsessively at her cell phone. He tried to snatch it out of her lap when the screen lit up with an incoming text, but she knocked it away, onto the floor boards, and then laughed when he started pouting. They were driving through the hills outside of town, on the road that would have lead to Thorn Hill, if Thorn Hill had still existed.

 “Are you bringing me out here to murder me and dump the body?” Jughead asked when she turned off onto a dirt road that had been almost invisible from the highway.

 Betty frowned .

 “All right, maybe given where we are, that was in bad taste. Sorry.”

 On the floorboards, Betty’s phone began to ring. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Hold the wheel.”

 “Maybe take your foot off the accelerator?” he suggested, grabbing for it as she rooted around under her seat. They weren’t going very fast, but the road was narrow and winding, with trees closing in on each side. “Betty? Brake?”

 She answered the phone before she took the wheel back, which was only mildly horrifying. “We’re almost there,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “Everything set up?”

 He tried to grab the phone again, but she pulled it out his reach and the car swerved almaringly. “Nothing,” she said into the receiver. “Juggie’s just trying to kill us.”

 “That is completely misrepresentative of the facts,” he mumbled, crossing his arms to stare sullenly out the window.

 Betty, who didn’t seem to be listening, said, “We’re almost there.”

 Jughead sat up a little as they rounded a bend in the road. Parked off to the left, about a hundred yards down, were Fred Andrew’s truck and Cheryl’s cherry red convertible. Archie was sitting on the truck’s hood. Veronica, Kevin, and Ethel were leaning against the side, all clustered around Ronnie’s phone and laughing at something on the screen. Cheryl was standing staunchly in the middle of the road, gazing in the opposite direction with her arms crossed. All five heads turned and smiled at the sound of the truck coming up. Four of those smiles were easy and genuine. Cheryl, as always, looked like she’d just bitten into a lemon and was trying to pretend she liked it.

 “You pinky-promised,” he whispered when she shut off the music and pulled off the road.

 Betty unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to kiss him. “They’re about to leave,” she said over Kevin and Veronica’s hollering. “They were just here to help out.”

 They had only just climbed out of the truck before Archie was sweeping Jug up in a bone-crushing hug. “Happy birthday, man!” he said. What followed after was a long line of short hugs, though there was a much deeper level of sincerity woven throughout than had been present the last year. Cheryl was the only outlier; she put one arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, so light it was barely there.

 “I hope you liked the bookstore,” she said airily. “I was going to get you an annotated manuscript, but Betty-”

 “The bookstore was great,” he cut her off. “Thank you.”

 “We helped set up,” Veronica offered. “Well, everyone else helped set up. Cheryl and I mostly donated equipment and organizational expertise.”

 Ethel, ringing her hands together, said, “We think you’re really gonna like it.”

 “You’re really going to like it,” Kevin repeated, slinging an arm around Cheryl and completely ignoring the way her face twisted at his physical contact. “Betty is amazing.”

 He shoved his hands down into his jacket pockets. “I’m the last person you need to say that to.”

 Everyone shared a Look, and then Betty was shooing them back into their cars. There was another round of hugs and ‘Happy Birthday’s, and a long string of promises to call the next morning (mostly from Betty) and let them know how things had gone. She stood beside him, thumbs hooked in her skirt pockets as she watched them go, and then she was using the same tactics to usher him up into the passenger seat of the truck. She made to help him buckle his seatbelt - mostly as a joke, he hoped - and then the engine was turning over and they were pulling back onto the gravel road.

 They’d driven less than fifty feet before she did an alarming three-point turn. Even more alarmingly, she threw her arm across the back of the bench seat and pulled backwards onto another side road, this one even less tended than the first.

 “Eyes front, mister,” she said sternly, when he twisted around to watch the road she was backing down. “Don’t want to give away the surprise.”

 He settled into his seat, facing the windshield. “I might if the surprise is driving into the river.”

 He’d barely finished speaking before Betty was braking. He tried to turn around again, but her right hand, still slung across the bench, grabbed his chin and gently forced his gaze forward again. “Nope,” she said. “We’re too close for you to ruin it.”

 He couldn’t help laughing. “I have to admit I’m completely in the dark. You said burgers and movies, and we’ve got the burgers but-” He let the sentence drop when Betty climbed out of the car. There was music drifting through the windows, something cheery and familiar, and now that he was  paying attention, there were lights - images - flashing across the trees he could see. The sun was setting, but in another forty minutes it would be full dark.

 He started when Betty pulled the passenger door open, not realizing she was there. She took his hand and lifted it to her mouth, placing a lingering kiss in his palm. “Come here,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his and him out of the truck. His heart climbed into his throat.

 She led him around to the back of the pickup, then dropped his hand and - bless her - gave him some space. A few yards in front of him, someone had set up a card table and an electric generator. On the card table, hooked up to the generator, were a laptop and a digital projector. Strung between two trees a few dozen feet on, was a makeshift screen (probably a white bedsheet, by the look of it) where three little cups of ice cream were marching behind a popsicle. A leprechaun followed a rainbow to a treasure chest full of candy, popcorn, and soda. Colorful animated banners proclaimed the intermission, exactly as they had at the Twilight.

 The image blurred, and for a moment he thought the projector had gone out of focus. It wasn’t until Betty was pressing against his back, her arms slipping around his waist, that he realized he was blinking back tears.

 “I was thinking about the drive-in,” she said against his shoulder, “and how we never got to have a date there. We would’ve parked in the very last row, or off to the side, where it’s dark. Climbed in the back seat.” Jughead took a deep, shuddering breath, and her arms tightened around him. “I thought it would be nice. It’s okay if you don’t like it. I know one good birthday doesn’t make up for years of crappy ones, but I was hoping maybe we could start a new movie tradition.”

 He wanted to say yes, absolutely, it’s perfect but the words got stuck behind the lump in his throat. The early autumn air was cooling with the sunset, but Betty Cooper, in her denim skirt and her thin white blouse, was blazing hot behind him. There was a purposeful tension in her limbs as she held on to him, and he knew what she was trying to convey - love and care, deep devotion, and everything he was feeling as he took in what she had planned for him. The words stuck, so instead he turned into her embrace, buried his face in her hair, and held onto her as tightly as he could, hoping his actions would say what his voice couldn’t. “I love you,” he mumbled, lips brushing against her temple. “God, Betty, I love you.”

 ***

 A single loud, trilling bird call woke him up just after four in the morning. It was still full dark, and the air around him was cold and wet. There was a long, disorienting moment where he couldn’t place his surroundings - tall trees, a small circle of light driving back the complete blackness, something hard and ridged underneath him. It wasn’t until Betty shifted against him, tucking herself more securely into his side, that the memories came flying back.

 Betty singing him happy birthday over a cupcake with a single candle in it, kissing his face with tears in her eyes when he’d produced the book of poems.

 Betty, curled close in the circle of his arms, her face turned into his chest while Freddy Kruger terrorized a young Johnny Depp. (“You have to promise to hold me as tight as you can,” she’d demanded when he’d made his movie choices.)

 Betty, poised above him, her hips rocking against his, one hand on his chest for balance, eyes closed tight, mouth mumbling yes, god, like that, i love you, i love you…

 Betty falling asleep halfway through Friday the Thirteenth, her head heavy on his shoulder.

 Even with the five blankets - two under them to pad the truck bed, and three for warmth - he was uncomfortably cold. He’d given Betty his jacket, and kept his flannel, but the early autumn air was chilly, and even though he knew she was sound asleep, she was shivering slightly. He decided to take her home.

 (It wasn’t home; not really , not anymore. But someone had been paying the rent on the trailer, along with the electric and gas, and it was nice to have a safe place to escape to. His foster family was decent, but the house was crowded with other kids, and it was hard to breathe, let alone think, under their three-bedroom roof. He still had his keys to the trailer.)

 When he shook Betty awake, she protested like a grumpy child. After several minutes of arguing, he’d wrapped her in a blanket and piggybacked her from the bed to the cab - she’d refused to put her heels back on, and he wouldn’t let her walk through the dirt barefooted - where she had fallen immediately back asleep. It was only a few minutes of work to pack up all the equipment, though he’d left the sheet, unsure how to get it down and not wanting to make an attempt with so little light. Betty had grumbled and argued when he’d made her sit up and put a seatbelt on, but he hadn’t been driving for more than two minutes before she was asleep again, head resting against the window.

 When they reached the trailer park, he decided to unload the truck first. The digital equipment, the blankets, his books, and Betty’s overnight bag were all shuffled summarily into the living room. Betty whined when he woke her up (she’d been laying down across the bench seat in the cab), but didn’t protest too much when he carried her over the gravel and set her down on the porch. He kept an arm around her waist, guiding her inside, and locked the door before he deposited her on the bed. He wanted to take a shower, but was overwhelmed by the need to be beside her, so he settled for splashing some water on his face, brushing his teeth, and pulling on some clean boxers and a pair of sweats.

 “Hi,” she said sleepily when he pulled the covers back to crawl in beside her. She’d stripped down to her underwear and put on one of his flannels, only bothering with a few of the buttons. “Good birthday?”

 He tugged the blankets back over them, and pulled her close. “Best birthday.”