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rebelbyrdie · 4 years ago

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SwanQueen Ficlet: Black and White Pt 2

More reasons for Emma to drool over Regina. Also Regina shows a different side to herself. It isn’t really edited because I typed it out at work. It’s just sort of an idea.

Snow was going to pout forever. Thank God Emma didn’t live with her anymore. She could not imagine putting up with her full time right now. She had said words that Emma had never imagined coming out of sweet Mary Margaret’s mouth. She had covered the kidlet’s ears. The White Court had lost the big tournament.

It had been close. Mulan had trashed everyone in the sword fighting event. She’d won easily. The archery stuff had gone differently, though. Merida Hill, the fire department’s chief, had easily beaten Snow and everyone else. So it had gone, neck and neck all day so jousting had become the big tie breaker. David and some other the other White Court men were all excited to compete. Even Henry had scampered off remarking that his Mom had promised to let him play at being a squire.

Emma had never seen jousting, except for watching A Knights Tale on cable. It looked painful. Snow had excitedly explained the whole thing to her. Leather and cushioned armor, padded lances, horses going slower than usual. It still looked hella dangerous. Emma was never going to let Henry do it. Even full-contact football was safer then this knight shit.

They had watched, Emma wincing, and Snow politely clapping, every time two knights crashed into each other.

David was doing good. He was knocking everyone down. Which, Emma had gathered, was winning.

Of course the other side was doing just as well. There was a rider in all black that was knocking just as many people over.

“I can’t believe Regina would let a teenager do that.” Ashley remarked. “I mean look how small they are. No way they’re a full knight.”

“Could be a woman. Regina had several female soldiers. Jill maybe.” Sean, who had been knocked out of the jousting tournament earlier, replied.”

The final match was between David and the small dark rider. When David hit the dirt, Snow had let out a shout so loud it hurt Emma’s ears. She hadn’t stopped bitching and whining to make sure David was okay.

They had all lined up down on the field for the “closing” ceremony. Archie was waiting with a big trophy.

The announcers, two of the supervisors from the cannery, came over the loud speaker.

“And here to accept the victory for the Black Court is His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

Henry, escorted by Zelena and Maleficent, came out to the middle of the field. He had changed clothes Well he had changed his whole image to match the Black Court’s over-the-top gothic image. He was wearing a black suit was a fur-lined black cape and a gold mini-crown (circlet? man-tiara?) with black gems in it. He looked older than his years and handsome, Like a real prince.

“Sorry Grandma, Grandpa. I sort of had double-duty today.”

“Wait.” Snow all but stamped her foot on the muddy grass. “Where’s Regina?”

Henry blinked, confused. “Right here, duh.”

The black knight, complete with a green and gold cloak thrown over their armor, stepped forward and took off their metal helmet and mask.

Emma almost had a heart attack.

Regina stood there, in armor. Her hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and the vein on her forehead was prominant which told Emma that she had a headache. Despite, or maybe because, all of that Regina was beautiful. Like an Amazon Queen who had lead her people to victory and was about to take her spoils.

“I thought it would be more appropriate to let Henry accept the award.” Regina cocked a brow. “I am not photo or speech ready.”

Emma just stared, open mouthed. Regina. Regina who wore dresses and always had a perfect manicure. Regina who was the feme-est of femes. Regina, who snarled her nose up at everything not-fancy. She had just whipped countless dude’s asses with a pony and a big stick? Emma couldn’t comprehend it.

“You-” David cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t compete under your coat of arms though?” He sounded a little confused and a lot embarrassed. “Its not green.”

Regina shrugged a leather clad shoulder. “My father’s coat of arms.”

Archie held up a microphone. “I am pleased to announce the First Annual Black and White Tournament has been won by the Black Court.”

He handed the microphone to Henry. Henry grinned.

“Thank You. I want to give a round of applause to all of the competitors today. Black and White, we all represent Storybrooke.” He paused for a thunderous roar of applause.

“The proceeds from today and a matching donation will be given to the Black Court’s chosen project, the Storybrooke Youth Center. Thank you everybody for coming out and we hope to see you tonight at the ball.”

So here they were, at a way-over decorated ball room in City Hall. Emma had no idea what kind of magic Zelena, Maleficent and Regina had used but it had worked. She felt like she had walked into a scene from a movie.

THe whole town was going to ring in the new year with style. Not Emma’s style, though. She was way not her style. She was in a long white pageant gown with ruffles and tulle and more fluff then a dress should legally be able to have. She felt awkward and out of place.

Hook, dressed all in white (which she was sure Snow paid for) sidled up to her about nine o’clock. He already smelled like rum.

“You look beautiful, Luv.”

She wanted to puke. She should have scooped up Henry to be her escort before Regina had lured him to the dark side.

Speaking of Henry, her Kid was surrounded by teenage girls. His Price act and new edgy Black Court look was a hit.

She kind of wanted to ground him for treason or something.

“Care for a dance, Luv?”

He had his one hand in his pocket, like he was holding on to something.

Emma definitely did not want to dance, or anything else, with him.

“I’m sorry, Captain. As the victor, Emma is obligated to give the first dance to me.”

Emma turned around and felt her heart stutter and her brain flat-lined. Regina stood behind them. Gone was the sweaty knight of earlier. She was dressed to kill in an outfit that had to be from her Evil Queen days. She had a black corset top and leather pants that was covered, barely, by a long black jacket that was cropped in the front and flowed to the ground in the back. Her cleavage was partially covered (more like accentuated) by a big and fancy necklace that matched the crown on her head. The gold made her skin glow and the rubies were the same color as her lips.Her hair was long and curled into a complicated up do with even more jewels in it. She had to be wearing boots with a killer heel because she was almost the same height as Hook.

When Emma finally regained her senses, she let out a hoarse. “Yeah.” She pulled in a deep breath and hoped the oxygen helped her brain reboot. “Can’t say no to My Queen.”

Regina lead her to the dance floor with a chuckle.

Hook stood in place, eyes wide and furious. He knew better to fight Regina, though Not only did she have magic, half of her posse did too and exactly none of them liked Hook. Basically, Emma had thrown her lot in with the wrong team.

“Thanks.” She mumbled to Regina when they were far enough away. “It was either this or deck him.”

They started to twirl around in what Emma was almost sure was a waltz. Regina lead her confidently along and she followed as best she could.

“You do realize he has a ring box in his pocket. I believe the pirate was going to ask you to be his wedded wench.”

Emma bit back a groan. She had been afraid of that. “Frankly I’d rather go ten round against you with the ponies and the sticks. No padding.”

Regina laughed. A full on threw her head back laugh. It was better than the music, the best sound Emma could remember hearing in a long time. Regina so rarely laughed.

“Speaking of.” Emma continued as she fumbled through the dance. “How did you learn to do that? It doesn’t seem very queeny.”

Regina smiled. “My father. He went behind Mother’s back and taught me when I was a teenager. I had to do more than a few practice runs to re-teach myself a few things. It was not at all like riding a bike”

Emma literally could not imagine.

“So-” They turned and Emma could see Snow and Hook having a heated conversation on the other side of the room. Neither of them looked happy. She dropped her head to Regina’s shoulder for a moment.

“I think I’m defecting to the Black Squad next year. You and the Kid got cooler better clothes and nobody on your team is trying to set me up with an asshole. Between Hook and my mother I am never going to make it to midnight.”

She was totally done and over this whole Black and White bullshit.

Regina was so close, the dancing had slowed down and they were basically just swaying together now. Emma soaked in the moment, the intimacy of it all.

Regina’s skin was hot against her own. She smelled like apples, rain and honey. Her touch was electric and sent delicious. Regina was intoxicating. Like lines of cocaine on black velvet, intoxicating, addictive, an incredible high that could so easily turn into decadent and delirious destruction. If Emma let herself slip, if she took even the tiniest taste, if she gave in to temptation, she would be lost. She knew that she would never be able to stop. Would never want to.

Regina’s hands crawled up her back. Emma could feel her touch burning through the material of her dress.

“Em-ma.” Regina’s voice was like whiskey and starlight and it was whispered right into Emma’s ear.

She had seen so many sides and shades of Regina, so many moments had passed between them. This moment, with Regina’s arms wrapped around her, was her favorite.

“I would be honored to have you on my Court. Beside me, beside our son, Where you belong.”

Belong. Emma hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere, ever. The very idea was ridiculous. Yet. Yet, she craved it. She never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Regina and Henry. They felt like home, like the living embodiment of Tallahassee.

“I-”

Emma lifted her head. She searched Regina’s eyes. She looked for sarcasm or spite but only saw love. Overwhelming amounts of love. She got lost in Regina’s beautiful eyes and the endless capacity of her heart.

“Regina.” Emma licked her suddenly dry lips. She had so much to say. To confess. She had never been good with words.She wasn’t even sure there were words for the emotions swirling inside of her. “My Queen.”

Regina’s eyes lit up at that. Like it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard. Based on Regina’s checkered past, it probably was.

Emma couldn’t wait anymore. She didn’t care where they were or who saw. She was tired of black and white, good and evil, fighting and drawing lines. They were in a fairytale town, at a fairytale ball and they were fairytale royalty. It was time for their Happily Ever After.

Emma leaned in and did the one thing she had been dying to do since the first time she’d seen Regina. She kissed her.

The floor tilted under Emma’s feet. Angels sang in her ears. Kissing Regina was better than drugs. Emma ran her hands through Regina’s hair and let it curl around her fingers. Regina held her close, her nails dug into Emma’s shoulder blades. It was perfect.

Claps and gasps invaded their little bubble of bliss.

Emma opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and looked around. The room was bathed in golden light. THere were stars dancing across the ceiling and black and white pops of light, like fireworks.

There was no denying it now. The entire town had witnessed them share their first and apparently true loves kiss.

Regina rested her forehead against hers.

“You want to get out of here?”

As opposed to facing down the entire town and her crazy mother? Absolutely.

“Your place or mine?”

Regina’s smirk was the only answer Emma got as they disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

#fanficton #swan queen #dumb writing

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taeyohonic · 6 years ago

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The Milkshake Incident (Part 2)

Words: 2,701

Genre: best friend Taeyong / high school / some fluff I guess? / Yukhei (adorably) 3rd wheeling / Baekhy(p)un certified / mature(ish)? (more like PG-15-ish? i had to cut some “stuff” i didn’t like...)

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

Summary: A milkshake thrown at the innocent band t-shirt of your best friend is the final straw. Taeyong needs a girlfriend and you are going to help him. Even if that means betraying your feelings for him.

A/N: Thank you so much to all the love for Part 1! I hope you guys like the 2nd part as well! I’m gonna post a piece for @nctwriters spc this week too, so please stay tuned...

Previously on TMI: “You… you’re – not sleeping with anybody?”, you whimper and his lips form a sinister smirk when he answers:

“No, I mean I’m not available.”

Yuk opens the door and cuts the tension like a knife. God bless this immature kid with a timing of heroes.

“I am ready to parteyyy”, he shouts sliding into the backseat and leaning forwards. You back against the passenger window like you’ve been burned.

So Taeyong does have feelings for someone. That hurts. A lot. You know you were very direct with your rule of not talking to about his latest conquests, but you always thought that when he finds someone important, he’d talk to you about her or him. You guess there really are limits to your friendship. And that makes it so complicated to breath while your best friend drives towards his home.

“It’s classical music performed by amateurs and accompanied by the same asshole teachers you see in this hell every day.”, you mumble and try to not let your excitement show too much in your voice. Sure, your relationship with Taeyong isn’t in the best place, but this Friday is important to you on a different level. This is the only field, where you are somewhat more qualified than your friends.

Your driver grabs your neck in a warning sign. “Don’t belittle yourself, Y/n. Not when I’m in earshot.”

“Why didn’t you say that to me yesterday when I insulted my cooking skills in front of you?”, whines Yuk and slaps Taeyong’s hand playfully away from its position on your neck. But the damage is done. You still feel his tangling touch on your skin. A shudder runs through your body. What is this boy doing to you during a twenty-minute car ride? This should be illegal.

“Because your stir fry tasted as cheap as your gaming style.”, Tae replies and parks the car. You are the first getting out of this enigma of a car ride and basically run to the front door. You need to get ready for your play tonight. And you need to get away from your best friend. Not necessarily in that order. The cleaning lady opens the door before Tae reaches you and there is definitely a nervous step in your walk as you climb the stairs and shut the door to Taeyong’s bathroom.

Two hours later and you’re still sitting on the floor of his bathroom, trying to smooth your nerves with the cold marble under you. This is getting ridiculous. And embarrassing. As if Tae can hear your thoughts, there’s a sharp knock on the door. “Y/n?” “Yes?” “Are you alive?” Yuk might have asked if you were okay or fine. But Tae can sense that you are neither. So, he gives you a question you can actually answer. “Barely”

A chuckle is heard before you hear the unmistaken sound of a lock being picked. A moment later your best friend takes his place right beside you and your eyes meat his in bewilderment.

“Where the hell did you learn to pick locks?” “Baek taught me in the showers a few games ago.”, he shrugs. “That sounds so … so so wrong, Tae.”, you laugh, and he follows with his own strong chuckle before fixating you with a concerned stare, the smile dying on his handsome lips.

“Listen, I talked to Yuk.” Nothing good ever starts with this sentence. “He told me that you are trying to get me a girlfriend for more than a week now.” So, Yuk did tell him about your chemistry talk. Well, nothing to be self-conscious about.

“He said, that you’re tired keeping up with my ... hm shenanigans?”, he asks, and you can hear real hurt in his voice. “I didn’t know i was such a burden.” Now Tae doesn’t even look at you anymore.

“No, Tae. You’re never a burden”, you intercept vehemently, “You’re my best friend. I cannot imagine ever seeing you as a task rather than my partner.”, you add truthfully, only you being aware of the double meaning. Taeyong’s blazing eyes focus on your figure again – finally.

“So, you don’t need a vacation form me?”, he asks suspiciously while using the exact same words you said to Yuk at the beginning of this week. There is something very reliable about Yukhei’s low EQ, he doesn’t repeat what he thinks you meant, but just what you said. And that precisely. So of course, your best friend will be distrustful. You exhale, before responding with the truth … kind of.

“I don’t need a vacation from my best friend. I need a vacation from your libido, Tae.”

You get up from the floor and look at yourself in the mirror. The simple black dress is required for all the female orchestra members. You just took a bit more liberty with the length of it. Dangerously ending mid-tight, this dress gives you surprising confidence. The material hugs your body and pays tribute to all the early morning jogs Tae dragged you along during spring break. The costume, as well as the shoes, are from your little sister.

You aren’t the biggest shopper – not with two pubescenting boys as best friends. So, you were really thankful to her when she presented you with that outfit this morning. Even though she did cancel on the concert in the same motion. A Friday night spend in the same four walls she’s imprisoned in during the school week? Not happening. Because of some prior engagements even your parents can’t come tonight. So again, these two boys are not only your fan squad but your foster family as well.

Taeyong’s reflection comes up right behind you as he lays his large hand around your neck. “You look beautiful” “I look better than normal, yeah.”, you answer accompanied by an eyeroll and earn a warning squeeze from him. “What did I say?” You don’t answer. “Y/n?” Huffingly you respond. “That I should always sugarcoat my accomplishments in front of you.”

Taeyong just chuckles and tightens his grip one last time before letting go of your body. Were you going mad or did his touches increase this week? Maybe it is just wishful thinking.

“Just hurry up. Yuk is really excited and you’re cutting it close time wise.”, he says and moves to the door. “Tae?” Your friend turns around with questions in his eyes. “Thank you for being there tonight.” “Oh, you know how much I love classical music.”, he winks and lets the door open. Deep breaths, Y/n, deep breaths.

The auditorium is packed. Your fellow musicians are prepping their instruments while you nervously clutch the notes to your chest. This is horrible. Why did you want this? Why were you so eager to agree? You will probably fuck up really bad. You will be the disgrace of the whole orchestra. To distract yourself and calm your beating heart you pull out your cellphone. No chance in hell are you up for a face to face pep talk from your fellow students. So, hiding in virtual social media it is.

[Tae 07.46 p.m.] you’ll do great, y/n. [Yuk 07.49 p.m.] omg omg check fb y/n. right now. NOW.

Slightly concerned by Yuks vehement tone you decide to quickly check your app.

Lee Taeyong updated his status: libido on vacation. Indefinitely. Don’t expect a postcard u losers.

What? WHAT? You don’t have time to scroll through the dozens of replies. Your music teacher ushers you all out and your brain still tries to comprehend what you just read. What does he even mean by that? And what did you mean by that when you first said it to him? And why is this performance now not even as scary as having to talk to Tae afterwards?

You are welcomed with a round of applause as you take your seat behind the piano. Shaking hands place your notes in front of you as you squirt your eyes. The lighting sucks and the humid summer air is more suffocating than usual because of the ton of people in the audience. You absently hear your teacher starting to introduce the orchestra and the evening program. You only listen with one ear as you try to make out our friends. And there they sit, in the first row, like they deserve special treatment.

Taeyong gazes in your direction. You can’t see him clearly, but you can feel the burn in his stare. And then it begins, and you play, and you know he listens, and you know he cares, and you feel enough. You’re so full of joy, that the round of appreciative noises don’t even register in your ears. People are clapping, and you see the proud eyes of your teacher staring adoringly at your ensemble. With two deep bows you leave the stage and the atmosphere backstage is electric.

Your fellow students are hugging and gushing and packing up their respective instruments. You feel such a high, that the figure tapping on your shoulder makes you jump slightly.

Irene is looking at you with uncertainty in her eyes. Milkshake Irene in the flesh. You knew that her being chief editor of your school paper presented a slight chance of her covering this concert. But seeing her so soon after you performed sours your mood – immensely. What does she want?

“Y/n?” You just arch an eyebrow and comb with one hand through your slightly damp hair. The heat is getting to you, as well as this girl, who hasn’t even said anything other than your name yet. Damn, Taeyong’s mood swings are rubbing off on you.

“Can I speak to you for a second?”, she asks with determination in her voice.

“Sure, what’s up?”, you answer, deciding to play along. Maybe she just wants some quotes from the orchestra. Or maybe she is trying to make it a triple. First the slushy thrown at you during fall break, then the milkshake at Tae on Monday. Maybe she wants to end this week with a final dump. But her hands are empty, and she seems nervous, which is not like her. Not that you know her well. But she is a semi-permanent fixture in Tae’s life, so you try.

“Uhm… I just … wanted to uhm…”, Irene releases a long breath and finishes the sentence quickly, “… apologize.”

“Say what?”, you respond dumbstruck. What the hell is going on here? Now she looks at you confused. Same here, girl, same here.

“For what I said about you?”, she continues, asking more than telling.

“Okay?”, you have no clue what this person is talking about. She had beef with your best friend, not with you. She ruined his shirt, not yours. And you are 99% sure that Tae did something cruel to provoke this incident.

“I’ve always been a bit eh self-conscious about you. You know? Him being so close to you.”, she tries to explain and motions with her fidgeting hands in your general direction. Irene … self-conscious … because of you?

“But nevertheless, I was out of line. So, I get it.”

Okay, that makes one of you. Your expression must have portrayed the confusion.

“I shouldn’t have called you an … untalented second-hand pianist, that nobody wants to hear play.”, she stage-whispers slowly, as if you are the stupid one, trying to comprehend easy words in their natural order.

“But he shouldn’t have verbally attacked me as well.”, Irene continues, not giving you any time to comprehend her explanation. “Y/n, the insults he threw at me … You would have dumped the shake on him just like I did, right?”

Taeyong defended you? Your best friend didn’t get into trouble because of his relationship drama, but because he was protecting you? And he didn’t even mention it when you were criticizing his actions? Why?

“What the hell?”, you want to say, but Taeyong beats you to it. His voice booms and he is at your side in a flash.

“I told you to stay away from her.”, he snares and looks at Irene with disgust and she takes an obeying step back, frightened.

“I … I was ju- just trying to apolo-“, she stammers, only to get interrupted by your best friend with anger in his voice. “I … I … don’t care.”, he mimics her mockingly. “Get out.”

Irene’s feet move in small, fragile steps and she backs away fast, leaving you two alone at the back of the rehearsal room. Taeyong turns his stare slowly to your eyes, softening his features.

“You were wonderful tonight.”, he says in earnest, but you just look at your best friend like he’d grown a second head.

“Oh no Mister. Don’t try to avert this conversation.”, you answer pocking him hard in the side. “What was that?”

“That was Irene being a bitch, and you being stupid enough to listen to her.”

You just overlook the stupid comment and don’t take the bait to redirect this discussion again.

“Let me get this straight … you insulted her, because she insulted my piano skills?” There is a heavy layer of wonder in your voice as you stare at him.

“Nobody belittles you, Y/n. Not when I’m in earshot.”

You huff in annoyance.

“Is my honor really worth the detention you got? Or the gossip this milkshake incident caused?”

“You’re my partner. Nobody talks shit about you.”, he states, mimicking your word choice from this afternoon.

“Use your own words, Lee Taeyong, and fight your own fights. Don’t belittle me by fighting mine as well.”

Taeyong crouches down, so your blazing stares meet. Never have you felt more powerless than in this confrontation. Your feelings for him are a dangerous cocktail and you feel tears shimmering at the corner of your eyes.

“Every other girlfriend would swoon over her boyfriend defending her honor.”, he snares still on eye-level. It feels like a punch in the face. You can taste the bile rising up. How can he say stuff like that? This is way too far out of your friendzone.

“Well, I’m not your girlfriend.”, you counter into his angry face. Saying the truth out loud is a wake-up call for your heart. Taeyong is not your boyfriend.

“Yes. You. Are.”, he growls and pushes you against the wall behind your back, caging you. You stare dumbfounded at your best friend. Come again?

“I’m so so done with … with this pretense, Y/n.”, Taeyong continues in a low voice, his body coming dangerously close to yours.

“What more do I have to do for you to notice me?”, he asks. Your head is empty, no braincell is doing its job. You just stare silently into his brown eyes brooding with emotions.

“I hear you” His warm breath is at your right ear. “I defend you” His lips ghost along your jawline. “I touch you”

And then his lips are on yours. They are as rough as his words and dominate your mouth. Like a feral animal he pushes is tongue between your lips, not asking for entrance, demanding it. Your body reacts instantly, welcoming him with a warm tug of your own tongue, your hands absently going into his tick hair. Your surroundings completely ignoring, he presses you deeper into the wall.

The contrast between the cool surface and his warm kiss makes you shiver. His tall frame is caging your body, shielding you from any remaining ensemble members. Taeyong claims you in a way not even your darkest fantasies could have imagined. His hands rest on your neck, tightening. You try to breathe through your nose, but there is no willpower and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded. A content moan escapes your throat. Taeyong responds with a deep groan of his own before reluctantly retreating from your lips.

Leaving his hands around your neck, he starts to speak again, his voice deliciously husky. “Don’t be just my best friend. Be my partner. Be mine.”

There is so much you want to answer. I’ve loved you for so long, my adolescent brain doesn’t even remember a time where it was not in love with you. I’m afraid I’ll not be enough. I was conditioned to be with you. I will always be your best friend, even if I throw milkshakes at you. I’ll be yours.

Out loud you just command: “Kiss me again, boyfriend.”

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sian22redux · 7 years ago

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He followed me home

Title: He Followed Me Home

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Rating: T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup: Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series. Whoever won got a drabble. It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland. So here is her choice: Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name: from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney. Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic. Enjoy!

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.

Thanks so much to @mypatronusismrpricklepants and @arizonapoppy for their awesome help.

Chapter 1: Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable. You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.

His arms are folded across his chest. His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once. It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago. Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.

“Oh really.” The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.

It was just the first thing that popped into your head. Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”

“Maybe,” you squeak. It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun. It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees. Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes. His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch. Probably with Dodger on his chest.

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.

He so needs it. The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point. The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before. How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa. How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out. That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip. You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat. Change was hard for animals.

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.

How do you explain? You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run. Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window. So cute, and so in need.

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist? Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit. “It just kind of happened.” Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again. “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap. At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup. The little guy whimpers mournfully. You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure. The smells and sounds are new. There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much

“Come on pal, leave off.” Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host. The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.

Puppy is still scared. He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing. “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.” A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy. He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur. He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly. "Homer, I can see your doodle…"

“Chris!”

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis. It is also a recognized crossbreed.

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip. “Shuddup. A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross. You shouldn’t tease the little guy. He’s had a really rocky start. Was just busted out of a puppy mill. He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t. Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose. His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle. Quirky and utterly adorable. You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick. “Awww. Sorry dude.”

You shift the warm furry load at your hip. A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure. Bring him in.”

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail. So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing: white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.

“You, too. Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee. The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked. A picture of controlled enthusiasm. His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack. You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety. Chris is the alpha male: one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts. “Ow.” he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp. And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder: how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home. The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home. It’s been years since you had a pet. Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen. You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note. He has been so good. Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check. In a sec. Does he have a name?”

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records. At Ace they called him by his number. They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam. I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash, a comb, smaller steel bowls. Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time: all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell. Pure heaven. And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.

(No ticking clocks, here. Nope. None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up. Coughs once. Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.

Chris looks over at you alarmed. “Is he ok?”

This time it’s you that melts a little. Chris worries. Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time. He’s a rescue from a puppy mill. The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.” Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over. Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet. All is in order. Case # A201206 has been dewormed. Had all shots. Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements. Has been off his feed because of illness. Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy. You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention. Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush. This is the tricky part. “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup. Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur. Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates. Hefty and solid. He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”

Chris chokes. “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”

You hold your breath. This is a gamble. Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow. You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back, reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek. A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart. “Chris, I feel like this meant to be. You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard. He’s like your kindred spirit. Bernese are also big and loyal and loving. They adore kids. But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”

“So you’re just like me, hunh?” he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds. I’d be doing curls with you…”

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it. Keen on it right away. This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning. Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog. Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems. There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving. Possibly another Broadway run. There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too. Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour. It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once. As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist. You’re a name on the end credits. Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with. A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great. Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game. You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date. No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter. No one’s staking out your house. Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up your calf. Hidden. Secret. Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do. Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going. Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much. The frequent long distance trips make it hard. Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode. Constantly catching up. Two steps forward and one back. Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate. Case in point: today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice. “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.” Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap. He sighs. “This was a really good idea. I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?” You sit straight up. Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian. He experienced and no-nonsense. A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay? You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.” Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed. Easy. Intimate. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“How can anyone resist this face?” he says, tickling Puppy under the chin. It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out. You’re lost, the both of you.

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins. “I was just surprised. Needed to think it through is all. Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain, but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.

“What do you….?”

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you. ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps. Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected. Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you. Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say. Going public seems like a giant step. Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy. Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath. This is truly what you want but can you make it work?

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation. He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling. “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit. I am getting old. The flights are getting harder.”

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask. You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.

“Ancient.”

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head. Dodger’s head pops up. If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead. He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity. Chris sets the puppy on the floor. The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh. Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins. This new development is surprising but not scary. He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.

“Woof!” It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.” Chris is laughing. Puppy seems very pleased with himself. A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows. Outside the morning is clouding over. It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain. Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird. Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.

Pup looks to him and back. “Boof!” Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger. Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized. A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen. Pad are laid beside the back door. The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket. You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly. He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen. “Lets get the little guy’s space all set. He’ll need to eat soon and then go out. We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend. They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again. It’s hilarious and sweet. Big brother playing with the little guy, but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns. And coughs.

“Hey…”

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest. A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired. It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head. He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell. Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best. There’s a twinkle in his eye. One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

#@theycallmebecca #chris evans x reader #I lost the bet #but this was so much fun #puppies #dodger

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prfoundlysuperengineer · 7 years ago

Text

Character Thirty Day Thing: Day X

Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable.

~ ~ ~ ~

The heavily damaged Mechari had ceased moving. Narrow slits of its visor that served as eyes glowed red as it stood, waiting and calculating.

Before Jenny could begin to wonder why, the Mechari’s right arm snatched out with an unnatural speed right as Cora gated in, it’s massive hand grasping the woman’s head. Jenny couldn’t quite process the sudden sharp motion of the Mechari’s arm, or the way her mother’s body suddenly went limp at an unnatural angle in the construct’s grasp. Somewhere in the back of her mind the ten year old wanted to put sound to it, something to break the sudden stillness and the constant hum of the transport’s engine. But there was nothing.

A visceral fear gripped her, and even as Jenny flipped off the pistol’s safety and aimed it at the towering creature she couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? Tears fogged her eyes as the glowing visor turned up to fix on the girl’s location, but her finger wouldn’t pull the trigger, and her body refused to respond as a searing pain of loss tore through her chest.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Benton! Ya got a minute?”

A clatter of tools sounded from inside the starboard engine room. “Yeah, boss!”

Jenny sulked, shooting a misty-eyed glare up at her father before crossing her arms over her chest and looking away.

“Don’t look at me like that, sweetie,” John murmured wearily, long days and sleepless nights showing on his face to mix with the emptiness in his eyes that came from grief.

“Hi-ya, Captain. What can I do ya for?” Benton, chief engineer and a granok of a human stepped around the massive generator to approach the two. He wiped his oily hand on a stained cloth before reaching to tussle young Jenny’s hair.

“Pumpkin, mind if I talk to Benton alone for a moment?”

Jenny looked defiantly up at the men. “Don’ gotta talk b’hind mah back, ya know,” she said with no small amount of salt in her tone.

“Come on, kiddo, let me speak with your Pa. Go play with the tools ‘er sumthin’,” Benton responded quickly after seeing something in his friend’s demeanor.

Scrunching her freckled little nose, Jenny grunted in imitation of how many of the crew often responded before meandering further into the engine room.

“What’s up, John?”

Jenny found where Benton had been working. A mess of wires stuck out from beneath a fuse box. Glancing back to where the men’s voices echoed from she crawled under neath the box, and groped blindly at the floor for a minute before her hand found a wrench.

“I was wondering if you’d take Jenny on.”

“Like fer the day?”

“Like as an apprentice. Fer however long that might be.”

Jenny wiped at her eyes to clear her vision as hot tears streamed from their corners. Never making a sound, she counted wires, wiped at her eyes again, then began going through the fuses on the panel above her.

“… You really think that is a good idea? I know it’s hard, John, but you’re the kid’s father. She needs you.”

“ I can’t – Ben, I can’t right now,” came John Brightmist’s pained, nearly inaudible reply.

“I’ll do it. She’s got a gift fer this stuff, but I think you’re makin’ a big mistake.”

“There’s just…. She’s a tough kid. It’s not like I’m leaving. We’re on the same ship. And… it’ll be good for her.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Damn, it was hot out. The heat of midday in Malgrave dried the young woman’s scorched race suit of river water, and reflected blindingly off of the sands. Glancing behind her Jenny could see the plume of smoke that rose over the ridge where her bike burned. It had gotten her so far.

Jenny’s whole body tensed as the distant sound of fighters reached her ears. Marauder fighters. Perhaps her bike hadn’t carried her far enough. Stumbling down to the bottom of the sand dune, Jenny dashed for the run down bar not twenty yards away framed by the half dozen ships parked behind it. Maybe there was a bike or a ship she could hop on – or steal. Anything to get her as far away from Blackstar as she could.

Ducking inside the rundown building, the sad excuse of air conditioning was a shock to her system. Several patrons looked up to her and stared, and she was suddenly aware of what a wreck she must have looked like. Sand in her pigtails, covered in sweat and soot, make up smeared, broken bike handles clutched in her hands, and her racing uniform torn from her desperate flight from the raceway, she was certainly a sight.

She moved to the bar, but every little sound made her tense, and at the sound of a passing ship overhead Jenny ignored the barkeep’s greeting to look to the door she’d just entered through as if she was ready to shoot the first person who came though it.

There was a shuffling of feet. Behind her the very subtle, but somehow attention-grabbing ‘thud’ of a glass being quietly set down on a wooden table sounded, and Jenny turned. She blinked, and stared. What was this?! A Jesse Payne movie? Alone at a table sat none other than Guy Fantastic, even more handsome in person than on the holovision, and he lifted his whiskey glass in a slight greeting to her as he nodded.

“There you are, Miss Brightmist. Sit with me.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Do you think he’s still out there?”

Jenny blinked out of her thoughts – out of brown eyes that kept locking with her’s, and dark sin, the perfectly trimmed beard… Damn, that smirk. “Hmm? Naw, I think ‘e said ‘e was leavin’?” she replied with an apathetic shrug before taking note of Sasha’s disappointment. “Sumthin’ like tha’. I wasn’t really payin’ attention.”

Like hell she wasn’t. She had put on a perfect act of not caring about the Ranger Rafi had so eagerly introduced her to. She was done dating for a while anyways, wasn’t she? She’d had a bad run of dating terrible men. But then she thought about that ridiculously charming sm – No. No! It wasn’t charming! It was just a smirk!

Dammit, why was she hoping he was still there?

“I’m gonna head back to the Valley.”

Jenny frowned over at Sasha as she tied her swim top on. “Ya sure?”

“Yeah, you have fun.” Sasha gave Jenny a big hug, then scampered out of the dressing room.

Jenny watched her Aurin friend disappear, and her concern for the young female was, for once, more fleeting. She checked her pigtails in the mirror and the way her bikini line complimented the natural curves of her hips. Stop thinking about him, you idiot, you met him for five minutes, she scolded herself as she turned to saunter into the main bath where Rafi laughed with a Mordesh woman against a far wall.

Rafi had given the tall man her number. If he called, fine, but Jenny wasn’t about to get her hopes up. Not that he’d call… but if he did one date or a night of getting drunk and making questionable decisions wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?.

Jenny gave her bangs a toss and swiped playfully at the water to splash Rafi. No. She wouldn’t think about Jeremy at all.

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