#and then like.. the next five weeks i'll be working 2+ hours away and so i'll be staying overnight mon-fri

[racke7]

Today I got confirmation from my boss. This summer is going to absolutely suck for me.

[riality-check]

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[hellfirecvnt]

The Foundation of Learning

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 2

Summary: This school is unlike anywhere you've ever worked. Who's lying and who's just an idiot? You know how dreaming about a person can make you feel some type of way? That.

Read part one here. // Part three here. // Part four here. // Part five here.

Your first day was last Friday, meaning after that accidental acid trip, you had a whole weekend to decide if this is the type of environment you want to work in. Sure it's exciting, but you weren't even a whole day in before you were taking hallucinogens against your will. That's a bit more than the drama you're used to in a school.

Sunday night, you can't help but wonder about the two men you'd only just met. More so, you wonder about Lee Russell. A loud man who dresses even louder. His hair is stupid and you can't help but laugh every time his plans fumble, but you can't help but catch yourself developing a bit of a crush on this peculiar man.

You fall asleep peacefully only to find yourself in a dream about that same strange guy. Lee. He touches your cheek so softly, you're so sure you can feel it. The rest of the dream becomes a hazy fog of a childish feeling of infatuation. It lingers in your mind well after you wake up.

Monday morning, you're quick to rise, almost excited for whatever nonsense will be thrown your way this week. Last night's dream is still heavy on your mind as you enter through the front doors of North Jackson High.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Lee greets you with a bright, wide smile. You feel the heat rise in your face. You rely on your makeup to conceal that.

"Good morning, Mr. Russell," you beam, waving as you approach.

"You can call me Lee, darlin'. I'm not a fuckin' psycho," He says, referring to Neal's insistence on being referred to as Mr. Gamby during work hours. You return the favor, stepping into a first-name basis with him. It's nice. Like your first friend in your new town.

"Can I get you a coffee or anything, Lee?" You offer.

"No thank you, doll. I gotta get to-"

"Y/L/N, wake your ass up. I need you to hold any calls for me and Mr. Russell for the next," he glances at his watch. "45 minutes."

"Good morning, Mr. Gamby! No problem-" but he cuts you off.

"45 minutes, Y/L/N!" He exclaims, dragging Lee with him as they congregate outside in the woods by the train tracks.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Gamby? God damn." Lee pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry about it. I'm treating her like shit so she'll do better."

"She's been here for a day," Mr. Russell groans as they cross the empty field to get to their meeting area.

"Well, look at you, being at everybody's defense and shit for the first time in your life." Neal sneers at his cohort.

"I wish you would just shut the fuck up. For once in your life." Lee sighs, taking a seat on a large boulder. The two men bicker for a moment before breaking into brainstorming. Anything they can do to knock Dr. Brown off her throne. Eventually, and mostly to the credit of Lee's deranged mind, they hatch a plan to frame Ms. Leblanc, the meanest bitch in the school, for stealing and selling textbooks to a third party.

"I'll go plant the evidence," Gamby, stone focused on his objective, beelines for the school ahead of Lee.

"God damn... Idiot," he mumbles to himself. With Gamby occupied, he decides to stop by your desk.

"Y/N," he snatches your attention away from your duties on a dime. You quite literally drop everything when you hear his voice. You silently scold yourself for letting that dream get you bent so far out of wack.

"What can I do for you, Lee?" You wait for instruction as Russell just stares at you for a moment like he's considering something.

"Come with me to my office." He takes off down the hall. You round the desk and follow him with haste. Once you're inside Lee's office, he closes and locks the door behind you. You look at him with wide, curious eyes, trying your best to stifle back the heat on your face.

"We're going to frame Ms. Leblanc and turn her against Dr. Brown." Lee's words fill you with immense disappointment. Of course that's what this was about. You're embarrassed by how excited you allowed yourself to become, even if he's none the wiser. You furrow your brows and cross your arms.

"And how are we going to accomplish that one?" You ask, disgruntled. Lee gazes at you with a big smile, excited to hear you include yourself in his plan.

"Take a look at this." He grins, sliding an altered invoice across the table. In this convincing looking writing it says Leblanc signed for 600 books and no more than 60 have been accounted for within the school. "That bitch is fucked."

"Oh, wow. Is Ms. Leblanc a super bitch or something?"

"She's the super bitch, Y/N. And she is going to destroy Belinda for us. All Gamby and I have to do is sit back and watch." Lee revels in what he believes to be a foolproof plot. As if summoned by the sound of his own name, Neal appears. He steps through the door without knocking and looks at you quizzically when he realizes that Lee has just blown up their spot to you.

"What's going on in here?" Neal asks, hesitant to trust this new employee.

"Relax, Gamby. I'm just catching Y/N up on the details," Lee grins, pleased with himself

"Isn't this above Y/N's pay grade?" The mustached man does very little to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"Well, I'm trying to work her into the inner circle." Lee makes a circular gesture with his hands.

"Yeah, Gamby," you chime in, happy to be included in something that isn't reorganizing the incredibly fucked up records someone shoved into a box of papers before they switched to computers years ago.

"You can't just bring strangers into our plans just because she's an attractive person or what the fuck ever!" Gamby attempts to whisper, but it's just quiet yelling.

"Y/N, can we trust you, sweetheart?" Lee asks with big, shining eyes, grinning at you as he awaits your reply. And that name, "sweetheart." My God, you nearly melt on the spot. What's come over you?

"Of course you can. I only have time to talk to you two. Who am I going to conspire with?" You toss a hand up in confusion.

"Alright, but if I see you talking to any of the teachers after this, you will be fired on the spot." Neal wags a finger in your face.

"Fucking Christ, Gamby. Lighten up. You ain't firing anybody. Get your ass to the library." Lee snaps his fingers and points at the door.

"Am I really not allowed to talk to the teachers now?" You ask, a little confused.

"Don't listen to him, darlin'," Lee sweet-talks you, taking the falsified invoice in his hands.

"No. No, you do listen to me. I am your boss. If I see you talking to anyone besides me and Mr. Russell I will banish you from this campus." The pretentious vice principal stands firm in his decision.

"Okay, sir. I won't talk to the teachers," you sigh.

"Or the janitors and counselors," he adds and you nod. "No Para-pros either."

"Gamby come the fuck on!" Lee whines, rushing this interaction along so he can put his plan into action. The two men exit and Neal makes an "I'm watching you" gesture through the large, glass wall before disappearing around a corner.

You return to your desk and take a few phone calls, certain that Gamby's insane rule can't possibly include parents. After a while, a lady comes to introduce herself to you.

"Hey! Finally got over here during a planning period," she laughs. "I'm Amanda." She extends a hand for you to shake.

"Hi-" you stop in your tracks as you make eye contact with Neal way, way down the hall. He slowly shakes his head back and forth. You roll your eyes and return your attention to the woman in front of you. You begin to spell out a word in the ASL alphabet, hoping Amanda has even as little understanding of sign language as you have. You sign "Email" and she squints at your hands.

"Oh, I don't... Are you deaf? I swear I just saw you answer a phone..." She tilts her head. You sigh with frustration and begin typing out an email on your computer. Confused and feeling awkward, Amanda slowly walks away from the entire situation. You're quick to write her an email about Gamby's strange training practices, careful not to uncover their scheme.

You shake your head, hoping she sees the message soon so you're not blacklisted from making any friends besides these two maniacs in this new town.

"Hello, North Jackson High School," you answer the phone with a darling customer service voice.

"Oh, you're fake as hell, Y/N. That ain't what you sound like at all," Lee laughs through the phone.

"Hello, Mr. Russell-"

"Lee."

"Hello, Lee. How's the plotting?" You mindlessly twirl the telephone cord around your finger as you listen to him talk.

"I need you and Gamby's help tonight. We'll need a school bus."

"A school bus?" You ask, unable to fathom what you'd need a bus for.

"For the books, sweetheart. Stay focused," he scolds.

"My bad."

"I'll see you tonight," he says, hanging up right after. You could hear Neal calling his name in the background, otherwise you'd take that fast goodbye as an insult.

You attain the keys to a bus sitting out in the bus lanes. It was left to be cleaned after a kid pierced his own ear and bled everywhere on a field trip.

"Try not to touch any of the seats near the front. It's... Not good." You warn as you toss the keys to Gamby. "I'm not fucking driving."

You and Lee ride in his car, driving ahead of Gamby to the location to store the "stolen" books. Mr. Russell guides Gamby as he backs the bus up and you help the two men unload the boxes of extremely heavy textbooks.

"Holy shit, we fucking did it, Gamby!" Lee grins, self satisfied and hungry for confrontation. "And you too, darlin'. Thank you." He's quick to add.

"Nicely done, Mr- Oh, uh, Lee." You smile, hoping your newfound nervousness isn't too obvious. And to him, it isn't, only because he's distracted by his own infatuation with you.

The next day, shit hits the fan. Lee calls the front desk again and you answer.

"Hello, North Jackson High," you speak warmly.

"We're about to head straight to Leblanc's class right now!" You can hear his devious smile in his voice. "Brown is so fucked if she really tries to go against that stone cold bitch."

"Hey, do you think I'm allowed to talk to teachers now? Aman-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, Gamby swipes the phone from you and slaps it onto the receiver.

"No. And especially not Ms. Snodgrass."

"Why not? She's so nice and I don't know anybody in town besides you and Lee and I doubt you two are gonna want to go to bars and get drunk off fruity bullshit on Fridays." Your monologue leaves Neal pondering. He doesn't get invited to payday drinks, this is new for him.

"No. You'll let something slip. Snodgrass is wholesome. Too wholesome to get wrapped up in the shit we do," Gamby explains.

"Well then why the hell was I wrapped?" You raise a brow, questioning what he's insinuating.

"I don't know! I never would've done something so stupid and reckless like that." The broad man shrugs. "Russell has a thing for you or something."

"A 'thing for me?'" you repeat.

"Yeah. He thinks that you're an attractive person. And I guess he's not wrong, but... You're no Amanda Snodgrass." Neal shrugs as if delivering bad news he can't hold back.

"You're so right," you nod. "So when can I talk to her? I want friends."

"When I'm Principal." Mr. Gamby disappears to join Mr. Russell and Dr. Brown in pursuit of the books and you're left alone with Gamby's words. A thing for you. How delightful to know your little crush isn't as one sided as you thought.

"Ms. Y/L/N, could you come with me? I need you to take notes," Dr. Brown's eyes are narrow. It's clear she's on a mission when she makes the quick stop by your desk on her way to Leblanc's class.

"Yes, ma'am." You scoop up the board and a pen and follow her on quick feet. Just as she rounds the corner, you see Lee. You knew he was with her, and he smiles when he sees you.

"Mr. Russell," you smile, greeting him in a professional manner in front of the woman that holds reign over both yours and Lee's job. You follow the principal and vice principal down the hall and slowly you come up to a classroom with an involved teacher. She seems well educated and passionate about her teaching. Ironically, today's subject is about protecting your reputation with your life...

As you linger in the hall taking quick notes of the passive aggressive exchange, you see Ms. Snodgrass walking by. After a quick glance around, you're certain there's no Gamby.

"Hey! Ms. Snodgrass. Sorry about yesterday. Mr. Gamby has me on like... A vow of silence? I think I'm being hazed."

"Oh! That makes so much sense. I thought you were just kinda weird," she laughs, clearly relieved of the awkwardness.

"I emailed you about it," you chuckle, also relieved.

"Oh, I must've missed it-" Amanda's sentence is cut short as Belinda and Lee take off down the hall after the climax of the conversation. You wave a quick goodbye to Snodgrass and bolt after them.

Belinda is ranting and raving down the hall, all the while Lee cheers her on. He antagonizes every single time she seems to be calming down. It's eerie to watch the way he plays with her mind. You hope you'd be able to tell if he ever tried this sort of brain sorcery on you.

"I can't believe that bitch," Dr. Brown shakes her head, clearly fired up as she stomps into her office. Gamby follows her and closes the door behind him, keeping her on track and gathering information for later. Lee, laughing carelessly, leans against your desk as you take a seat. All you can think about is Neal's confession of Lee's feelings. Even if it was just a "thing." Whatever that means.

"Lee," you nervously call for his attention. "Do you want to get a drink tonight?" You're unsure where the nerve came from, asking your boss out, but it's not like he adheres to the rules very much anyways.

At first, he seems surprised. Caught off guard, mostly. He blinks a few times, knitting his brows for just a second as he calculates how to respond. Of course he's not worried about the rules, even if he plans on becoming Principal, the only thing he can focus on right now is you. His mouth hangs slightly agape as he carefully and regretfully makes his next statement.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N. Maybe another time. I've got some stuff to handle real early tomorrow. I'll be a little late getting in, actually." He fidgets with his ringless ring finger, unable to keep meeting your gaze.

"Of course, sir. It's hard making friends here. You guys are... Different." You smile at Lee as best you can and turn your attention to the computer screen where you slowly and pointlessly sift through each individual piece of spam. Lee lingers for a moment, chewing on his lip in thought. After a short while, he's off to find Gamby and Brown to ensure she's still wrongfully fired up.

Immediately in your solitude your mind runs amok with rejection sensitive anxieties. You're heinously embarrassed, and the redness on your face only darkens when you replay it all in your head over and over.

"Jesus fucking Christ, why did I fucking do that? Who do I think I am? Where the hell do I get off?" You mumble to yourself, trying so hard to regulate past this visceral reaction. You begin to wonder if you've over valued yourself to this little team just because of your interest in Lee.

"What's wrong? Why are you doing that?" Gamby gestures vaguely to your whole being with his hand.

"Fuck, Mr. Gamby. You scared the shit out of me." You gasp, a hand placed on your chest in fear.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings and you won't get caught off guard."

"Hey, tomorrow's teacher work day, right? Do I need to come in?" You ask, hoping for a no so you can drink away the humiliation.

"At any other pussy ass school, maybe. But I need all hands on deck. You're coming in." Neal points at you with integrity and you groan to yourself.

"Are you sure? I'm going to drink the same amount regardless tonight. I might not be very useful tomorrow." You shrug, hoping the trust you've built allows for this sort of candid behavior.

"Something wrong?" He asks.

"You said Lee had a 'thing' for me, so I asked him to get a drink with me and he turned me down," you laugh, slowly accepting the embarrassment.

"Huh, well. That's just Lee, I guess. He's never made a lot of sense to me. All those fuckin' outfits." Neal shakes his head. "Guess he's not into you anymore."

"Oh, word," you say, swallowing the bluntness of his words. "Window closed, got it." You give a small salute gesture and turn back to your computer. "I'll be here tomorrow, Mr. Gamby."

"Well, yeah. I just said you would. I just told you that. I am your boss and you'll be here tomorrow." He nods and emotes as if he's repeating obvious information like 'the sky is blue.'

"Dude." You pinch the bridge of your nose.

•••

Taglist: @its-in-the-woods // @blackwoodtree (you didn't ask to be tagged, but you did ask for a part 2 ❤️)

[toxicanonymity]

Jailbird.

1.5k / Cellmate’s nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

thank you @iamasaddie for the mood board!!!

PART 2 HERE: Collect calls

Summary: Your cellmate introduces you to her hot nephew and he comes to visitation hours. A/N: Part 1 of 3. This one is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes and @raccoonhandedhottie's nerve to put the idea of doing one in my head. My masterlist WARNINGS: References to sex work, ACAB. Horny phone/visitation talk, mild/non-explicit over-pants masturbation. Mickey Avalon Easter egg.

Without Mabel, you're not sure how you would've survived your first six months in lock-up. You were cuffed for solicitation when a dirty cop wouldn't pay what he owed.  He says he took it easy on you -- you also clawed him and spit in his face.  As soon as you told your new cellmate what really happened, she took a liking to you. She said you should've bitten him in the pecker.   Mabel had been there, done that. She even knew of the cop who put you away.  It wasn't Mabel's first time behind bars. She had the ink and reputation to prove it. Her knuckles said "TAKE NONE" and that was accurate.  By now, nobody gave her any shit. Soon enough, no one gave you any either. 

Mabel had a few photographs on her wall, mostly of her and a younger man. Not a particularly young man, but certainly younger than Mabel. He was probably in his early forties in the pictures, which were five years prior, before she violated her parole. She was giving you a poke and stick tat of a four leaf clover on your hand one day when you asked about the pictures. 

"I was wonderin' when ya were gonna ask about my lil Jojo. I've seen ya lookin' at him, ya little horndog..." 

She let you stammer around in response. "No, I, I'm just, making conversation, wanna get to know you better." 

"It's okay, baby. He's my nephew. All I got left. He's a neat kid."

"He looks happy to be with you–ouch!"

"Don't be a pussy. Oh, he's a real sweet boy. Bet he'd like you, too."

"What makes you say that?"

She looked up from your hand "cause ya got a cunt and you're not bad lookin'," she laughed. "Hey,” she raised her eyebrows. “You ever wanna borrow one of those pics, you let me know, I'll give ya some privacy."

"No thanks."

"Oh, come on. You can fold it so ya don't have to see my pretty face." 

You laughed. 

"Bet he'd dick ya down real good, too."

"What?" You asked, quietly disturbed. 

"He lives with me. Walls are thin." 

"Ah. That must be awkward."

"Not really! We're all human. I could even tell ya the kinda shit he says if ya want. He can get real filthy.  Or shit, I could just give ya his number."

"That's ok."

"Baby, he'd love to hear from ya. Trust me. I've told him all about ya." She put down the needle and picked up a tissue to dab your skin. 

"You have??"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'm gonna write it down." 

She took one of the photos off the wall and wrote his number on the back. Then she folded it in half and winked at you as she handed it to you. 

—----------------

It only took a week of her nagging for you to call “Jojo.” 

Your breath hitched when you heard his smooth, deep voice. The first thing he said was, “Ah, call me Joel,” and you could hear the smile on his face. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Well your aunt’s told me a lot about you, Joel.” 

“Yeah, I can only imagine what,” he faux grumbled. “Real character, ain’t she?”

“I love Mabel,” you blurted out. 

You found yourself opening up about how in some ways, she was more of a mother figure than you ever had.  Joel was easy to talk to. It just came pouring out. You told him about Mabel’s antics and the mischief the two of you got up to. Things you’d steal from the cafeteria. The way Mabel kept the ladies in line who tried to dom you. Next thing you knew, your time was up.  You apologized profusely for talking Joel’s ear off about yourself. 

“Nahhhh, it was nice,” Joel said. “Hell of a lot more interesting than my life.”

“Well it was good talking to you,” you told him. 

He said, “Hey, call me back any time.”

There was nothing sexy at all about that first conversation, but his voice did something to you.  You squeezed your thighs together when you got back to your cell and looked at the photo. Mabel kept giving you a knowing look. 

—------

You started calling Joel regularly.  Mabel told you he liked you a lot, but you weren’t sure if you should believe her. She seemed overly eager to set him up. The conversations were brief and casual. When you didn’t call him one week, the next time you spoke, he told you he missed the sound of your voice. 

Something came over you and you broke the tension. “My voice?” you asked. “Joel, your voice. . . you dunno what it does to me,” you blurted out. Zero to sixty, just like that. 

“Well damn,” Joel said. “Shoulda said somethin’. Coulda given ya better than stories about Mabel.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like whatever ya want, jailbird.” Your heart fluttered “Whatever gets ya hot and bothered.” 

“Honey, you could read me the phone book,” you told him. 

He chuckled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years.”  His voice was sexy to begin with but the sharp edge of the phone connection made it even hotter. 

After a moment of tense silence, he said, “Hey, uh, you notice any of your pictures missin’?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Mabel mailed me one. Didn’t tell me you were a fuckin’ smokeshow.”

You laughed bashfully. 

“Well she did. But I had to see it for myself, and shit”

“Well, thanks. You’re not bad looking yourself.” 

Your time was almost up. 

“Hey I’m comin’ to see Mabel later this week. Y’all got the same visitor’s night or what? Cause I’d love to see you, too, if it’s allowed.” 

“Nah, mine’s the next night.” 

“S’alright, i’ll come back for ya, sugar.” Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know. Be good, jailbird.” 

—--------

It was visitation day and you were getting nervous. Mabel thought it was adorable. She helped you get ready. Did your hair nice. “He’s already smitten with ya, baby,” she said. 

You were escorted into the visitation room and sat at one of the booths, separated by glass, with a phone on each side. 

When Joel came in, you didn’t recognize him at first.  In just those five years, his beard had turned half-silver.  He was striking in person.  He was wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. You couldn’t help but size up the bulge in them. 

When you looked up at his face, he was raising his eyebrows at you like he caught you looking.  He sat down and put his elbows on the table. You picked up the phone, a little nervous, but more excited than anything.  He checked you out and smiled at you coyly before picking up the phone. 

“Like what ya see?” he said softly into the phone. 

You replied with a low whistle, then asked, “You always dress like a piece of meat?” He had a few hand tattoos of his own. Faded, blurred together. A spade between his thumb and forefinger. A spiderweb curving around one of his biceps. He’d probably done his own time. 

“When the hell are ya gettin’ outta here?”

“Up for parole next month,” you said. 

“No shit!” He looked genuinely excited. 

“Mabel didn’t tell you?”

“Thought she was yankin’ my chain.” He stretched his free hand behind his head and you watched his bicep.  “You been good? Think you’ll get out?” 

“Haven’t been bad.” 

“Good.” He lowered his voice. “‘Cause sugar, I’m gonna need to see what’s under that garb.”

You smiled with faux shyness, and he continued, “God damn,” looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb. 

You stared at each other, checking each other out for a moment. You watched his pupils dilate as your chest rose and fell with desire. 

You made small talk for a minute or two, all the while fucking each other with your eyes. But, things took a turn again.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Bet ya don’t miss the clients.” 

You shook your head. 

He lowered his voice further. “When’s the last time ya had a nice hard cock ya really wanted?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I dunno.” 

“Ohhh you’re in for it.” You looked around, paranoid, in disbelief that you could get away with a conversation like this. “Ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” He reached his hand into his lap. “Fuck. ‘specially for you.” You could see his arm moving very slowly but there was no mistaking what he was doing.  His eyes devoured you.

“Joel,” you sighed. “Fuck, I believe it.” 

And just like that, a guard approached him from behind. “Time’s up,” the guard said and glared at you.  You rolled your eyes as a guard approached you, too.

Joel said “Later, jailbird” and hung up the phone.  When he stood up, his massive erection was visible and made your heart skip a beat.  You glanced up to his face and he was wetting his lips. He winked at you with pink cheeks and your eyes immediately fell back to his crotch as he adjusted himself and the guard hurried him away. 

FUCK. You were gushing. Mabel’s Jojo. Joel. What a man.

---------

Part 2

Ty for reading. strip club manager!Joel will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past while Mabel was on parole. DIFFERENT READER. preview

this trope actually gave me so many more elaborate ideas lmao.

------

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret

[webshooterrr9]

Punk!Miguel AU Part 2

(not proofread LMAO)

Okay but like...

punk!miguel who couldn't stop thinking about that day he shared with you. and even in the moment, with all your clenching and whining, he knew he wouldn't. so he made sure to get your number afterwards... just in case.

punk!miguel who frequently stood by his front window, looking down from his apartment as he watched you walk home from work everyday. thankfully for him, your building was right next to his, so you were sure to pass by his view five days a week.

punk!miguel who figured out that you work as the manager for a family owned cafe a few blocks away, a role that was passed down to you after a few generations. he wasn't typically a man for coffee and pastries, but he'd make an exception for his damsel in distress... just in case.

punk!miguel who just so conveniently happened to stop buy your cafe, just before closing hours. this wasn't the first time he's visited since he found your place of work, but it was the first time he's given you more than a shit-eating grin and a sly comment.

"You gonna hurry up with that muffin, or are you gonna keep me here all night?" you ask from behind the counter, hands on your hips. he looked over from the table he was sitting at and just flashed you a smirk. you two were the only people here, given that it was almost 11pm and completely dark outside.

"Oh, you know me," he said turning in his seat to face you. "Never one to rush, always want to savor my meal." he gave you a little wink, and you rolled your eyes.

"Whatever, take as long as you want, I'm gonna clean up for closing." you pulled a broom from the corner and started sweeping the little crumbs in your kitchenette, while Miguel went back to "savoring" his chocolate muffin.

The door to the building swung open. "Nobody move!"

You were frozen in your place, almost dropping the broom. A large man, though not as large as Miguel, dressed in dark sweats was aiming a gun at you, with a fierce look in his eyes.

Great, now you're being robbed.

You carefully set the broom down at your feet, and hold your hands up. The retail counter did very little to make you feel safe from the intruder. "Listen, I don't know what you want from me, okay? If you're looking for money, I don't have any. Nobody really pays in cash these days and-"

"Just shut up and empty the register!"

You were quick to do as he said, even though robbing a small cafe in the 21st century didn't seem very profitable - you didn't say anything though, out of fear of being shot. You gathered all the money from the cash register, pulling out a hundred dollars or so in change. "Do... do you want it in a bag?" you asked, visibly sweating.

The man shook the gun in front of your face. "Just give me the damn money! And don't you dare try to call the cops, I'll shoot 'ya right where you stand, lady."

Unfortunately for him, the intruder was too distracted by getting the cash from you that he didn't notice the large delinquent behind him, holding a fire extinguisher above his head.

With a loud WHACK the intruder fell to the ground, dropping his gun in the process. Miguel stood above him, glaring down at the unconscious man, who now definitely had a concussion. The look in Miguel's eyes was something you had never seen before, well, except for that other time he happened to save you.

He placed the fire extinguisher on the counter and looked towards you. "You alright, chiquita?" he asked, although before you could answer, he reached over the counter to grab some ribbon.

"You tie up your little goodie bags with these, right?" you nod. He takes a few handfuls of the blue ribbons and makes quick work wrapping them in knots around the robber's wrists. Miguel kicks the weapon away. "These aren't exactly handcuffs, but they'll work for the time being. Call the cops, bonita. I'll make sure he doesn't get up." Miguel gives you a reassuring smile, before kneeling down in front of the man.

Red and blue lights fading away told you that the cops had successfully restrained the armed intruder and were on their way to detain him. You had stepped out from behind the counter and slumped down on the floor in front of it, leaning your head back against it. Miguel chuckles as you sigh, and he sits down next to you.

"That was not how I expected the night to end." you huffed, rubbing your temples in exhaustion. He flashed you a knowing smirk. "Oh? And how did you expect it to end, hermosa? ¿Querías hacer el amor conmigo, hmm?" you scoffed as he gave your shoulder a little nudge.

"Don't even go there, that's not what I was talking about, chulo." you huff once more, earning another laugh from him. "What I meant was I wasn't expecting to get robbed today."

"Almost robbed, guapa. I saved you, just like last time."

You smirk. "Yes, just like last time."

You both share a look, one that reveals your growing feelings for one another. Your heart was beating rapidly. You knew where this was going.

"So, is my damsel gonna give me the same reward as last time? Or, are my heroics undeserving of praise?" you bite your lip, and he leans in closer. So close, in fact, that his arm was rubbing up against yours - the tattooed skin heavily contrasting your blank canvas.

"Hmm, it depends. I don't really wanna walk all the way home..." a mischievous look shines in your eyes, and this time it's his heart that pounds. "Will you carry me?"

Another one of his laughs. "No, chica, I won't carry you... we can have our fun right here."

Oh.

Oh.

>:)

Tags for those who requested this: @mybvalentine @animequeen4 @bluesunleaf @nakimushiohime @loser-alert @stopxplease

[mae-gi-writes]

sweet like nectar | hyunjae . theboyz | (2)

"Run, run, baby, where I go? Closer and closer to you I'm addicted, I'm addicted to you" - NECTAR, THE BOYZ

In which you and Hyunjae only have 24 hours to enjoy life before it's time to grow up and go your separate ways.

Genre: fluff, a bit of angst, slowburn! teasing!Hyunjae. friend!Hyunjae, friends-to-lovers, idiots-to-lovers au.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

------- part one | part two -------

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Hot chocolate is a must."

"You and your hot chocolate," you rolled your eyes as you moved from the t-shirts section to the next. There didn't seem to be many options for men in this shop and you were slowly getting frustrated with the lack of choice given to you. That, or nothing seemed to suit your liking, "it's not even that good. It's just cheap choco mix and sugar."

Hyunjae hummed on the other side of the receiver, "that's the best. All that bad chemical stuff."

You pulled a face, "yuck. Help me choose a t-shirt."

You pulled your phone away from your ear, pressing down onto the video option until Hyunjae's face popped up on the screen. As usual, your heart did a mini flip inside your chest at the sight of your best friend, looking all fluffy and clean, wrapped up in his blankets as though he'd just woken up.

A small smile pulled at your mouth, "were you just napping?"

"As a matter of fact, I was."

"Lazy ass," you tsked, "aren't you supposed to be on shift today?"

"Got Kevin to replace me. I've been working extra shifts these past two weeks so--" he let out a soft yawn and rubbed at his eyes, the sight so adorable it made your heart melt into soft butter, "anyway, what do you need help with?"

"Choosing a shirt," you placed the two options on a nearby counter, "what do you think? White or red?"

"Depends. Who's it for?"

You snorted, "you, obviously."

"Ah then that's simple. Buy both."

"Hyunjae."

He giggled to himself, "I'm pretty, like you said, so anything will go--"

"Hyunjae."

"Well tell me who it's for and I'll be of more help."

"I just told you," you hoped your cheeks weren't as red as you felt they were. It was bad enough that none of you was brave enough to talk about the 'moment' you'd shared in the airport the other day. Was it weird to be buying a t-shirt for him when he was nothing but a friend? But it was a friendly gift though, wasn't it? Hyunjae blinked at you. Then, he straigtened slowly so that he was leaning onto his elbow instead, "what--is it for me?"

"Yes, like I said. So choose."

"Is that your way of saying that you're thinking of me?" a grin broke across his face, "aw look at you, being so cute and everything--"

"Shut up or I'll just put both back," you were already making a grab for the t-shirts when he yelled out, "wait! Alright alright. I'll tell you, just show me."

It had been a few months since you'd moved back to Seoul, and to say that you were happy was wrong. You weren't happy. Yes, it was your motherland. Yes, you were back with your family and was surrounded by people that seemed to love and genuinely care for you. But did that replace whatever freedom you had back in London? Did that make you miss the city of history and the adventures you could have in such a place filled with art and creations and leisure and just about anything you could think of? Yes. You missed it.

You missed London like you would miss a limb. It was part of you. Had been for four years, and would not be so easy to erase.

Since then, you'd kept in touch with Hyunjae as best as you could. But the time difference was not favorable and so more often than not you would miss each other. But he made up for it by sending you frequent messages, always asking about how you were doing and what were the major updates. You knew that he was now working at a famous audit firm as a junior, and that his working hours made that he barely had any free time. But still despite it all, he made the time to call you, even if it was just for five minutes.

You were grateful for that. For even that tiny moment where you had him all to yourself.

"The red one," Hyunjae's voice brought you back to reality. He seemed awfully invested in choosing the right color, "and it's Christmas, so it's two birds with one stone."

"True," you made a grab for the red t-shirt, "fine then. Thanks your highness, you may leave now."

"Pushing me away so soon huh? I barely spoke to you for five minutes," he whined as you made your way to the front desk. That caused you to scowl down at your phone, "well, I'm sorry that I'm busy. If you forget, Seoul's known for the amazing family time during Christmas, so pardon me if I have to run errands for my mom because she wants to invite the entire family over."

"You're so salty. All that because I'm not there."

"Don't kid yourself," you grinned down at your phone, "you're not that important."

"Hey, rude!"

Laughter bubbled up your chest and soon enough Hyunjae joined in. You probably looked like a crazy person to all the other sales shoppers but you didn't care. Not when Hyunjae was concerned.

When he was here, you felt whole. When he was here, you felt like you could do anything in this world.

Your conversation carried on until you reached the nearby bus station, with him telling you all about his newest job and how he was struggling to keep a healthy routine despite his horrible work hours. Your heart tugged in pain, sympathy filling you as he told you stories of how sometimes he'd return home at night without even the memory that he'd made it back. That sometimes he was so tired that he forgot to eat dinner. Worry bloomed through your chest at that and you chided that he needed to eat well to be able to work well, that these things were mutually exclusive.

"I know but it's hard when they expect you to be at the office at nine in the morning until three," he paused and added after some thought,"-- in the morning,"

"Do you get paid overtime for that?"

"Yeah but like--it's peanuts."

Spotting the bus as it made it's way over to your station, you looked back down at your phone, "I'll have to go soon. The bus is here."

Something that looked like disappointment flashed across his face, but it disappeared so quick that it might've been just a figment of your imagination, "I'll talk to you later?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded and sent him a quick smile, "yeah. No problem."

You kept your smile in place just until the call ended. Then your face dropped and you let out a sigh, glancing up at the grey sky and trying not to let your tears crawl up the back of your throat.

You missed him. You missed him so much that going a day without hearing his voice felt like a week. No, a month.

You were so down bad for him that it was pathetic, really.

Especially when you knew that he'd never be yours.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Christmas season was creeping up on you faster than you'd imagined. It kept you busy throughout the days where you had nothing else to do but lounge around the house in hopes of finding a suitable job. It seemed that Seoul wasn't friendly to female engineers, especially ones that had freshly graduated from University. And so you were still on the waiting list to be interviewed.

It was Christmas eve and your family had some of your aunts and uncles over for the occasion. Everyone had to be dressed in white or red, and you were busy bustling around in the kitchen, helping in any way you could, when the doorbell rang.

"Y/N! Could you get that honey?!" Your dad's voice echoed from the small tiny kitchenette where he was busy roasting some pork pieces.

"On it!" you yelled back. Wiping your hands onto the kitchen towel hanging by the sink, you quickly maneuvered through the already-packed kitchen to unlock the door.

"Hi! Can I take your stuff--"

The words died on your lips the moment you spotted a pair of familiar brown eyes. Ones that haunted you in your sleep.

You weren't quite sure what happened next.

One minute you were gawking at none other than Hyunjae who was standing before you in the flesh.

"Wha...." the words got all jumbled together and didn't make it past your mouth," wha--what are you--I--uhm--"

And the next, you were enveloped in his arms.

In Hyunjae's arms, to be more exact.

He smelled like home. Like diving headfirst into the comforts of your blankets once you got back home after a long tiring day. He smelled sweet and musky and woody all at the same time and it enveloped your senses, drugged you, made you want more. More. Just more of him. More of everything.

Before you knew it, your hands had flown up to grasp at his coat, pulled him so tightly against you that you swore you could've ripped the fabric right off him.

You felt his chuckle against the side of your head, the warmth of his breath enough to make you look up at him, at the beautiful crinkle of his eyes as he grinned down at you. His arms held you in place at your waist. Gentle. Yet firm.

"What--" your throat felt clogged with emotion, thick with tears that you blinked away, "what--are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" Hyunjae's grin widened, "merry Christmas."

It turned out that your entire family knew about his surprise visit, his mother even making arrangements so that Hyunjae could stay over that night and not have to drive back home in the dark after midnight. They ushered him in without a flicker of a doubt, your heart swelling at the way your parents seemed to flock over him like protective hens and kept him busy by asking all kinds of questions that would've made you run without a doubt with your tail between your legs.

Hyunjae, granted, seemed disposed to entertain their military interview, even going as far as to share a whisky on the rocks with your father as the rest of the women set up the dining table.

"So is he your boyfriend?" one of your cousins nudged your elbow, her eyebrows shooting up suggestively as you flushed deep red.

"No no, nothing like that," you stammered out, hoping that Hyunjae wasn't in proximity to hear of all these stupid, baseless rumours. That was how it always had been whenever a new member was introduced to the family. Gossip spread like wildfire, "he's just a friend."

"Just a friend you say? That comes over to visit on Christmas eve?" your cousin wrinkled her nose, "seems very unlikely."

She shot you a look that weighed a ton and sashayed away, unknowingly as your face burst into flames.

Did they really have to embarrass you like this? Couldn't it wait until tomorrow when he was gone?

"We've heard so much about you from Y/N, I feel like we know you all too well already," your mother gushed when the family was finally seated at the dinner table.

Hyunjae let out a laugh before he shook his head, "hope she hasn't been saying all that bad stuff about me."

"There is only bad stuff to say," You answered flatly. That earned you a whack on the arm from the latter, but you couldn't but grin despite it all. Hyujae was here, in the flesh, celebrating Christmas Eve with you.

Everything seemed like out of a fairytale.

The dinner was nice enough, with you and Hyunjae able to steal a few bits and pieces of conversation for your own amidst the dizzying flow of questions sent your way. You took note of his closeness the more the night evolved, his shoulder pressing onto your own and the way his hand would brush over yours multiple times below the table. It had your cheeks pinking with colour, though you hoped that your face gave nothing away and was more than glad when the cleaning up came about and you had an excuse to slip away from him.

All plates washed and the entire family now retreating to their own activities, you and Hyunjae managed to slip outside the back porch to enjoy the flurry of snowflakes descending upon Seoul like a gift. It wasn't everyday that you got to experience Winter in white, even after all these years. It was a miracle, a blessing. Even.

"Your family's really cool," was the first thing that came out of his mouth when you stepped out into the cold.

You buried your face into the puff material of your coat, and breathed in the freezing winter air, "yeah. They're...an interesting bunch."

"Way more interesting than my family."

Taking a seat on a bench right along the corner of the deck, you motioned for him to do the same, "your family's just small. That must be why you're not big on holidays."

Hyunjae's family consisted of him, his mother, and his two older sisters. Both which had gotten married a few years apart and now celebrated with the other sides of their families. Hyunjae's mother was content with that, for his was still an active air-hostess that flew around the world for a living.

That was probably how Hyunjae had managed to jump on a flight last minute. Which was why you asked, "how come you decided to come all the way to Seoul?"

"Why do you think?" he nudged your shoulder with a grin, "to spend time with your family? Not that I dislike them. They're great."

"What about Jinhee?"

"She's gone to visit her family in LA," he shrugged, "so I would've been alone anyway."

"And your mum?"

"Mum's halfway across Canada as we speak," he leaned back and once again, you felt the warmth of his shoulder brush yours. You weren't sure whether to lean away or press even more to him. It was tempting, considering the cold weather, "she said she's traveling to New York in a few days. It's her busy month."

"I bet," you spared him a glance, noticed he'd cut his hair just before coming. His side profile, paired with the falling snow in the background, made for a very picturesque moment, "do you miss her?"

"I should miss her," Hyunjae leaned into you, maybe unconsciously. It made your heart skip a beat, "but I think i'm kinda used to it now, her traveling, me doing my own thing," his eyes met yours, "I think I prefer it this way."

Maybe it was the cold that didn't make you pull away when you felt the warmth of his body coating your side. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn't, for the love of god, tears yourself away from his eyes no matter how much you tried. They were intense, like molten lava on this cold night, mesmerizing. It made you short of breath, made your chest tighten with all the unresolved feelings that suddenly came flooding back.

You were so deep in thought you hadn't realized how close you'd gotten to each other until your noses brushed.

Yelping, you jumped back in shock and turned away, rubbing at your face in the process, "sorry," you tried to laugh it off, though it sounded choked up, "should we--uhm--head back? it's getting late--"

"Awww but I really wanted to play in the snow," came Hyunjae's whine.

"You're so dramatic," you said flatly.

"Yes, hence the reason you love me," he wriggled his tongue at you and before you could make any kind of comeback -- or get your head out of the gutter for that matter -- he sprung up from his seat, grabbed your hand, and practically jerked you to the garden.

"Come on!" he yelled against the muffled silence of snowflakes, "let's see who can make the biggest snowman!"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"I won, fair and square."

"No, I won."

"Hyunjae, your snowman was barely over a foot tall."

His pout deepened, arms crossing over his body as he watched you fuss over the spare blankets and mattress hidden within the depths of your wardrobe, "that's because you took most of my snow, it's not fair--"

"There was snow everywhere!"

"Still! You know you're better at art. You have an advantage."

"It was your idea to build snowmen, now stop sulking and help me put your bed together."

Your best friend let out a loud huff like an overdramatic cat before grabbing onto the other end of the bedspread to help you set up his sleeping space.

"There, that's better," you nodded at him, "you can use the washroom first. It's the first door to the right."

While Hyunjae was out, you took this chance to quickly change out of your dinner clothes to slip on your pj's. Nothing fancy, just a huge-ass t-shirt that went down to your mid-thigh and some cotton shorts. Delving into your drawer of long socks, you were about to pull them on just as the door swiveled open to reveal your best friend.

But not just your best friend. Your very--very naked, from the chest up-- best friend.

You made a sound between a scoff and a strangle, "have you been walking like this around my house?"

"It's just my chest," Hyunjae frowned as he stepped in, a towel slung around his shoulder like he'd just taken a shower, "nothing that girls haven't seen before."

God. His chest. You'd seen Hyunjae's bare chest a couple of times but never actually had time to analyze it. Having never seen it so upclose up till now. He was lean, but with the kind of muscle that corded through his body in suggestion that he was fit and knew how to take care of himself.

It was attractive. It was tempting. It made your blood boil and your heart almost give out.

Quickly averting your eyes and turning your body away, "whatever," you mumbled and quickly maneuvered yourself out of the room, "just please wear a t-shirt if you're gonna go out in the hallway."

Scrambling to the bathroom like your life depended on it, you barely managed to shut the door before you pressed your back against it, a small breath escaping your lips as you looked up at the ceiling.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You were so done. You could feel the heat in your cheeks, traveling all the way to the back of your neck.

Did he know how much of an effect he had on you?

Clearly it didn't seem like he cared all that much, and that made you sick in the stomach.

Because you were in love with him.

The realization caused a ragged breath to escape. You were in love with him.

And he was in love with someone else.

Deep breaths, in and out. In and out they went. A hand to your chest, feeling it thump against your palm, like an echo of comfort that managed to bring you back down to earth.

And you were supposed to survive the night knowing that he was right there? Right beside you?

You were not going to make it.

It took more than just a few minutes for you to regain some kind of sanity. And then, you took your time gently prying the door open, making sure that the corridor was void of noise and that everyone else seemed to have retreated to their spaces before tiptoeing back inside your room.

Hyunjae was already lying down onto his bed, freshly washed bangs splayed across his face as he read what looked like a manga from your high school stash. It had been everything to you back then, all these fictional love stories that made you swoon.

Now, the only thing that seemed to make you swoon was the boy right in front of your very eyes.

"Hey," his voice had dropped an octave. Or was that just you? Either way, it made your insides flutter slightly as you padded to your bed and sank into it, feeling the mattress dip under your weight as Hyunjae shifted so he could face you.

"What?" you asked, a little snappier than usual.

"I got you a present."

You blinked, "Well it's not Christmas yet, Einstein. You can give it to me tomorrow--"

"But I wanna give it to you today," he whined out and before you knew it, he was already rummaging through his bag before he tossed you a black box about the size of your palm. You yelped, barely managing to catch it in your grip as the said young man leaned back against the wall and grinned up at you, "happy early Christmas, Y/N."

"Can't I just open it tomorrow when everyone's around--"

"Absolutely not," Hyunjae snorted. He shifted closer so that his knees brushed against your calves, looking up at you as the dim light of the room bounced off his face, "you need to open it now."

"How about tomorrow morning?" you toyed with the gift in your hands. It was light, and you heard something jiggle inside it. Knowing Hyunjae who was the hero of pranks and jokes, you weren't the least bit interested in knowing what was in there and thus tried to find any excuse possible.

Hyunjae however, didn't seem all that phased by your whining, "open it now before I open it for you."

"You're harsh, isn't it my gift?"

"Y/N give it back to me, let me open it for you--"

"No!" You snatched it away and glared at him, "fine fine, I'll open it."

It wasn't wrapped, making it easier for you to pull open the latch as you were met with a plush, creamy interior.

Inside it, glittering from the soft light overhead, was a bracelet with a small bee pendant attached to it.

Your brain short-circuited for a minute. You gazed down at the bracelet as a small frown overtook your face.

"What's this?" you asked, looking back up at him in confusion.

Hyunjae's own face was unreadable as he pressed his lips together and nodded at the said box, "it's yours."

"But--" but Hyunjae didn't buy you gifts. He brought you out to museums, paid for your food sometimes, paid for shows or movies or snacks that you craved. But gifts was not something he'd ever dreamed of giving, not because he didn't want to but because most of the time he forgot your birthdays or important celebrations.

And so your brain was trying to compute why the hell this should be yours in the first place, "--why?" you finally asked lamely.

"What do you mean why?" Hyunjae laughed, "normally people say thank you--"

"Hyun, you don't--you've never--" the words barely made it past your throat. They clogged up, eyes burning with emotion, "you don't give me gifts, Hyunjae. What...is the meaning of this? Is this a prank? Is this--Is this a mistake?" You held it up for him to see, "was this meant for someone else?"

"No Y/N," he grabbed your hand, the one holding the box, and proceeded to kneel by your side so that his chest brushed your knees. Your legs parted to make way for him and suddenly he was so close that your lungs quivered, eyes widening at the lack of proximity.

"It's yours. I bought it. For you," as he spoke, Hyunjae gently lifted the bracelet from its velvet cushion and tossed the box aside. Then, with the kind of gentleness you'd never seen before, the young man's hand ran down the length of your arm, circling your wrist so that he could tie the bracelet around it.

He tsked, grinning as he held your hand up so that the bee pendant hung from it, "see? Looks good--"

"Why?" you cut him off, "why are you giving me this?"

Silence was his answer. It rang and hummed and vibrated between the two of you like a cord filled with unspoken tension that was about to snap any minute. You searched his gaze for anything--anything that might suggest this was a prank. You were halfway hoping that he'd burst out laughing in your face because maybe then it wouldn't be so hard to ignore the squeeze in your heartstrings, the way they kept on bubbling with hope that this--whatever this was -- was a clear message.

Hyunjae shifted, his arm brushed your knee and he proceeded to wrap it around the said limb, hand coming to a rest at the back of your leg as a soft gasp fell from your lips.

His touch was electrifying. It made you lose all focus, made you crave for more.

Always more.

"That day--at the airport," his murmur was so soft you could barely hear him, the deepness of his voice taking you by surprise, "I--I really wanted to kiss you."

You blinked.

Heat exploded through your face. Oh. Oh. Was he talking about what you thought he was talking about?

You opened your mouth but nothing seemed to make sense. Your brain was all over the place, all your senses going out of focus.

You just gaped at him.

Hyunjae continued, looking bashfully— adorably— embarrassed as he looked away, “—and I would’ve… if it wasn’t for Jinhee. That day I only restrained myself out of principle.”

And then he looked up at your face, into your eyes and you swore you forgot how to breathe.

“But I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” He admitted in a soft murmur, “I’ve been—thinking about you. A lot.”

Oh god.

Oh god, this was a confession.

This was — was this even real?

You weren’t sure what to say, what to do. Your limbs froze and your mouth dried up.

Hyunjae was probably feeling flustered since all you did was stare him down like he’d done something awfully terrible, for he let out a small nervous chuckle before one of his hands went to grasp yours.

You jumped at the contact, mouth parting in a soft “oh.” But Hyunjae didn’t relent, allowing his hand to trace the outside of your knuckle before intermingling your fingers and pressing them down onto the bed.

“I love you, because you’re my best friend,” he murmured out in a hoarse whisper, face inching up closer to yours, “but I want to be more than just that.”

Your mouth parted in a soft breath as a shaky whisper escaped, “do you mean that?”

Hyunjae’s head dipped into a nod.

That was enough.

Your hand slipped up to find the back of his neck and before you knew what you were doing, you tilted down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

The sound of surprise that left Hyunjae would’ve made you chuckle, if not for the fact that you were trying not to melt at the sensation of his mouth moving against yours.

Warmth exploded through your chest and almost impulsively a sound left your throat. Hyunjae let out a ragged breath in response. His hand traveled up to your jaw, holding you there as he took lead of the kiss. His lips slanted against yours, moving along to a rhythm that had you seeing stars as you all but trembled against him, trying not to faint at the multiple sensations searing through you. It was exhilarating, magical. Something out of a movie.

You’d kissed boys before. A small peck here and there. A few makeout sessions that had never strayed further than just lip locking. But never had you felt so consumed by this kiss that rendered you speechless with just a mere touch.

Hyunjae grunted against you when he felt your hands trickle through his locks right along his nape, and his other hand didn’t waste time to slide up your thigh, leaving hot trails of fire in his wake.

You gasped into him, and his tongue delved in to twine around yours. You all but melted against his chest, a soft whine echoing out of your mouth as he pulled you even closer with a growl.

It took you an enormous amount of self-control to finally pull away, especially when your best friend’s hand seemed all too intent on caressing every inch of your skin possible. His eyes fluttered up to meet yours as your noses brushed, and in his gaze you found a soft of tenderness that made your chest ache with desire.

“Uhm,” you weren’t sure what to say. What to do. Instead, your fingers kept on playing with his hair, “what—about Jinhee?”

He blinked, stared for a minute. And then let out a bark of a laugh.

“What?” Your cheeks felt hot to the touch, “what’s so funny?”

“I literally just kissed you,” his eyes glittered with playfulness as he leaned in once more to nuzzle your nose, “and that’s what you ask me first?”

“Well I—“ even your neck felt searing hot, “I need to make sure I’m not overstepping.”

“You’re not,” he grinned. His hand cupped your cheek then before his lips found yours once more in a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, you were more than a little breathless, “I ended things right after you left.”

“What? So—So you’ve been playing along all this time?”

“Yeah kinda? I just wanted to give you your gift first.”

That was surprisingly sweet. So sweet that a smile couldn’t resist slipping past your lips as you impulsively tugged him back into a hug. He hugged you back, smoothing circles over your spine as you shivered in response.

“Thank you,” was your murmur.

Hyunjae chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he pressed another soft kiss to the edge of your jaw, “come here.”

And he pulled you onto his lap so that you all but fell straight onto him, embarrassment dusting your cheeks in permanent pink as he held you close.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, “you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

“You don’t know how long,” you mumbled.

“What does that mean?”

“I see you,” you bit down onto your lower lip, “I’ve always seen you.”

That made him pause in contemplation. His beautiful eyebrows furrowed, biting the inside of his cheek, “since when have you…”

“A long time,” you averted your eyes, “a long time, Hyunjae.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? We were friends, I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Fair enough,” he pushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, caressed your cheekbone as he did so, “I didn’t want to lose you either.”

That night, you spent it cuddling with Hyunjae until the sun came up and until the birds started singing to welcome the new morning. It was funny how things turned out, one minute you’d been crying over him and the next, he was telling you that you were his everything. And that morning you lifted the bracelet up to the light, seeing the bee pendant glimmer like crystal jewels, as your heart swelled with joy because no matter how hard you tried to stay nonchalant about it, you were already a wreck for Hyunjae.

You would always come back to him. Always.

[zoandreez]

hiding in plain sight . (prologue)

pairing: ao'nung x omaticayan!reader

summary: your mother worked alongside miles quartitch in the sky people battle. as a dreamwalker, similar to grace, she got pregnant (occurrence unknown.) after miles' death, the sky people retreated. you grew up alone on pandora, afraid of what was outside of your make-shift sanctuary, until one day you go hunting and bump into some of the sullys.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: like 2 seconds of angst

as you frantically scrambled around your hut of trees and leaves, a ripped (and mostly fluff-less) pillow, and organization of old blankets you found from the abandoned pods, the day you had been dreading for a few weeks had finally came.

you were out of food.

of course, for any na'vi this is no big deal, all they have to do is go hunting. however, in your case it isn't exactly that easy. the other omaticayan do not know you exist. your mother, jasmine brooks, worked for miles quartitch, who (you quickly learned) wasn't the best person to know on pandora. during the sky people war, your mother as a dream walker was concieved. although the answers to how are still unknown, you were born with five fingers, five toes, and eyebrows, resembling human features more than na'vi. the sky people had no time to react, and with no clue how to deal with you, abandoned you.

luckily, you were just about 3 years old when they abandoned you and understood the basics of life-- walking, peeling fruits and such. you had to train yourself to hunt, to make your own loincloths, and other necessities. you never went hunting much, in fear you would be discovered. so, once every three months, you would wait until night to hunt until the sun rose, to have enough food for the next few months.

the last cycle was five months ago, thank eywa for that. however, you knew you were too lucky, as your next hunting spree would need to begin today. in the morning. you had no food for the rest of the day, and you didn't want to hold out, you were skinny and rationed enough. you grabbed your bow and your arrows and carefully snuck out of your hut, beginning your day-long hunt.

about an hour has passed, and it seemed to be going great so far. you had quite a bit of spartan and yovo fruits to get you through for a week, and you decided you'd get your months worth stash next week. on your way back, you had begun to dig into a yovo fruit, one of the smaller ones, when suddenly you heard murmurs.

"tuk, keep up!" you heard a boy shout.

your ears tilted up as you turned your head in the direction of the noise. you said nothing as you backed away, afraid running would bring too much attention your way.

"bro, why'd you bring her anyway?" you heard another boy say, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

something about the scene, instead of scaring you, enticed you. you inched closer to the voices, finally stopping behind a tree. you peeked between two branches like a window as you stared at the 4. it was a na'vi boy, braids pulled back into a ponytail, leading the group. quickly following behind was a na'vi girl, younger than the rest, swaying her tail as she leapt across the log following him. a taller girl, strolled behind casually, as the human boy caught your attention, with a breathing mask on.

"she's such a crybaby." the na'vi boy huffed, and the steps on the grass you once heard stopped. "she's all, 'i'm telling! you're not supposed to go to the battlefield. i'll tell mom if you don't let me come.'"

the youngest one, most likely who tuk is, stuck her tongue out at the na'vi boy. you smiled at her remark. the older girl blurted out a quick "don't pick at her," looking at him with disapproval.

they continued on their path, and you quickly ran to drop your fruit off and follow them. it looked like they were heading to the pods, and miles' old suit. you passed by thousands of times, breathing in your mothers old mask or sitting in her pod (unfortunately someone seven, eight feet tall cant lay in a five foot pod.) you followed the familiar path as the four began to speak again.

"come on," na'vi boy spoke again. as he climbed up to the crashed ships, the three of the other companions followed.

"oh, sick." the human boy called. you began to walk further out, uninterested in the chance of "any dead bodies up there," that tuk claims to want to see. you followed the older na'vi girl, as she walked further into the nature. she brushed her fingertips against the branches and lifted her arms to twirl with the leaves, before eventually laying down in the grass. you stepped closer to her, before freezing. you saw the many atokirina that flew ahead of you, and calmly circled themselves onto the girl.

you stared in awe as she lay asleep, the spirit seeds of eywa sitting on her, before they buzzed away. it was like she just got blessed? you had no clue what happened, and reached out to one of the atokirina to graze it-

"hey!" your head whipped up to the human boy. you quickly took off, brushing past him. "what were you doing? get back here!" he shouted, dashing after you before he shouted.

"lo'ak! tackle that girl, i think she hurt kiri!" you looked around, for any signs of lo'ak, the now name-assigned na'vi boy. after not seeing him, you took off for safety before you were pinned down by lo'ak.

"who are you?" he blurted out.

"get off me!" you protested, twisting and turning as you reached for your knife.

he quickly stopped you, but froze when he grabbed your hand. slowly, he put his hand up to yours. it took you a minute to realize what he was doing, until you looked. your hands matched up perfectly, but that isn't supposed to happen unless..

"are you a dreamwalker?" you both asked, and looked at each other in shock. "what do you mean are you a dreamwalker? stop copying me. why are you saying everything i say? stop it!"

the human boy interjected. "wait, what are you guys talking about, 'dreamwalker?'"

"she has five fingers."

the boy turned to look at you, before walking up and looking at her hands. "so, what- do we take her to dad?" "no way, he'll kill us if he knew we came this far."

"he'll kill us if we don't tell him the sky people are back."

you watched the two argue for a moment, before lo'ak finally sighed and gave in. he looked back at you. "sorry dreamwalker, gotta turn you in to big boss." he said before tapping his neck, as you caught sight of the little mic he had.

"but i'm not a dreamwalker."

the boys both froze and looked at you. "so, what are you?" the human boy said.

"well, my mother was. i'm just.. a freak." you said, wiggling your pinky.

lo'ak hesitated for a bit, looking at you. he had no clue whether to believe you or not. he grew up thinking he was a freak for his fifth finger, his eyebrows, his demon blood. now, this girl that laid before him could be like him. or, she could be what he's sworn to not. a sky person. a demon. he pressed his mic.

"devil dog, devil dog this is eagle eye, over." he spoke.

after a moment, they heard static and then a male voice spoke. "eagle eye, send your traffic." the male said. you stared off into the distance.

"we found this girl, she looks like an avatar, but she says shes not a dreamwalker. she has five fingers though, and we've never seen her before." you had begun to wriggle under his grasp, not wanting to be caught. "let me go!" you protested.

"where are you?" the male on the other line said. lo'ak looked at the now returned human boy, with kiri, and hesitated before answering. kiri mouthed a snarky remark to lo'ak that you couldn't hear, but it made lo'ak wince.

"oh. we're.. we're um.. attheoldshack." he said quickly.

"who's we? who's with you?"

"me, kiri, spider... tuk."

you heard a faint gasp in the speaker on his neck, and looked over at tuk as she said to kiri, "is dad coming for us?"

"dad's coming for lo'ak's ass, definitely." lo'ak hit kiri on the shoulder, as he continued to lean on you with his knee on your back, one hand pinning your wrists together.

this just acts as a prologue for a series i have coming, i figured i should get practice writing in!

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 41

🌻~THE NEXT SUMMER ~🌻

Eventually, all of the sunflowers had perished by the end of fall last year. I told Haley that just means we can look forward to replanting them this summer. She really took me up on that because just two weeks ago we had planted them all once again.

The sunflowers aren't quite as tall yet this season, but by fall they will be towering over our heads. They are currently still tall enough to make the little bench area secluded from the rest of the world, just the way Haley likes it.

This morning though, is anything but sunny. It's raining total buckets outside today which limits the things I can do today. But then I got an idea.

Running to the telephone in my room, I dial Haley's number.

"Darling! Hi!" her voice sings through the phone.

"Meet me in the sunflower field in an hour," is all I tell her.

"In this weather? Are you insane?" She questions me.

"Trust me," I breathe out, heart pounding in my chest.

"Hm. Okay then," she huffs.

"Make sure to wear something you consider nice. You'll thank me later." Without another word from her, I hung up the phone.

I quickly throw on my signature overalls, work boots and cowboy hat. I have on a light pink t-shirt underneath my overalls as an attempt to look nice. I tie my hair back to my favorite half up half down style. My hair has been making its way back to its original length now. At this point it just passed my shoulders in length.

Without an umbrella or any rain protection, I set out into the nasty weather without a second thought. I know what I am going to do.

Haley and I have been going strong since we established our feelings for one another. All of our previous fighting and sass was all due to us being head over heels with one another at first sight. Who would've guessed? The perfect, pretty, pristine, boy obsessed girl was really into the dingy, dirty, farm girl the whole time. The way the world works goes completely over my head. If you were to tell me I'd be in this position 2 years ago, I would've never believed you. I'm sure Haley would feel the same way. I am so obsessed with her and don't think I'll ever be able to live my life normally if she wasn't with me. Which is why I am going to do this.

"Ahhh Danny. I knew you'd be coming soon enough. I could feel it in the damp, musty, rainy air." The way this guy spoke was absolutely creeping me out. I had chills going down my body, causing my arms to have goosebumps.

"Five thousand coins please," he says before I can even say anything. Cringing over how expensive that is, I reach into my backpack and rifle around until I pull out five thousand coins.

"Wonderful. Here you go..." He holds his hand out to me, dropping something into the palm of my hand.

"Thank you...Old Mariner?" I say questioningly. Unsure if he likes to be addressed as that.

I take a minute to admire the misty ocean water ahead of us. The rain blocks any view of the far away horizon. The rough waters sway and crash about, threatening anyone who dares to enter them in these conditions. It is almost an eerie sight to see when looking out into the rainy abyss of the ocean. I see why this creepy Old Mariner likes to show up when it rains. Really adds to this guy's dumb performance.

I turn to face the Old Mariner one more time before heading out. Except he wasn't there. Confused, I whip my head in every direction looking for him. How did he get so far from the short amount of time I didn't face him? And where does he even go?

Still chilled to the bone over this unnerving experience, I turn on my heels and scurry away from the beach. After all, I have a pretty lady waiting for me back at the farm.

Before entering the sunflower field to wait for Haley, I had tossed my backpack inside so as to not kill the mood with it on. It's not really the most romantic article of clothing in the world, and I'm already pushing it with what I have on now. I also cleaned myself up quickly so I wasn't all muddy and damp. I will end up getting damp from the rain all over again once I go back out to meet Haley, but it won't be as bad. Knowing her, she will show up with an umbrella so she doesn't get her outfit all wet and gross. I don't know what she will do about her shoes though.

I push my way through the thick stems of the sunflower field so that I'm ready when Haley arrives. If she is right on time, I won't have to wait much longer. I tried to time it so that I'm not waiting outside for too long.

To my amusement, I begin to see a cute, little, blue umbrella bobbing its way over the top of all the sunflowers. Haley held it higher up so that it wouldn't get caught in all the leaves and stems of the sunflowers most likely.

"I'm here!" she joyfully bounces into the clearing of the field where I wait. My arms are twisted behind my back nervously, carefully hiding my hands as well.

"Hi here. I thought you were Haley?" I tease, causing her to nudge my shoulder playfully.

"Why did you ask me to come here? It better be worth it. I'm ruining my good shoes for this," she rolls her eyes but cracks a big smile knowing that whatever I asked her here for will be worth it.

"I think you look gorgeous," I mentioned. She really does look so pretty. She is wearing a baby blue sundress with a small pink bow in the middle of the chest area. She has pink pumps on that match the small bow as well. It looks like she was extra careful with those shoes on the way here because they are barely dirty. Her golden hair is, as always, draped over her shoulders, cascading in a way that doesn't cover her beautiful face.

"Emily helped me do my nails this morning for some reason. I didn't think they were that wrecked yet, but she insisted on redoing them when I mentioned where I was going today."

Hearing Haley say that causes me to sweat and grit my teeth. Does Haley know? How did Emily know? I didn't tell anyone, I just came up with the idea today! I mean I was thinking about it since the new year, but I had never told anyone.

"Emily did a wonderful job," I had taken her hand in mine, looking over her blue ombre nails.

"Now are you going to tell me why you asked me here!" she gleefully exclaims, clearly on her toes about whatever may happen.

"Ahem..." I clear my throat, suddenly feeling much more nervous and choked up. It's really happening. "Haley... I had woken up today on this gloomy, gloomy day with a thought in my head I just couldn't shake. On gloomy days like this, I heard there is a visitor that appears on the island that you may have heard of. Now when I saw the rain, something clicked in my head, so I went to pay that guy a visit. Haley, I don't want to spend any more gloomy, rainy days waking up alone. I don't want to spend ANY day waking up alone anymore. I want you by my side every second of every day. You are my reason for getting up in the morning and making this farm the way it is. You give me the motivation to keep this farm up and running and you give me a reason to stay here instead of going back to the city. If I hadn't met you, I would've chickened out and ran back to the city to live a life I definitely didn't want. The forces of the universe clearly wanted me to come here for a reason, and that reason was you. I love you Haley."

As I blurted out my on-the-spot speech, Haley's eyes had widened to the size of saucers once she realized what was happening. Her hand slowly makes its way up to cover her mouth in shock.

"Um..." I awkwardly try to bend down on one knee, but realize that may not be part of the tradition so I stand back up. Then I realize that is whatever I want for this moment, so then I lower myself back down to one knee. Haley begins to giggle over my uncertainty. I take my hands out from behind my back and present them in front of Haley, holding the Mermaid's Pendant. One hand holds the chain, while the other one has the pendant part displayed on the palm.

"My pretty lady. My beautiful, beautiful Haley... will you marry me?" My words ring out into the air for a moment. Neither of us grasping that this is really happening.

Haley nearly drops her umbrella as she starts jumping with joy. She squeals excitedly a few times before collapsing into me, bawling her eyes out. I catch her just before her knees touch the ground so she doesn't fall straight into the muddy grass. The rest of her body falls more into my chest.

"Yes! A thousand times yes! I love you too, Danny," she sobs, muffled by my chest. I move her hair back while she sobs away into me so I can clip the Mermaid Pendant around her neck. I gently lay my arms around her shoulders after to reciprocate her hug.

The sunflowers around us dance in the warm, summer breeze. It makes them look like they are cheering for us. I pull Haley tighter to me and give her a tight squeeze. I'm having a full celebration with plenty of cheering in my head.

"We have to go tell everyone! We have to tell Emily so she can start making our wedding outfits! Hopefully she can do it all in three days but-" Haley starts.

"THREE DAYS? THE WEDDING IS IN THREE DAYS?" I shout, startled about the wedding date being so soon.

"We get married quickly here in Pelican Town," she sheepishly smiles, a blush spreading across her face. "Is it too soon? Do you want to wait?"

"I'd marry you right now if I could. Three days is perfectly okay with me," I reassure her.

🌻 🌻 🌻

Those three days couldn't have gone by any slower. The two of us were raring to get married the second we got engaged. We could hardly keep our hands off each other either. We had started construction on my farmhouse to give her an area of her own for when she moves in, but in the process of building and decorating we had a few... celebration breaks. Like I said, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

When the whole town found out we were engaged, they all started planning the wedding, Pelican Town style. Apparently it gets set up in the middle of town square like a lot of the other events they put on. They keep all of the outdated ceremony decorations stored away for every single wedding that is held here. It's hard to believe that Haley is okay with a wedding like this. She did add her own touches to it all though, but everything else she was happy with.

When we told Emily, she immediately started planning our outfits right away. She dragged us into her sewing room and started measurements. The two of them couldn't stop laughing at how much I didn't belong there with all the frilly clothes surrounding me. Emily was even going to put me in a dress for the wedding until I gave her a very very long, hard stare. When has she seen me in a dress? What made her think I'd want a dress? My dress denial made them laugh even harder. Emily, of course, respected my wishes and started designing me a suit instead. At least that's what I THOUGHT it was going to be.

When I showed up to get dressed for the wedding today, she pulled out the most outrageous outfit I've ever seen. Not in a bad way though, but in a way that I had never seen anything like it.

"White overalls? Are you kidding me?" I excitedly started laughing over how funny Emily is, taking them by the hanger from her hands.

"Haley knew you'd like it. She suggested it," Emily chuckles.

"Really? Haley suggested this? That girl surprises me more and more each day. Where is she anyway?"

"She went over to Evelyn's house to get ready. I'm going over as soon as you are done getting ready here. I figured you wouldn't take too long and she takes forever so it works out great." Emily pulls out a fancy white shirt to go under my white overalls. She also goes over to a shelf and grabs a pink flower.

"Since you aren't in a suit, you can put this flower in the front pocket of the overalls." Emily hands over the rest of my outfit and starts walking away to let me get ready.

"Thank you so much Emily. This is all so great. You've been a great friend and the best sister to Haley. We wouldn't be here without you," I call over to her before she walks out of the sewing room to her own room.

"Thank you, Danny. You make her so happy. You bring out a side of Haley we had never seen until you showed up. I can't thank you enough for being patient with her and letting her find her true self. I knew it was in there somewhere!" she laughs as she walks away.

Once I was all dressed in my wedding attire, Emily came right back to help straighten everything up and made sure it fits okay. She helped do my hair up nicely in the same way I always have it, but this time it looks better than when I do it. She smoothed back my hair to tie the top part into a ponytail, and brushed the hairs underneath so that they lay nicely down my back. She didn't let me wear my hat unfortunately as it would "ruin it". She said I could have it back after the ceremony. Haley had told Emily that she wants to be able to see my face in pictures. I guess I got away with wearing overalls to my wedding so I should be thankful for that.

I mosey my way out to the wedding area after getting dressed. That's where I see everyone else continuing to set up the last minute things for the big day. The one thing that catches my eye is that there are no chairs.

"Y'all don't sit or anything?" I asked the person closest to me which was Alex. He was in the midst of carrying a big flower pot.

"It's crazy isn't it? I always wondered that too," he replies. I watch as he looks me up and down quickly. "You look hot. Haley is gonna drool when she sees you."

"Why thank you. Sorry again for stealing your girl," I jokingly say.

"Oh please. You are everything I could never be. For one, a girl and two, into girls. I can't believe I never came out sooner. It would've saved Haley the headache I gave her. I feel terrible about everything I put her through and I hope she can forgive me one day. You really saved her from me. I'm glad you moved here and she took a liking to you. Anyways, congratulations on your big day. You two deserve it." He gives me a genuine smile and continues walking to wherever the big flower pot goes.

I wanted to help with all the rest of the setting up, but everyone kept saying no. All I could do was stand helplessly, watching everyone carrying decorations around. Leah and Elliot came over to chat with me and keep me busy too.

"See Leah. What did I tell you? They were meant to get married!" Elliot goofs.

"And I was the one who told them to go at their own pace. You wanted them to get married on the spot you wacko!" Leah responds to Elliot.

"Regardless, they made it this far and I see a bright future between the two of them. Lots of sex and lots of happiness. Cheers to that." That gets him a smack on the arm from Leah. I could see the laugh playing on her lips that she is trying so hard to hold in.

"I couldn't have asked for better friends when moving here. You guys have been such a help to me and made me feel comfortable moving in here. You accepted me as part of the town and I will forever be grateful," I sappily pour my heart out to them.

"We actually never accepted you, you just made that up in your head. I don't know where you got that from," Leah smirks and looks at Elliot. "Isn't that right Elliot?"

"Pfff yeah. We never liked you one bit. You are such a burden to us and should've never moved here. My Yoba, Danny." Elliot holds his palm out to me and turns his head away in disgust.

"Get in here you two," I take both of them into my arms and give them a big squeeze. They both return the hug by squeezing me back.

"It's been so great getting to know you Danny. Thank you for being our friend and putting up with us," Elliot says.

"You've been a lot of fun to tease and have fun with. You sure have a lot of patience," Leah adds. "I'm glad we met you."

"Looks like it's time!" Elliot excitedly informs me. He points at Mayor Lewis who is trying to wave me over to stand under the flower arch. Everyone else is standing in the audience, waiting for the big event to begin. I see Evelyn and Emily have weaved their way into the crowd which means Haley is fully ready and waiting.

Taking a deep breath, I take my place underneath the gorgeous archway decorated with pale pink flowers. I watch as every head in the crowd turns to look down the aisle. Jas and Vincent make their way towards me up the aisle, tossing flower petals as they go. I can't help but smile at how cute they are.

A moment later, everyone gasps. Haley appears at the end of the aisle staring back at me. She looks absolutely stunning. Her dress looks as if it came out of a fairytale. It has a big poofy skirt trimmed with the same light pink flowers as the one in my front pocket. The bodice hugs her body tightly, but loose enough to let her breathe comfortably. The straps of the dress are an off the shoulder design made out of tulle. Her hair was left down, but some front pieces were all tucked and braided to the back of her head with a few strands left out to frame her face. In her hands was the same style of bouquet I gave her when I wanted to show her I was romantically interested. Down to the same color ribbon I had tied around the stems.

My brain had gone completely blank. I was absolutely speechless and bursting with excitement. She slowly glides down the aisle, stirring up some flower petals from the ground as she moves. She looks absolutely magical.

She takes her stand next to me under the arch. The two of us looking into each other's eyes, forgetting everyone else exists. In the background, I hear Mayor Lewis begin speaking.

"When Danny first arrived in Pelican Town, no one knew if she'd fit in with our community... But from this day forward, Danny is going to be as much a part of this town as any of us!" The town folk start cheering at Lewis's declaration. Haley and I break our gaze as soon as we hear the last of his speech. "You may kiss!"

Without another thought, I sweep Haley into my arms like the world is ending and she is my only source of life. Her soft, glossed lips connect with mine instantly. The audience continues to cheer over our passionate, loving kiss. I would've kissed her longer if we weren't right in front of everyone, but eventually we broke apart. I take her hand in mine as we face the crowd. The wind picks up for a minute and it causes all of the flower petals to take to the air. I twirl Haley around to face me again and bring her back for another heart melting kiss.

"I get to be a farmer now, too!" she squeals, squeezing my hands in hers.

"And you are going to be the best wife anyone could ever ask for," I whisper as I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, daydreaming over the beautiful future we are going to have.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 55 (Major Mom Guilt)

Heather waited to tell Malcolm about Ash's accident until they returned from the hospital the next morning. She usually texted, but this time she phoned.

She fidgeted through several anxious rings before he picked up. "You never call. What's going on?"

Her heart jumped into her throat. "It's Ash," she choked out. "He's okay, but he...he had an accident."

"What kind of accident?" Malcolm surprised himself with how quickly he lost track of his surroundings, toppling a stack of papers he'd been meaning to ask someone to file for over a week. "Where is he?"

"He's at home. He was playing at daycare yesterday and hit his head, but doctors cleared and discharged him this morning."

Malcolm was quiet. "Why didn't you call me last night?"

"It wasn't on purpose. I couldn't think straight about anything. It was late when the doctor said he'd be fine, so Conrad and I stayed at the hospital all night and we got back five minutes ago."

"I...I had an interview but I'll get one of the other reporters to cover it. I want to come see him."

Heather didn't expect Nancy and Malcolm to drop everything and drive all the way from San Myshuno, but later that day they came to see for themselves that Ash was okay.

He'd been cheerful and talkative before they arrived. But in front of his father and grandmother he whined about his head and said he was hungry, even though he'd just eaten.

Nancy chastised Heather while she and Conrad tried to make dinner. "He doesn't eat. He spends all day at a cut-rate daycare in this half-baked town that almost left us planning a funeral, and you work all day, every day, at the clinic you love so much. Maybe if you cut the asparagus spears smaller, Ash could eat them."

"He eats," Heather insisted. "He's testing boundaries and he knows you and Malcolm will both give him what he wants if he whines."

"My son and I discussed transferring him to a private preschool in the city on the way here. They're much more exclusive and have better childhood educators than the glorified nannies at his little daycare."

"They need the same qualifications in Brindleton Bay as they do in San Myshuno," interjected Conrad, continuing the meal as Heather's stress level forced her to temporarily step away from her knives. "It was an accident."

Nancy ignored him. She liked Conrad a lot less now that he was with Heather, but she didn't have it in her heart to hate him outright. "We started the application but we can't submit it without your signature," she said, placing the coiled booklet on the kitchen table in front of Heather. "We think it would be good for his education."

Heather said nothing, getting up to check the food Conrad had placed on the stove while he tidied the kitchen.

Malcolm could feel the tension when he came down the stairs. "Ash went down a lot easier than he does at the penthouse."

"Thanks for helping get him back to sleep. The hospital bed wasn't the most comfortable for him," said Heather. She braced herself, glancing at the onions she was chopping to add to the meal. "Did you and Nancy want to stay for dinner?"

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm glad to know he's okay, but we should head back. My mother can still make her corporate ski trip in Mount Komorebi if we get on the Simmerloop before rush hour."

He glanced at the table and spotted the half-completed preschool application. He looked up again to find Heather studying his expression.

"What are you thinking, Malcolm?"

He glanced between his mother and his ex, both headstrong in their own ways. "I want what's best for my son."

Heather waited until he left with his mother before she tossed out the application with the trash.

"I swear I could fight her, but I feel horrible enough already."

"I know she's...intense. But I think she's as shocked as you are," said Conrad.

"Nancy has a right to be upset? I have a right to be upset!"

"Of course you do! I just mean, don't pick a fight with her over the application. It's gone now, right? Hopefully she'll calm down and won't bring it up again."

Heather scowled. "Private preschool! The second Nancy gets her hands on my son's education, she'll ship him off to boarding school in Champs les Sims, just like his father. I'll never allow it!"

"I love you, and I'm only saying this because I love you, but maybe Ash needs to go back to his old daycare. It was a freak accident, no one's fault."

"They weren't watching him!"

"They were, but they looked away for one second. Do you know how many cases I've dealt with where something happened in the blink of an eye that changed everything? Ash is lucky, but you can't dwell on what might have been."

"I'll take him to work with me for a while, until I know Dr. Serra was right and he's okay. He loves the animals."

Conrad shook his head. "It's not going to be stimulating enough for him and you know that. And you can't do your best work watching him over your shoulder all day."

"I have to keep him safe!"

"You do keep him safe. No one keeps him safer than you, but if you hold on too tight now you'll end up holding on too tight forever. Like Nancy."

That was all she needed to hear to force her to swallow her pride. Despite her fears after his accident, she knew he needed to spend his days with kids his own age and made plans to send him back to daycare.

Heather's busy work life would continue to compete with the needs of her family, but she was determined to find a way to manage both. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: ghost!gojo x f!reader, post manga, alternative au where the worst but not the worst happens, reader has a slight fear of cats, reader is an art therapist for satoru's nephew, loosley inspired by "would that I" by hozier &lt;3 a/n: this is untitled, but if people like it, I'd love to write another piece. I've had this idea for several weeks now, so I'm glad to have written something out of it. this piece is just self-indulgent and it feels like a prologue to something if that makes sense. part 2

You don't think you've ever known peace like this, the cool fall breeze causing your hair to gently brush over your shoulders while the leaves rustle, from a distance, the wind chimes ring with no rush, no sense of time seemingly passes in the air.

"you should probably head inside Hotaru, it's cold," you sweetly tell the five-year-old in front of you, adjusting his hat so that his ears are covered from the breeze. it was nearly 6, dinnertime, and your tutoring hours with the gojo clan member were now over.

his nanny watches you from the distance as she holds the door, opening it slightly so that the boy knows his time with you is over, but you can't help but to feel thankful she has given you an extra moment with the boy.

"why don't wanna eat with us?" he asks, and the pout on his lips is nearly enough to break your heart.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," you cup his cheek, "but only your family gets to eat dinner. I have my own home to get to too, but I promise when I come back we can have that picnic I promised you, yes?"

"only if you promise to bring your teddy with mine," he sniffles, and you want to smile at his negotiation skills, but the sniffles he makes reminds you once again how sensitive the boy was to the cold.

"alright, fine," you give him a warm smile, ushering him to walk towards the door that stands several feet away. "go, your nanny is waiting for you." and he nods, a small smile planted on his lips before his lips touch your cheek, his rosy, red nose coldly touches your cheek, prompting you to smile.

"bye bye, miss honey," he says, a name he's grown fond of calling you.

"bye bye, sunshine." a name you've warmed to call the child.

the boy then hurries off to his nanny, he excitedly pulls a leaf from the inside of his sweater, and you smile, remembering how you told him it was possible to trace a leaf (just like his hand in the shape of a turkey), and with excitement, the boy disappears into the house, following his nanny.

no more than 3 minutes pass before the woman, whom you guess is in her early 50's, approaches you. her grey hairs begin to reach the tips of her ears, and the wrinkles around her eyes adjust as she smiles, carrying a mug. you wonder if you'll be lucky to have wrinkles like that one day.

"he seemed excited," she muses, sitting next to you, handing you the mug.

"thank you,''

"he says you taught him how to draw a turkey using his hand. I've never seen a boy that excited since-"

"...since?" you politley whisper, catching her pause.

"nevermind," she smiles at you. "he just reminds me of a boy I used to babysit years ago, his uncle."

"oh,"

she nods, "you're welcome to stay here for the night if you'd like. I hear it might rain,"

"it's only a 50% chance, so I think I'll be fine." you chuckle nervously, "but thank you. can I... can I stay here? just for a few more minutes?"

hotaru's nanny looks beyond the garden, a nearby tree that you would always read under with hotaru tucked to your side makes her smile weakly. "of course, she says, take your time. let me know if you'll be staying with us for the night, it's never too late if you do." and in a moment, she gracefully bids you goodbye before heading in, leaving you alone in the garden.

you sigh, taking in a sip of the warm chamomile tea she brought you. the gojo clan was always a mystery to you, but working here for nearly 5 months definitely confirmed that the gojo's were always hiding something. it was just that you weren't a curse user, just a girl with above average matrilineal intuition.

there was always something special about hotaru, you realized instantly after meeting him that he carried a certain 'aura' to him. you tried to justify if with the fact that his family concealed his exposure to the world, but when hotaru would murmur soft words as he colored, or drew a picture of a man with white hair holding his hand (both smiling), you asked him who is that?

's my uncle, the boy told you, he comes visit me when no one's around.

there. that seemed to be the missing piece all along. not the fact that hotaru's mother was too sick to see her son, or the fact that his dad was always out for meetings, it was that the boy was connected to a family member that long passed.

so you let it go, not making a big deal out of it even though your brain itched to know more. does he see him? what does he tell him? is he safe? you wondered to yourself that day, but you would later find out that yes, he does see him and yes, he is safe. the boy does as much to tell you nearly everything he knows, and for that you are grateful to have his trust.

"my uncle says I should play with other kids, instead," he tells you one day, "papa says no, but I tell (uncle) that I have you,"

"oh, and what does he say?"

"nothing," the boy answers simply.

"does he... what does he think of me?"

"he just says to do a good job around you. says coloring is fun,''

you hum, nodding in thought. for the last month, hotaru was slightly more distracted. although he was doing a tremendous job in your art sessions, as his art therapist you couldn't help but wonder if his occasional absent mindedness had anything to do with the presence of his uncle.

but tonight, everything felt different.

"I can feel you're around," you say, loud enough for the trees to hear, but quiet enough to not cause any commotion. "you've been watching us for some time, and I know it." setting your cup of tea down, you focus your gaze on the tree, as if something were there. but that didn't feel quite right. something in the energy was not quite right.

to your left, you suddenly jump from your seat as a white cat passes by your feet, and you nearly shriek, startled. you weren't exactly fond of cats, but you didn't despise them. if you could always avoid them, you would, but being around them slightly made you self-conscious as you were scratched by one when you were younger, forming a mistrust around them.

with a slight huff and nod to yourself, you call it a night, standing up and leaving behind the mug of tea. from a distance, satoru watches as you make your way past the gates of the garden and he half snickers, half watches you in interest before the white cat slowly circles him. "aw, you scared her, didn't you mochi?"

the cat meows lazily, moments before yawning and taking a seat next to satoru who watches you from the same tree he also sat in when you read to hotaru.

[thoraeth]

A/N: 850 words, gn!reader. You're the personal assistant of the weirdest punk band in the Grand Line and today you're having a breakdown. Unfortunately, Buggy has no intentions of leaving you alone.

[One Piece punk band AU/ modern AU]

Cut out for the job

The door slams closed. You kick your sneakers away, enjoying the silence of your hotel room.

You haven't been able to catch your breath all day: Mr. Trafalgar called at 6 am because Ace was held at the police station; third time this month. Then it was Barto's turn. He needed your opinion on a nice gift for his nana, but kept arguing that your ideas were stupid. Franky gave you a migraine, shouting left and right during the band's weekly meeting and Buggy…oh, Buggy. He was insufferable these days: snappy, needy, tense, constantly asking you to fetch him stuff, to take him places.

You’re starting to feel like you’re never enough, drowning in this chaotic routine.

You can almost hear your mother's voice in your head: “Are you really throwing your life away to follow a band of idiots?!” Well, in your defense, being a band’s personal assistant was supposed to be fun. But now? Here you are, tired, sad and underpaid, living in yet another horrible hotel room. Maybe you're not cut out for this job.

Your phone glows up, a text from Buggy. “It's 11 pm for fuck's sake!” you shout, throwing the buzzing device on the sofa.

Buggy has been doing it for weeks: every night he sends you tons of messages for the most trivial stuff. He’s lost his mascara, bought ten pairs of shoes, whines about his paycheck. A bratty, pushy attitude he’s never had before.

In fact, the two of you used to have the most interesting conversations and a special chemistry that made you feel some type of way more than once. Like that night, backstage. The glances, the gentle touching while you helped him getting dressed…you can still feel the goosebumps on your skin.

You pick up your phone, puffing at the crowd of notifications.

[Hey, you still up? Listen, face paint is running out, I’m thinking cherry 3.2 this time but I’m not sure if 1 or 2 cans.

Heyyyy are you ignoring me?? 👺😭 You sleeping already?]

[Oi Bug, can we discuss this tomorrow? It's way past my working hours.]

[...ok.]

[Rough day, I really need to unwind 🥲]

[ Wanna hang out? A little fun will make you feel better.]

[ Thanks but I’m done with work, see you tomorrow!]

[seen 00:15 AM]

[Buggy? You ok?]

[seen 00:50 AM]

“Shit. He's upset now.” You whisper, your eyes and mouth wide open “What if he gets me fired?”

You feel low-key furious: you shouldn't be punished for setting boundaries. If he’s playing the cocky boss during the day, you can play that game too and clock out at night. Screw him.

The sudden sound of the doorbell makes you jump out of your skin. “Hey it's me.” A familiar voice comes from outside the door, muffled.

Stomping to the peephole, you see Buggy. He’s nervously thinkering with his blue hair, pacing back and forth in the duck hoodie you got him for his birthday.

“Are you serious?” You ask, opening up.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just five minutes and I'll be gone.”

Buggy's not wearing his piercings and face paint; he looks serious, a bit scared. His ice blue eyes stare at you in silence and all your anger seems to melt away as he sits on the sofa.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Am I fired…?”

“What? No!” He shrieks, outraged. “Just sit, please.”

The second you're next to him, Buggy focuses on his boots, hands twitching on his knees.

“I-I know I've been a bit of an asshole lately.” He stutters. “I drove you crazy asking tons of stuff and…”

“You’re being a pain in the ass. Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to spend more time with you but I messed up.” Buggy side-eyes you, his face red and flustered.

“I think I like you. A lot.”

Those words make your heart race so fast you can barely breathe.

He continues: “I tried to write to you, but every time… I couldn't say it the way I wanted.”

“Is that why you kept texting me for hours every night?!” you snap, breaking your silence.

Buggy jumps back in his seat “I didn't realize I was bothering you! I've always enjoyed our silly chats. But I'll stop, I got it now. We're just colleagues.”

You burst out laughing. Buggy leans towards you, shouting things you can't hear over the joy exploding in your chest.

He's about to get up, distraught, when you reach for his neck and pull him towards you, pressing your lips on his. Still a bit surprised, Buggy melts into your kiss, holding you so tight it almost hurts.

“For a second I thought I didn't want this job anymore.” You chuckle in between kisses.

“I’ll ask Trafalgar to give you a raise, then.”

“He's gonna fire us both when he knows about this.”

You dive your back into the sofa, pressed under Buggy’s weight. As he kisses and laughs into your neck, you remember why you decided to follow this band of idiots in the first place: there’s no other place in the world where you’ve felt more alive.

[keouil]

grow in the wild of changing things

"if you seriously propose that i sit on your lap," maki warns. "i will kill you." 1k. yuuta/maki. fluff. also on ao3.

The mission goes horribly wrong so horribly fast.

It starts with Yuuta forgetting the whetstone to sharpen his katana with that morning. 

In a rush to leave—because evidently Gojo didn't believe in informing his students a day ahead of an out-of-city mission until literally hours before—he only had his emergency bag and Maki screaming at him to hurry up as his rather unpleasant morning call. It was an overnight mission somewhere in Higashiyama, and the mindless grinding of the sandpaper against steel was usually comforting to do just before he slept. When he looked at Maki who sat next to him on the shinkansen, so perfectly poised with her entire luggage accounted for, it just served as another reminder of how out of his depth with this whole jujutsu thing he still was.

Then there was the actual mission: an actual dragon-like thing spawned from one of the cultural centers in a suburban highschool. It was a measly Grade 2 level at most. But it was huge and breathed fire. And there were only two of them. Sometimes Yuuta wonders if Gojo purposefully misassigns them missions to test their abilities and/or force them to adapt to the times. It wouldn't be the first time he played mind games on them like that, recalling his first ever mission with Inumaki that left them both bedridden for an entire week. 

Now as Yuuta stares into the belly of the beast, talons biting into every available surface, there was only one thing in his mind: He really shouldn't have answered the damn phone. 

-

"Maki-san!" Yuuta yells out, running with lightning at his feet. The dragon was pulling its head back, a tell-tale sign it was getting ready to spew fire into the gymnasium. His clothes are singed from the edges and half his lungs are filled with smoke. "Can you lead it away from the school?"

"I'm already on it!" Maki is making a beeline for the gap between the trees, taunting the dragon into following her tail.

It takes them five hours to cut just one of its arms alone, and another three for the tail. Maki worked tirelessly to keep a close offensive stance against the beastly thing, her spears blunting themselves over and over again but still pulling through. Yuuta's katana serves its purpose despite the steel not being its sharpest peak, and it's Yuuta who delivers the final blow: cutting through the flesh of the dragon’s neck and watching satisfactorily as its head breaks into two. 

"Fucking finally," Maki yells out somewhere under him. "As expected of you, Okkotsu!"

Yuuta blushes, wiping away some of the blood from his forehead. Maki gave out compliments so easily like that sometimes that Yuuta has to reign it in and remember she's just being nice. 

"Ah, well," Yuuta smiles down, sheepish. "It was a joint effort!"

Maki just smiles wider. "Whatever you say!"

-

Ijichi isn't picking up and Maki is starting to panic. 

They had a good stay in the hostel, far better lodgings than any accommodation Yuuta has at least been privy to. It had an in-house onsen that both of them took turns taking full advantage of, washing the day away and feeling the warmth seep into the marrow of their bones. The rooms were nice and spacious. The silk sheets even more so. But he guesses that was to be expected, it was Kyoto after all. 

Now it is sometime past 9 am, and Ijichi is almost never late. The winds were suddenly picking up and neither of them were dressed for cold travel.

"Try him again," Maki gestures to his phone hurriedly. "I'll try Gojo-sensei."

Yuuta picks up his phone and dials the familiar number, waiting exactly three rings before the call cancels itself automatically. He tries two more times after that before giving up entirely, at the same time Maki manages to get a hold of Gojo. 

They were talking in a hushed tone, Maki nodding along apprehensively, until sometime after that she starts shaking her head and repeats no, no absolutely not all over again in rapid succession. She was growing more distressed by the minute. Yuuta can't make out any of the words, walking closer and gesturing, Everything okay? Maki shakes her head. Yuuta waits for her to end the call before asking anything.

"What happened?"

"Ijichi got sent on an emergency mission in Sendai," Maki says annoyed. "There's no other assistant available to drive us back."

"I see," Yuuta says calmly. "So we're staying another night then?"

Maki seemed to grow even more distressed again. "No," she bites out, not meeting his eye. "He—ah—he arranged a different transportation for us."

It's then Yuuta finally realizes the sudden wind change, now so violently thrashing against them they had to hold on to their luggages more firmly. The ground was shaking from beneath them, and belatedly Yuuta could hear what he thinks are wings flapping in the distance. From the sound of it, something big was coming their way. And it's not until Maki looks out to the sky and swears under her breath, that Yuuta spots it.

Another fucking dragon.

-

"What if—" Yuuta starts.

"If you seriously propose that I sit on your lap," Maki warns. "I will kill you."

Gojo's brilliant, totally ingenious idea had been: renting out Getou's cursed spirit. It wasn't the Rainbow Dragon that routinely patrolled the school on a nightly basis, but the one he preferred to pull out when he had to demo a curse technique in class and needed a low-stakes output of cursed energy. He travelled with it sometimes. But that was the catch: the thing wasn't built for two people.

"Maki, really," Yuuta's hands are itching to reach out. She was too near the edge. "You're falling."

"I'm not," Maki insists, adjusting her hold on the dragon horn again. "I'm just — it's slippery."

"Then come here," Yuuta gestures to where he was positioned more securely against the dragon's tailbone. "Or at least hold my hand."

Maki scoffs. "Hanging out with Todo too much, have you?"

Yuuta fought a grin. "Maybe," he says, enjoying the wind kissing his skin. "But maybe I just want to make sure you don't fall sixty feet to your death, too."

"I won't fall," Maki stubbornly insists. Yuuta sees her briefly glancing down for a second and notes the sharp intake of her breath. "Dragon won't let me fall. Won't you, Dragon?"

The dragon groans in response. Not very comforting.

Maki curses again. "This dragon has been out to get me the moment I accidentally stepped on its tail that one time.." she mumbles under her breath.

Yuuta looks amused. "Dragons can't hate people."

"Shut up, Okkotsu!" yells Maki, breathlessly, because they were gaining speed and her hold on the horn really didn't look secure. "You can say that because every one of Getou-sensei's curses love you! They—"

Maki is interrupted by a pair of strong arms reaching out to circle around her waist, pushing her back against a solid chest. Yuuta's arms peek out from under her elbows, grasping firmly into the dragon's cordeo and steering them down into calmer winds. Maki shut her eyes the moment she felt herself being moved, unable to so much as breathe against the sudden change of position. She can feel Yuuta laughing lowly behind her, his deep chuckles vibrating against the length of her spine. 

"You were saying?"

"Shut up, Okkotsu," Maki hisses, eyes still wired shut. The wind was brutal against her cheeks and she's positive her hair was flying all over the place. She nervously feels around for Yuuta's arms and circles the fabric around his uniform sleeves. "Just shut up and don’t let go."

This only caused Yuuta to howl, so gleefully, his voice so open against the morning sun and clean air. He sounded so free then. "I won’t. Now open your eyes, Maki."

Maki shakes her head profusely. "No."

"Just do it," Yuuta nudges at her from the side, voice baked in amusement. "I'm not gonna let you fall."

Maki takes a shallow breath, and then two more. She can hear Yuuta humming impassively behind her, so patient and calm against all the warring in her head. She tries channelling some of that, his zen, and braves enough to crack open an eye.

The hitch in her voice, this time, was for an entirely different reason.

Maki takes it all in: the clouds shifting and changing from right beneath their feet, the vast expanse of atmosphere that all at once seemed all-consuming and like she couldn't drink it in fast enough. It's golden up here, not blue; not like what all those books say. 

"Beautiful, right?" she hears Yuuta say, somewhere not so far behind her, somewhere suddenly so close to her ear. She turns to her side and sees: the halo of the sun shining down on him, his cheeks marooned from adrenaline rush, and a smile so golden the sun herself paled in comparison. "The view really is better from up here."

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

The Cactus (Killshot, Part 2.)

“Choices have consequences.” - Simon Riley, 2022

Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Part Summary: Simon never liked acting on a whim, but the mysterious flourish doesn't leave his thoughts, so he decides to break his habits. One day, he becomes a witness to Y/N's past catching up with her, which marks the beginning of their friendship. 

A/N: I'm actually so insecure about this series, aaaaa. I haven't written anything in a year properly and I'm so afraid people won't like my iteration of Simon. However, there isn't much to base it off because not like we witness their day-to-day life in CoD anyway.  Also, I'm going away for the next few days - chapter 3 is like 25 % finished, but I won't be able to work on it, so the next update should be here around Monday, Tuesday next week (Sunday if I'll clutch it). Sorry for the typos x.

Warnings: SIMON AND READER RIZZING EACH OTHER UP WITH ONE-LINERS (they cringe), both of them generally gushing over one another, and mentions of a past abusive relationship.

Word count: 6.1K

Tagging: @poohkie90​

Master list: H E R E | Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Throughout his life, for as long as he could remember, Simon Riley considered himself to be a person of habit. He preferred a dull, monotonous routine over living his days out carelessly and freely. If he wasn't one of the higher-ranking members of SAS, he'd probably settle for a repetitive job where there would be little to no surprise- he'd likely become an office worker. When talking about routine, of course, Simon didn’t count in his paperwork, deployments, basically all job-related activities or occasional hangouts with his friends, that happened infrequently anyway.

Simon wasn't always like this, no. Back when his old man had all five together, he was what you'd call 'a normal child'. Back then, they were a normal family.

Simon vaguely recalled a train he loved to play with, the warm feeling of safety that his mum's kisses on the forehead brought, the safety when he could play with Tommy, just running around in the park pretending to be a pilot. Naturally, that all went to bloody shit. His old man lost all of his marbles. When Simon finally left home, he promised himself he would take full control of his life. His comfort in routine was the result of his father’s A+ upbringing. It taught him many lessons, some of which kept Simon up at night even as a grown, 6'3 man; moments when he felt like he's unable to protect himself or those surrounding him. Due to his many psychological evaluations, profilings and talks with the military shrink, he knew all the feelings were irrational. He was trying to fight those feelings the best he could. Simon was a fucking ace when it came to his job, he was able of taking people out in sixty various ways, snipe from blocks away, feel someone's presence way before they'd move... And yet, his father, his father's leather belt and his father's exotic pets brought him to his knees years after everything had been said and done. If he were to slip into a comfortable, never-changing routine, he would have under full control, he wouldn’t have to be wary of unexpected pain or punches that bring him to the ground, make him feel small and weak. He wouldn't have to be afraid of his demons that much... Wouldn't have to be afraid of feeling like a little, helpless child.

Now, throughout his adulthood, his day-to-day routine was firmly given - hour after hour, Simon’s brain knew what his body should be doing and it followed the schedule to a dot. For fucks sake, he was the kind of person who went out to buy groceries every two days and even on days he didn’t have to buy anything, Simon walked to the shop for the sake of keeping up with his routine. Due to this part of him, he could be perceived as a bit of a nut job. Almost everyone who'd ever been inside his apartment called him a cleaning freak - while in reality, it was just easy to keep the flat tidy thanks to a firmly given schedule. Simon didn't mind his flat or himself getting messy, otherwise, he would go insane during deployment. He didn't mind getting down and dirty, he didn't mind getting his clothes ripped, he didn't mind getting his body covered in scars if it meant the mission's success. It just meant that every day at 7 p.m., Simon did the dishes and disinfected most of the surfaces inside his house. He couldn't recall a day when he'd have dust in his flat except for when he came home from deployment. The fact that Simon owned little to no decoration inside his flat meant he didn't have to fiddle-faddle with dust catchers. First thing every morning? Putting on his baklava so he wouldn’t punch the mirror while looking at his reflection; followed closely behind with setting a kettle on the stove to get the tea going. Simon also had periodical tasks, as he named them - buying shoes every six months, and wardrobe renewal every three months.

His life was just a big scheme of periodically repeating tasks in which revelled. No surprises, no pain, no belittling - just Simon taking the reigns over his life.

However, something changed after Johnny and Cassie's proposal dinner. He couldn't point his finger at what it was, but his routine was missing something. And it was bugging Simon the fuck off. When Simon let his mind wander about, he caught himself going back to meeting the florist, Y/N as she introduced herself. His mind was considerate enough to let him play the memories again and again; all the alien feelings as they brewed inside his chest, him not being able to vocalize it, him not being able to speak properly when she looked at him. A hint of interest in her eyes as she realized why he accompanied Johnny. The flame of her warmth surrounding each action, word and expression. The tone of her voice, the fact that she was gorgeous... Simon had to see her again. He needed to talk to her again, ask her out if he'd find the courage.

Truth be told, he wasn't a stranger to hookups and attempts at getting into a relationship. Problems came when Simon tried to open up. The problems came after the act had ended. A one-night stand was fun enough until the girl asked if he'd like breakfast or if he'd like to repeat it someday. Simon loved the intimacy something as simple as sex could bring, he enjoyed the passionate emotions and friction of bodies... Until consequences came. Until the 'next morning' hit him right in his gut. Until he woke up next to them, seeing them sleep. Until he quickly put on his clothes and ran off like a scared little boy.

When it came to establishing a relationship, whether emotional or strictly physical, was when problems started to arrive... And never stopped coming. The last time he gave into giving this a try was four years ago. This experience kept him from dating ever since. His longest relationship? Half a fucking year, ended up with him getting deployed. Frankly, Simon started to feel very strongly about the lass he was seeing, he even planned on asking her to move in, he wanted to tell her he loved her. As he came to see her with a flower in his hand, some naked bozo answered the door. Naturally, actions spoke faster than words, so he packed a solid fucking punch. Needless to say, he hadn't seen Erica since. Not that he was sad about it, he was just brokenhearted and upset.

But you... Simon had never felt this strongly about anyone when meeting them for the first time, not even Erica made him as flustered and overtaken with emotion as you did. Trying to meet you, however, brought needed changes to his routine. Consciously pushing against the order set in his life was an enormous, almost unrealistic task. On the other hand, he was doing it for a good reason - if this meant he would be able to see you, he was willing to risk the restlessness that breaking the stereotype brought. On top of this, it was a well-known fact that working on administration outside the office greatly improved one’s overall mood. Or, so Price advised him.

Also, Simon was well aware that using the phrase ‘seeing you’ wasn’t fitting - he’d never gotten as far as making a contact. He started slowly - frequenting the cafe opposing Rosemary’s to scout out the terrain. He even noticed its name, Grind On. That made him chuckle. The man started taking notice of your presence in the shop - the very periodic nature of your shifts didn’t seem to change, which brought some relief and comfort; he’d be able to set a routine around this. Soon, he found himself sitting in the café every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to match your schedule; over time, he’d found himself a dead angle within the café in which none of the other guests could read the paperwork he was going through. The table was placed directly opposite the entrance to Rosemary’s, so Simon could watch as you created hundreds of bouquets over the span of getting used to his new way of living.

Even going out as frequently made him feel a tiny bit better, being around people as often was always alien to Simon, but simply letting life flow around him was making him feel easier. Not everyone was after his throat, not everyone stared at him as if they were about to shit their pants. No. To most people, Simon was just 'that rando they met on the street'. After some time, the baristas remembered his face (in a way) and his order (plain breakfast tea with a muffin, sometimes the soup of the day if he was feeling courageous) and started treating him as a regular, mainly a young bloke named Jason and a middle-aged woman named Anne. No more weird looks at his baklava, no more fear in their eyes. Just pleasantries. They even started asking him about his plans, his day, his mood, his job. Simon rarely gave in to the small talk, but it made him smile. He'd even go as far as to nod at the other regulars before putting his laptop onto the table, and plugging it in. Other times, Simon would bring a book or the newspaper. His eyes were on you the entire time, though. Oftentimes, he felt like an agent on a tailing mission, as if he was observing the suspect from afar, trying to gather intel. He had to reason with himself, telling himself his intention wasn't to pry, let alone stalk you - he just needed time to figure out how to approach you. He hadn’t got anyone to buy flowers for, which complicated the situation a fair share.

On Mondays, he’d take his favourite spot in the café in the early morning, watching you open up the shop. Each time, you were accompanied by Bonnie, who ran after you happily, barking as you teased her with a smile. Simon noticed that Bonnie’s collars switched frequently - sometimes, you’d tie an enormous plushy ribbon around her neck, other times it was a stylish bandana collar, and sometimes you picked the traditional, singular colour collar. Ghost found this habit of yours utterly cute, and soon, he realized he was looking forward to what collar Bonnie would be wearing next time. On Wednesdays, he’d come two hours before your shift was ending, making sure everything would go smoothly. There was never a singular hiccup throughout the month of his observations, he had to admit. On Fridays, he’d usually just drop by around noon to simply… Look at you, afore you from afar. Simon always had a keen eye, it was a requirement when it came to his job, and was a patient observer. He liked the way you always waved at leaving customers or measured the flowers’ length using your eyes only, always cutting off the exact length which needed to be cut.

As Cassie said, you were talking to the flowers a whole lot - each time, when the bouquet was near completion, you’d push your face next to the flower, whispering sweet nothings. As he watched you, oftentimes fiddling with his teaspoon, Simon caught himself daydreaming. What if he was your bouquet? What would you whisper in his ear if you'd get the chance? Would your fingers run across his jawline with matching subtlety, setting his body ablaze? Would it turn you as much as the thought turned him on? Could the two of you perhaps have some fun with the ribbons you use in your bouquets all the time? How would it look like if you’d wove it into your hair and Simon was the one to slowly pull the strands out one by one? How would it look and feel tying your wrists together? As soon as the clothes started disappearing in his imagination, Simon had to snap himself out of the trance. Thanks to this, he bent more than three teaspoons. The baristas usually laughed it off and brought him another one, and thank God they couldn't see how heavily Simon blushed under the mask.

His favourite moments, however, were those in between - the small moments during which he went on a smoke break and managed to listen to some of your music. Yea, it was still fucking tacky, but the tunes were starting to grow on Simon. A few times, he even caught himself pulling his phone out just to let Shazam search for the mysterious tune. There was a regular pattern traceable in your music choices. It was closely tied to the type of order you've got. Each type had its assigned playlist and thanks to that, Simon started to understand the habits and recurring phenomenons in your work. On some days, the oldies blasted through the flower shop as you waltzed through it with Bonnie hot on your heels, laughing while putting the flowers together - those were usually assigned for lovers, for dates and overall happy occasions. On other days, slow ballads and nonsensical love songs played, which usually meant you were working on wedding bouquets or big-event-type bouquets, just like Johnny's proposal bouquet. Simon genuinely hated it when you got a gig for funerals or other ceremonies similar to it - the shop remained silent - Simon noticed you usually didn’t even turn on most of the fairy lights at your disposal. Your mood dropped and the happy antics disappeared as you tied the flowers together, making sure they were honourable enough.

As per usual by that point, this happened on a Friday, and Simon sat at his favourite spot. There was a chai latté in front of him (he started to love the flavour of cinnamon harmonizing with the rest of the blend as well as the drink sending a wave of warmth through his entire body) along with a chocolate muffin. He just got back in and Anne was on his ass… That was sweet of her. As Simon looked up to nod her way, the barista just winked back with a knowing smile. The mood was good and you didn't have a lot of orders per se, but you had enough traffic to still make profits - Simon just back from his smoke break, hearing a hypnotizing love song playing inside the flower shop when a customer opened the door. Before picking the book off the table, he turned his head in your direction, expecting that you'd be walking the gentleman through what the flowers meant, helping to pick out the best combination. Instead, you were giving the customer a deadpan, frozen behind the counter, your expression devoid of any emotion. The man was clearly talking to you, gesturing heatedly and Simon didn’t have to go far to conclude he was most likely yelling his lungs out at you. ... better than her mum, anyway.

The words rang through Simon’s head as you finally took in a breath, yelling right back at the guy with matching intensity, shoving him out of the door. This was all Simon needed to see - he started packing his stuff, giving Anne the total and left a generous tip before he walked outside the shop. While you walked behind back onto the counter, falling onto it while your fists grabbed onto your hair as you gasped for air, the guy stared through the door at you. A moment later, he turned on his heels to leave the place. Simon was faced with a challenge - either he could go and comfort you (which would finally get him the chance to talk to you) or tail the guy, finding out a bit about him. Maybe even to have a chat with him. Against his better judgment, Simon's body moved on its own as soon as the mysterious man started walking towards Soho.

Simon genuinely didn't know for how long he tailed the guy - he watched him get into a double-decker in the centre, leaving while memorizing which route this number took. Simon was thinking about following him and getting on the bus as well, but the image of you being distressed was burdening him. Who even was the guy? Your boyfriend? Were you seeing someone? Honestly, Simon didn't consider this possibility beforehand. God, what if you were seeing someone and he'd come across as a perv and a stalker? Or... Could it be the one troubling you? Could he just be a rude customer? Could he be trying to wreak havoc in your daily life?

Fifteen minutes later, Simon was standing in front of Rosemary’s again. He fought himself for a long time before he entered the shop - as to be expected, you were nowhere to be seen, the tunes were playing silently, tuned down to a mere whisper. Because the door to the employees' facility was cracked open, it didn’t take Bonnie long enough to poke her head out with curiosity - and once more, as soon as her eyes landed on Simon, she was ready on her feet and running right to him. The adoration in her eyes made him chuckle as he mirrored Johnny’s actions; he leaned down to pick her up, scratching the sweet spot behind her ears. This ruckus was enough to lure you out as well.

Simon’s heart nearly broke when he saw your puffy eyes - suddenly, all the energy was gone, there was no warmer to be found and no smiles to be given. “I’m so sorry. I’m on my break and forgot to lock the door. Could you perhaps come in fifteen…” - You started, still drying your eyes with a napkin. When you actually looked at the newcomer, you were visibly caught off guard... Simon hoped it wasn't the bad kind of surprise, but your expression made him sure it wasn't the case. Some of your warmth started to come back as you smiled gently. - “Ghost.” - Was all you whispered. You didn’t need to say much more, because even the endearing tone of your voice made Simon grin sheepishly, his heart doing a backflip in his chest.

“I can come back in fifteen. It’s not a problem.” “Really? I'd appreciate that, you’d be a sweetheart… My day isn’t going too well and I need a bit to pull my shit back together.” - You sighed, rolling your eyes upon going back to the encounter with your ex-boyfriend. He refused to give up, still claiming some fucked up form of ownership over you - the next time he’ll swing by to hit you with his bullshit, you were sure your hand will slip and you’ll slap him… Or worse, kill him or something. You’ve never considered yourself to be a violent person, but Billy was bringing out the worst of you, awakening some dark fucking demons inside you each time he dared to even break... Especially after all he had done. Simon, on the other hand, was enamoured with the nickname - he'd be a fucking sweetheart. Just the nickname alone weakened Simon’s knees, putting a boyish smile on his lips. His brain flashed around three million different scenarios during which you could call him sweetheart too, making his breath hitch a little.

“Mhm.” - Simon hummed as if it was obvious he'd do as you asked, waiting for his voice to regain its footing. Then, he reached out his palm in your direction. - “I’ll take this pretty girl out for a walk if that’s fine with you.” At first, your reaction to the offer wasn't clear - a furrow appeared on your face, looking him up and down with suspicion. All the tension was erased when you snickered, shaking your head. Within the next minute, you were giving Simon Bonnie's leash. Simon didn’t really expect you to comply, but it made him a bit more sure of his footing. You clearly trusted him enough to take care of your dog for fifteen minutes; whatever you thought of him, it had to be positive.

“Look at her. Barely half a year old and she’s already getting all the nice guys to herself. She’ll grow up to be a heartbreaker, mark my words.” - Giving Simon the leash, you walked to the duo to pet Bonnie as well. You’ve pressed a small bag into his palm as well - it was filled to the brim with various dog treats, snacks and small plastic bags for poop.

“Honestly, would you be able to resist these eyes? Just look at the lass.” - The man let slip par his slips, utterly enamoured by your beauty as he kept staring at you. Thankfully, you were too busy kissing the top of Bonnie’s head to notice the way he stared at you. “Hey, Y/N?” “Hm?” “Is there anything I can do for you? Would you wanna… Talk about it, perhaps? It could help you take your mind off things.” - Simon wondered, the question slipping past his lips on its own. You were paying him full attention now, locking your gaze with his. It almost looked like you were internally debating over whether to tell Simon what happened or not, but then you shook your head with one of the sweetest smiles anyone had ever given to him. - “It’s just petty personal bullshit, nothing I can’t deal with on my own. Anyway… You two should go now, you’re disturbing an artist at work.”

There she was - the girl Simon daydreamed about for the last couple of weeks. Even though you didn’t confide in him, his offer clearly made you feel easier. The light was slowly coming back to your eyes, your smile was melting away the ice surrounding his chest, and your warmth was making Simon feel better about himself. You talked to him precisely like you did to Johnny - as if you were the oldest of friends bumping into each other, just chatting about.

“On our merry way, ma’am.” - Simon saluted just to make you laugh. After, he put Bonnie on the ground, making sure the leash is locked onto her collar properly. As he heard you chuckle while he closed the door, he smiled to himself too. - “See you in a bit, you two! Give him hell, Bon Bon!”

As Simon promised, he took Bonnie for a walk around the block of various shops, and Asian restaurants mixed into residential buildings. Because of Bonnie and her curious, friendly nature, Simon was suddenly the target of attention - a 6'3 man with a mask on his face walking around with a 6-month-old puppy of an Austrian shepherd with an enormous lime green ribbon around its neck sure made a lot of head turn around. Even though the duo walked pretty slowly, they still had some time to stop by Grind On, picking up chai latté and baked goods for. When Anne noticed Bonnie resting in Simon's arms, sniffing his baklava happily, she gasped as if he unravelled a secret.

“So that’s how it is! This makes a whole lot of sense.” - Anne murmured with a sheepish smile while working on the order - two chai lattés and a whole selection of baked goods; he knew you'd die for Grind On's croissants, but that couldn't be all you liked, right? Simon's eyebrows raised upon Anne's excitement, waiting for her to explain the mental gymnastics behind whatever she concluded. - “That’s why you’re here so often! That’s just adorable!” “What is?” - Simon deadpanned. “You’re coming here regularly often because you like to watch your girlfriend at work, what a lucky gal. Honestly, Y/N is one of the sweetest people working on the same block as us and she deserves to have a gentleman in her life, she’s got enough letdowns already. Don’t you think you can deceive me, darling, I know this sweet little girl all too well, right, Bonnie?” - Anne explained, gushing over how adorable Bonnie was. Her words caught Simon off guard. He, indeed, loved watching you work. And Anne calling you his girlfriend sounded so heavenly, but…

“She, ugh… Y/N isn’t my… She’s a friend of my friend. I just like this café, s’all.” - Simon uttered against his will, having Anne looking at him with a slight furrow. Her expression slowly grew gentler and gentler, turning into a motherly smile at the end as if she knew something Simon didn’t. It was precisely all the words Simon didn’t say out loud that told Anne everything she needed to know.

"I see. I hope you'll get the courage to tell her soon, then. It's like watching the beginning of a romance movie." - The woman whispered wickedly and winked at the duo. Simon nodded without a word, watching Anne put some extra goods into the paper bag. You deserved a gentleman. You've had enough letdowns in your life. What if Simon was a letdown? What if he wouldn't be what you deserved - what if you wouldn't accept his careful advances in the first place? He's been so into you that he hadn't stopped to think if you could be interested in him... And due to the small number of your interactions, Simon couldn't base his stance on anything. He basically didn't know you, he spent a month gushing about a stranger. He could ask Cassie about you, about what you've been like and what you're looking for... But that would give him away immediately.

As he put Bonnie back onto the ground, he was furrowing, being lost in his thoughts - not for long, though. You've seemingly got your shit together and started working on another order - there was a little boy standing in front of the counter, watching you with his mouth open. "Ghost!" - You exclaimed happily, smiling from ear to ear. Bonnie, as the little she-devil she was, ran to you immediately to totter around your feet. - "Was the walk nice, Bon Bon? I bet it was, yeah? Yeah." - The tone of your voice pitched as you leaned down to greet your dog, letting her lick your chin a few times.

It took just a moment to finish up the flower - the boy paid you 5 pounds for a singular red rose, all the decorations being counted in. "The rose wasn't worth only five quid, was it?" - Simon wondered. "Come on, be a romantic. He was about to ask his crush out, what monster would I be to stand in the way of young love?" "Right. You'll rather go broke." "Exactly, that's the spirit." - You bounced back immediately, pointing at the enormous paper bag in his palm. Without hesitation, Simon gave it to you to let you peek inside. As soon as you noticed all the goods, your expression froze a bit. That had to be worth at least fifty to sixty quid. - "What's that for?" "I asked Anne for three croissants, but as soon as she spotted Bon, she filled it to the brim." "Are you a regular in Grind On?" - You wondered. "Started frequenting it after tasting the chai latté you recommended. Couldn't shake it out of my head, I hadn't tasted anything like that before. Also, Soho is really nice at this time of year."

For a bit, neither of you said a word. Your eyes locked onto one another, your breath hitched and got irregular. Simon noticed that you shivered, pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. Only if he'd know how flustered you were - your entire face was flushed, you had to battle the corner of your lips just so you wouldn't smile like a freaking idiot. You couldn't get him out of your head. The mysterious Ghost guy accompanying Cassie's fiancé on the day of their proposal, you couldn't forget how much he didn't belong in the flower shop. The first moment he walked in you knew that he wasn't feeling too good about the place, so you didn't want to intrude by prying information out of him. The warm, intense gaze of his eyes made you smile each time you recalled it. Usually, you'd stop anything you've been doing so you could giggle and fluster; at that point, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown, independent woman - not a crushing high-schooler. You hadn't even seen his face, for fuck's sake. On the other hand... The sound of his voice made your heart skip a beat each time he spoke. When they left the shop, you watched them disappear in the distance for as long as you could, wondering if you'd ever see him again.

As to be expected, you asked Cassie about him the next time you got together for a coffee. You were desperately trying to lure any sort of information out of her, but she didn't budge. She explained that Ghost was particularly vigilant about sharing pieces of his life, keeping his private life very private. The two had known each other for almost a year and there was a lot she didn't know about him - according to her, Cassie didn't believe that Johnny would know that much more than her. What Cassie did know, however, she didn't share out of sheer respect for their friendship. You respected her decision, not prying any further. All she gave you were vague assumptions - that Ghost was in his late twenties, that he'd been born and raised in the UK and that he'd joined the military fairly young. She also asked if you'd like to get his number, but you didn't accept - if Ghost would like you to have his number, he was the one to give it to you.

And now, Ghost was there, with you. Standing in front of you. Bringing you brewing hot chai latté and a horde of baked goods, just like he did before. You couldn't be sure, but you prayed this was his love language - because any guy before him was able to make you flustered by simply looking your way. Trying to act casual about how you stared at him, you cleared your throat and put the bag away with a gracious smile.

"I hope you'll have some with me, then, this would last me a week at least." "I had my share earlier in the afternoon, thank you, though." "Ah, I see." - You whispered, the disappointment clear in your face. At least you thought it had to be. - "What can I do for you? Anything on your mind? Can I tie you a special flower for a special girl? A girlfriend, perhaps?" - You wondered, trying to act professionally about it while you prayed his response would be that there is no girlfriend.

"That's strange." - The man uttered under his breath, chuckling with disbelief. This took you by surprise, making you chuckle as well. - "That's the second time today someone assumed I'm shopping for a girlfriend." "And... Are you?" "No." - Simon deadpanned matter-of-factly. - "There's no girlfriend to shop for." - He explained, making you giddy up a bit. Bonnie was now running around the two of you, laying on her back so you'd pet her - but you were unable to take your eyes off the man. These eyes, man, they were beautiful.

"What are you looking for, then? Would it be bold to assume you're shopping for a flower?" "I actually am." "You're in the right place then, I can walk you through everything you'd need to know about them. What kind of flower are you looking for?" "I'd hope so, you're a florist." - Simon muttered under his breath. First, it came across as a rude comment - when he flickered his eyes at you, you realized he was trying to joke around. Naturally, you grinned and shook your head. - "The windowsill in my flat looks a bit bland, decided it's time to liven it up. The problem is that I'm not a flower guy."

"I'd assume so, you're not the one who studied to get this position." - you reiterated, shooting right back at Simon. You could see the baklava shift on his face, so you assumed he was smiling. "You know what one flower said to the other when it was asking for a chance?" - You mumbled as you started to figure out what would be appropriate for Ghost - you knew he and Johnny were military, and Cassie confided that they often got deployed. It had to be a flower that could go without regular watering for months, but it would also have to be something that wouldn't mold easily. Simon watched you move closer and closer to succulents, caught off guard by the question.

"Come on, Ghost. It's a good one, I promise, don't make me feel like a dud." - You mumbled impatiently when he was silent for far too long. - "You know what one flower said to the other when it was asking for a chance?" "No idea." "Don't worry, love, I'll grow on ya." - You finished with a wicked grin on your face, waiting for Simon to process the joke - as soon as he realized what you just did., the man let out a chuckle. It came across as if he did his best to suppress it, because this joke was one of the corniest he'd heard - the only person with even worse jokes was MacTavish himself. "You're one of these, huh?" "It's a good joke, come on." "Never said it isn't." - Simon muttered quietly, feeling a big smile breaking out on his face, no matter how much he fought it. A cute, beautiful florist with flower puns and one-liners? With each passing second, you were getting better and better, almost too good to be true.

"There she is." - You mumbled, pulling out a small round cacti. - "It's a cactus usually recommended to beginners, so no need to be worried here. This small lady is a part of Echinopsis, a cacti group native to South America. This one is from Argentina specifically, so it prefers warmer temperatures and a lot of sunlight, perfect for a windowsill." "Why did you go for this one specifically?" "Because it's very well known for its dramatic buds. And you strike me as someone who secretly revels in drama." "That was cold." - Ghost rebutted immediately, amusement clearly audible in his voice. "... Also because it prefers sandy soil and can go without water for a fair share of time. As long as you leave it in sunlight and don't let it freeze to death, it should easily wait until you get back from deployment." - You finished, flustering and looking away. It had to be obvious you memorized every last bit of detail about Ghost, no? There wasn't much you'd know about him, but you remembered a thing here and there.

"It's perfect for me, then." - Simon agreed, carefully taking the cactus from your palm to give it a look. He quite liked it, it was very small and cute. - "Were you joking about the buds?" "No, this cactus' buds are enormous and colourful. Haven't met a person who wouldn't like the look of it." "I'll take it, then. Have you heard flowers are capable of kissing, by the way?" "They're what?" - You snickered back as you prepared the cactus for his new home - you'd packed everything Simon might need as someone new to owning a plant. "Yeah, they have Tulips." - Simon added matter-of-factly. At first, you deadpanned at him before you shook your head in disbelief. "And you were judging me for liking flower puns?" "Hadn't ever said I didn't like flower puns. What's the total?"

Without putting any numbers into the register, you put a fancy paper bag in front of Simon. It had everything he might need - fresh soil, a bigger flower pot, a small scapula to help him re-plant the cactus once it grows bigger. "It's on the house." "Not in a million years. What's the total?" "The total is: it's on the house, Ghost. I don't a single dime." "Y/N, come on." "Take it as my way of paying you back for making sure Grind On won't have any baked goods to sell during their afternoon shift." "That's how it is?" - Ghost snickered with amusement. You've been clearly assuming you're the dispute going your way, so you nodded proudly. "That's how it is, sir." "I'll take it as a prepay for the next delivery, then." - Simon informed you as if you didn't have a say in this, earning a gentle smile from you. The light inside your eyes intensified as you looked at the man with adoration, pushing your palms into the pockets of your jeans just so you wouldn't start playing with your fingers excitedly.

"Will you come to see me again?" "Affirmative, ma'am." - The man breathed out, feeling his heartbeat picking up as he realized you'd been excited about him dropping by. "I better look up some military jokes so we can make fun of your occupation too." "Got one to get you going." "I'm listening." - You alluded, leaning closer to Ghost. "Why are there no insects around the base?" "Why aren't the insects there?" "It's a no-fly zone." - Simon finished and after you scoffed, he jokingly saluted, turning around to leave the shop. That was when you called out his name, so he'd halt and look over to you. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you again." - Ghost was searching for any sign of irony in your expression, for anything that would lead him to believe that you weren't being serious with him. But there were none. The man didn't answer, he simply nodded and lowered his head before walking out - something led you to believe that his cheeks turned bright pink under the baklava, but you'd only seen it for a second, so it could be just a hallucination.

[brave-and-gentle]

Stitches: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 4

Welcome to - *waves* whatever this is. I originally called it my fluff mini series but I keep extending it.

If this is your first time here, please check out Part 1 Part 2 and Part 3.

If you like this mini series, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on Ao3 here

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: You begin to unravel the mystery of why your "situationship" with Jean hasn't progressed.

Warnings: none here

Word count: ~4.9K

Although you are exhausted after your night with Jean, you hardly sleep that night. Your mind races, twists and turns. You're torn between how much fun you had at the poetry slam and wine bar – very intimate settings – and the obvious way Jean pulled away from you at the very end of the night. It didn't make any sense. Why kiss you several weeks ago, why ask you out like that – and then nothing?

The Thursday work day is brutal. You trudge through your work, mindlessly checking patients in for their appointments, barely able to keep your eyes open until finally, you reach the last hour before the clinic closes.

You're unsure whether to look forward to trivia with your friends tonight. It's another chance to see Jean – another chance to get your hopes up. And you fear you've already gotten them up far too high. Maybe you shouldn't go.

You pull out your phone to find a few unread texts from Sasha that you've purposely ignored.

You should've woken me up this morning – I wanna know how it went last night with Jean!

Girl, do not leave me hanging!!

Spill. The. Tea.

If you don't spill soon I'm going straight to the horse's mouth. Hehe – get it??

Your stomach sinks down to your feet. You twist back and forth in your chair behind the clinic check-in desk. It's hard to let Sasha down.

It was fun. But I don't think he likes me like that. He's just flirty.

She responds immediately.

Girl please. I have never seen Jean be “just flirty” with anyone. You and I both know who he's going to try to sit next to at trivia tonight.

Releasing a sigh, you lean back in your chair. For once, you really don't have the mental energy to hang out with your friends. Missing one night shouldn't be a big deal, right? Everyone missed one every once in a while.

Actually, I don't know if I'll go tonight. I'm pretty tired.

What?? Pleeeeease :) it's more fun with you! :)

An uncontrollable smile spreads across your face. Sasha is all too persuasive, or maybe you're too persuadable. After Historia moved out, you dreaded evenings and weekends without any friends to hang out with. But it didn't take long for Sasha to plead with you to come to trivia with her friends and rave about how much she loved your company. It's nice to know someone wants you there – even if it's not Jean.

Maybe I'll take a nap before.

Yay! I'm working late so I'll head straight to the bar straight after. See you there :)

~ ~ ~

You lie on your bed, phone up to your ear in one hand and your other hand is gesticulating up to the ceiling.

“What does he want from me?” You demand from your best friend even though she's just as clueless as you. “I mean, we kiss the first night we hang out, he paints a fucking picture of me, he practically takes me out on a date – but nothing since that first kiss. Who does that?”

“Well,” Historia says your name in her soft voice, “you know, you've been. . .”

“What?” You demand.

“It's just um. . .oh, don't make me say it!”

“C'mon Historia.” You flip over to your stomach. “You know you can tell me anything. Hit me with it.”

“Well, you've kinda been doing the same thing. Giving mixed signals. You haven't made a move with Jean either, have you? Not since you went to see the ice sculptures?”

Your body tenses. Historia is right. You're just as guilty.

“No,” you answer with force. “I think I used up my bold moves that night.”

“What if you just tell him how you feel?”

“What if I just walk into five lanes of traffic?”

Historia says your name in an exasperated tone.

“What! It'd basically be the same feeling,” you defend.

“You asked my opinion and I gave it.”

“Ugh, yeah I know. It's almost unfair how much Ymir has rubbed off on you.” Historia rarely called you out on your bullshit, so when she did, you knew it was real. You look at your watch. 6:30 pm. You should be walking to trivia now. “Look, I gotta go. I'll catch up with you later?”

“Sure. Just remember – you deserve better. You don't have to take table scraps from anyone.”

You cringe, knowing exactly what Historia is referencing. She held you while you cried after the guy you dated for a year in college dumped you out of the blue because he “just didn't see a future together.” It should've been obvious from the beginning since he hardly ever made an effort to see you. Though it was a couple years ago, the old wound still aches sometimes. Historia and Ymir were your emotional stitches, but there was still a scar.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly. “Anyways. Say hi to Ymir for me?”

“Always,” Historia says.

~ ~ ~

You rush through the bar doors knowing you're a little late. Trivia hasn't started yet, but all of your new friends are already seated with a drink in front of them. A few perk up to wave and greet you.

“Sorry guys!” You apologize and unwrap your scarf. Trost has slowly been warming up but it's still snowing. You're a little sweaty from running over despite the cold.

“No worries, saved you a seat!” Sasha leans back to wave at you from the middle of the table.

“Thanks,” you breath and take off your hat. You attempt to smooth down your hair while you take a seat next to Sasha. You turn to your left and -

It's Jean.

Of course. Sasha purposely saved you a seat between her and Jean.

Jean is wearing a light purple t-shirt. You've never seen him in a t-shirt before. His biceps are well defined and somehow still tanned despite it being winter.

“You good?” He asks you and tilts his head. You blush, not realizing how hard you were staring.

“Yeah, you uh, have paint on your shirt.” You poke a yellow splotch on his chest and wonder if his chest is as well defined as his biceps. And maybe something else is well defined – no no no, lord, grant me the strength to stop my unholy thoughts, you pray, though you've never been religious.

“Ah, shit.” Jean looks down and dabs the yellow splotch. “It's already dry.”

“Must've been a good time at the studio today?” You ask, attempting to clear your head.

“Yeah, really good,” he nods. “Actually,” he pauses and bites his bottom lip. He finally makes eye contact with you. “Would you mind coming to the studio sometime soon? Maybe tomorrow or Saturday? I have an idea.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you need me?”

“Yes.” Jean nods with force. “I figured I should ask this time.”

“Oh.” Surprise ripples through your body. Is Jean asking to paint you? You're flustered, unsure how to respond. On one hand, it's flattering that he wants to use you for inspiration again – and involve you. On the other, it seems far too romantic for “friends.”

Pink flushes Jean's face as he waits for you to respond more. “Ah, never mind, it's a dumb idea.” He waves. “You don't have to.”

“No, I uh -”

“Hey everyone!” Eren calls the group to attention. He sits directly across from Jean. “I want to make a toast.” He wraps his arm around Mikasa, who leans into him and smiles. Her black hair falls like a curtain over half her face. Eren raises his drink in the air and waits for everyone else to follow his motion. “To my beautiful girlfriend Mikasa, whose birthday is tomorrow. And – we just celebrated our one-year anniversary. I wouldn't have gotten the guts to finally ask her out if it weren't for you all.”

Your friends give a mix of cheering and “awww.”

“Get a room already!” Connie berates the couple.

You grab the glass of water in front of you and raise it in celebration.

But you notice Eren isn't gazing back at Mikasa like you'd expect. No, his green eyes are piercing straight ahead.

At Jean.

Who is staring right back at Eren. Jean's fist shakes under the table, out of sight for everyone except you.

And in that moment, you realize.

Eren's toast isn't meant to praise Mikasa, though that's how almost everyone was interpreting it. No, it's a taunt.

For Jean.

Who nearly blew up when you two ran into Eren and Mikasa at the ice sculptures. Who insisted you were friends. Who backed away from you after the wine bar.

A burning question crashes down on you.

Does Jean has a thing for Mikasa?

Is that why he's avoided a second kiss?

Your stomach twists and stings. You take a small sip of your water as everyone says “cheers” and wishes Mikasa a happy birthday.

Jean's eyes wander over to you. He puts his beer down.

“Oh hey, you're missing a drink,” he points out. He licks a bit of foam off his upper lip. “Can I grab you anything?” He jabs his thumb at the bar behind him.

“No, I don't want anything,” you say and cross your arms. Jean raises his eyebrows at your curt, yet polite tone.

“Ah, okay.” He turns away and chats with Reiner on his other side. You're actually dying for a drink. Something to dull your senses would be fantastic, but you sit through all the trivia rounds without getting anything out of sheer stubborn will.

It's not about the drink, of course.

Jean doesn't try to talk to you again. It's as if you've built a wall in between the two of you.

And that's how it should be. How it needs to be. You can't delude yourself any longer.

You and Jean are just friends.

Just. Friends.

~ ~ ~

Connie is once again crashing your weekly movie night with Sasha. Though the two of you don't mind too much, you have one rule for Connie: no complaining about the movie choice.

“The Devil Wears Prada? Haven't you seen this a million times?” Connie holds up the battered DVD case like it's the sandwich Sasha forgot under the couch last week.

“Uh uh uh!” You wag the knife you're using to cut green bell peppers at him. “You know the rules, no complaining about our movie choice.”

“Especially since you weren't even invited,” Sasha's voice drips with acid as she gives him the side eye. Beside you, she continues rolling out the pizza dough. Friday night movie nights were your idea – a relaxing night in to recover after the chaos of Thursday night trivia with your new friends.

“Alright, fine fine.” Connie collapses into the couch cushions. “Why do you two like this movie so much anyways?”

“Because!” You erupt, throwing your hands in the air, one of them still wielding the knife. “It's the early 2000s rise of girl boss feminism. Miranda, who symbolizes white girl capitalism, is made out to be the main villain. She is a villain, but the real one, the one we didn't see when we were young, naive girls is Nate – the evil boyfriend who hates Andie for exploring fashion and her feminine side. But!” You pause for dramatic effect. “Andie is also a problem as she trades her relationships for capitalist success. In this essay I will. . .” you trail off and smirk.

“Sheesh,” Connie mutters. “Didn't realize this was an English class. No wonder you and Jean get along.”

“You don't have to be here,” you remind him and ignore the comment about Jean.

“Ugh. Lemme see what our dear Jeanboy is doing tonight.” At the mention of Jean's name, you peer over to watch Connie pull out his phone while you slice another bell pepper.

A sharp sting rips through your thumb.

“Agh!” You yell and pull your thumb away from the knife and cutting board. Distracted by the mention of Jean, you had sliced your thumb instead of the pepper. Sasha grabs a wad of paper towels and hands them to you. You squeeze down on your thumb and blood soaks through the paper towels.

“You good?” Sasha places an arm around you and guides you to sit on the couch next to Connie.

“I think so?” You answer, but your shaking voice tells another story.

“Let's see. . .” Sasha peels back the bloody wad with a gentle touch to reveal a deep cut. Your skin is split wide open and gushes blood.

“Yuck.” Connie leaps off the couch. “That looks nasty. Want me to call Marco? I don't think he's working tonight.”

You shrug, unsure if your cut actually needs stitches. Connie dials up Marco regardless of your indecision.

“Hey Marco – we need your man nurse skills . . .what, no! Not for me.” He clarifies that it's for you.

“Is this a regular occurrence?” You ask Sasha.

“Connie has abused Marco's skills so many times,” she laughs. “He refuses to help him anymore. You're a first timer though, so I'll bet anything he'll be over soon.”

Sure enough, Connie announces that Marco will be over in a few minutes.

“Anyways,” he flops back onto the couch, “I'll stick around until then at least.”

“Good call, literally,” you say.

Your mind wanders back to the reason you were so distracted. Heat rises to your face as you realize these are the safest people to ask what you've been wondering about Jean – and Mikasa.

“Hey. . . can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure!” Sasha beams and wraps another layer of paper towels around your thumb. Connie scrolls aimlessly through Instagram.

“About Jean . . . did he and Mikasa ever. . .you know?” You dance around your question, unsure of how to phrase it. Connie's head jerks up. Your heart pounds in anticipation. Did they date? Did they fuck? You gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

“Mmm, I'm not really sure,” Sasha muses and avoids eye contact. “Jean definitely had a thing for her when they met a couple years ago, but obviously nothing came of it.”

“But nothing happened – at all?” You press.

“Jeanboy doesn't kiss and tell,” Connie sighs. “I asked him once and he almost punched me. So if something did happen, we don't know. He's no fun.”

“Maybe you could ask Marco?” Sasha lightens up. “Those two have been tight forever. He's the only one that would know for sure.”

*knock knock*

“Speak of the devil,” Connie says and gets up to grab the door. “Marco, you've come to save her from bleeding out!”

Marco steps through the door with a small kit in hand.

“Hey,” Marco breathes your name and shivers from the lingering cold. “What happened?” He asks as he strips off his coat. Red from the bitter cold is spread across his freckled face.

“I uh, had an incident with a knife,” you explain and hold out your thumb. Marco walks over to you and Sasha on the couch. You realize he's almost as tall as Jean because as he kneels in front of you, he can still make level eye contact. With a gentle touch, he peels back the paper towel to reveal your wound.

“Yikes,” he frowns, “you're definitely going to need stitches.”

You involuntarily cringe.

“Alright, two options,” Marco continues and sits back on his heels. “I can take you to the urgent care I work at, or if you really trust me, we can do it here.”

“Ten out of ten recommend Doctor Marco!” Connie yells from the kitchen as he rifles through the cupboard for snacks.

“Not a doctor,” Marco mutters and shakes his head. “Anyways, I can do stitches in my sleep, but I can understand if you'd rather go to urgent care.”

“No, I trust you. Plus, I really don't fee like dropping a couple hundred dollars on stitches.” Ironically, the clinic you worked at didn't offer a very good health insurance plan.

“Sounds good,” Marco smiles. “Bathroom okay?”

“Yep.” You stand up and “Woah. . .”

Purple dots cloud your vision. Cotton balls fill your ears.

“Easy there.” Marco grabs your waist to steady you. “Hey Sasha? Connie? Can you go grab her some Gatorade or something?”

“On it!” Sasha jumps off the coach and grabs her purple puffy coat. At the same time, Connie whines, “But it's cold and dark out there!”

“C'mon.” Sasha grabs Connie and drags him to the front door. “Our comrade needs our help.”

“Fine,” he mutters and throws his coat on. “Good luck, you better still be alive when we come back.”

You wave to your friends as they leave.

“What's the Gatorade for?” You ask and steady yourself as your vision restores.

“Mostly to get those two outta here, they're kinda distracting.” Marco rubs the nape of his neck. “But you do also look a little pale. Some sugar and electrolytes should help with that.”

Marco grabs two chairs from the kitchen and places them in front of the bathroom sink.

“This shouldn't take too long. First, let's clean it,” he explains and takes out a packet of antiseptic wipes from his kit. He dabs your wound with a wipe and it instantly stings. You hiss and clench your fist. “That's the worst part – and it's over. Do you normally get squeamish around blood?”

“It's not really the blood,” you explain. “It's more like the anticipation.”

“Ah, anxiety?” He asks and prepares for the stitches. “Armin's like that too,” he chuckles. “He practically passed out during our first nursing rotations in school.”

“Wait, Armin was in nursing school with you?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Nursing school yes, but different ones. We were in the same rotation at the hospital though, that's how we met. I invited him to hang out with us and he brought Eren and Mikasa. That's how we all became friends. Armin ended up on the research of side of things instead, which he's much more suited for. He's brilliant. Oh – you might want to put your head down or look away for this.” Marco pauses and gives you a serious look. “It won't hurt much, but we can't have you passing out.”

“Oh, sure.” You comply and turn your head away, placing your chin on your free hand.

“So that means you all met what – your senior year?”

“Yep.” Marco idly confirms. You feel a gentle tugging on your skin.

“Marco . . . can I ask you a question? A personal one?” The tugging on your skin stops. “Not about you though,” you quickly explain.

“Oh.” The tugging resumes. “Sure.” The question burns on your lips.

“Did anything ever happen between Jean and Mikasa?” The burning on your lips blazes to your cheeks.

“Ah.” Marco clears his throat. “I thought you might ask about that.”

“Really?” Surprise ripples through your body.

“Yeah, Jean's been talking about you a lot lately. I figured something was going on. Anyways. . .” he trails off, concentrating on your last two stitches. “What I can tell you is that Jean was really into her when they first met at that party I mentioned.”

Your stomach turns.

“And did anything ever come of it?”

Marco hesitates.

“Look, I don't know if I should be sharing this with anyone -”

“Please, Marco?” You turn and plead with his light brown eyes. You're so desperate for information that a confession doesn't even phase you. “I like him. And I need to know. . . if he's hung up on someone else. I don't want to waste my time. Or get hurt. Please?”

Marco sighs. “Alright. They went on a date. One date.” He finishes off the stitches and avoids eye contact with you. “Jean asked and she said yes. He didn't tell me a ton, but he came home really happy that night. A couple days later, we all hear that Mikasa and Eren are officially a couple. I asked Jean what happened and he just growled at me. That's all I know.”

Your jaw actually drops. You stare at Marco open mouthed. You barely register that he's done with the stitches as he puts his supplies away. “So she went on a date with Jean and then immediately started dating Eren??”

Marco whips back over to look at you. “Oh, but please don't think poorly of Mikasa! She's not a bad person.” Now it's his turn to plead with you.

You remain silent. It's almost unthinkable. Admittedly you don't know Mikasa very well, but she's always seemed like a kind, introverted soul. What would posses her to do something like that? Flashes of anger heat your body despite Marco's insistence. That must've really hurt Jean.

“You really don't know what happened? Nothing at all?” You press your lips together in a tight line.

“No,” Marco shakes his head and stands up. “I wish I did. Jean was pretty bent out of shape about it for a while, but he's not exactly the kind to easily share his feelings.”

“You got that right,” you huff. “Be honest with me – do you think I'm wasting my time with Jean?”

Marco pauses in thought. He leans against the sink and crosses his arms. “No, not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I get the sense he likes you,” he smiles. “But,” his smile disappears, “I gotta be honest, I couldn't say if he's over Mikasa. It's been about a year, so maybe, but like I said, I don't even know everything that happened.” He shrugs. “But I think it's worth talking to Jean about it. Ask him and he'll probably be more honest with you than with me.”

“Sure,” you nod slowly. “It's just that. . . feelings are hard.” Your gaze lingers on your newly stitched up thumb. Telling Jean you like him and asking about Mikasa feels on par with ripping out your new stitches. And pouring more alcohol into the wound.

“Yeah, I get that,” Marco agrees. “I guess it depends on how much he's worth it to you.”

~ ~ ~

The movie night is a perfect distraction from the ulcer growing in your stomach from thinking about Jean. You and Sasha cackle throughout the movie, quoting lines from memory and imitating Miranda's stern look.

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.”

“CERULEAN!!”

“Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.”

Despite Connie's griping, he stays the entire time and as per usual, falls asleep on your couch. After the movie, you crawl into bed and check your phone.

You have an unread text from Jean.

See you tomorrow morning?

You groan. Tomorrow is your scheduled Saturday morning creative date with Jean. Not date, you correct yourself. Your mind wanders back to what Marco said. Was figuring out what's up with Jean worth it to you? With the way he looked at Mikasa and his frustration with Eren, it seemed like he wasn't over what happened – dangerous territory. You weren't in too deep now, you try to convince yourself. You only kissed once. And sure, you're crushing, but crushes fade. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. So you choose to avoid.

I'll have to sit this one out, not feeling great :/

Technically it's the truth. You don't think you'll get much writing done with Jean across the table from you. And you don't feel great – mentally or physically. Overthinking was getting exhausting, and your stitches were aching despite the pain killers Marco gave you. Your phone buzzes.

Ah, that's right, Marco told me about the stitches. That sucks! Do you need anything?

Nope, Sasha's got me covered. Don't need anything.

~ ~ ~

The next few days move at, well – a glacial pace.

You don't write at all.

Your wound under the stitches aches.

You think about Jean and Mikasa the entire time.

On Monday, Jean texts you an interesting article about world building, but you don't respond. In truth, you're dying to talk with him again. You don't realize how much you enjoy his company until you skip your creative date. You miss talking about art and writing with him. You miss that he takes it seriously in a way that your other friends didn't. You miss how open you could be with each other – well, for the most part.

You're taking your lunch break on Wednesday when you get another text from Jean.

Hey, you feeling better? Up for wine and writing/art tonight?

You sigh and tap your fingers over and over again on the table. Maybe the best decision is to cut it off now. The last time you admitted vulnerability, it didn't so well.

After months of dating that guy on your floor in college, you grew tired of only seeing him on his terms. You never felt like you could ask to see him. You were always waiting for him to text you. You even canceled plans with Historia in hopes that he might want to do something. You hated it. You began to hate yourself for how pathetic you became.

So you told him. You told him how you wanted to see each other more. You wanted to actually build a relationship, not just hang out with someone at parties on weekends. Your face burned and your voice shook, but you were proud of yourself for standing up for once.

And then he broke up with you. Right then and there.

And that was it.

You pull yourself back to the present moment and text Jean back.

I have plans tonight, sorry.

Text bubbles pop up and you brace yourself for impact.

Oh, okay.

Your stomach drops. You turn your phone off and shove the rest of your lunch back in the staff fridge. You're being rude to Jean, you know it. You hate yourself for it.

But this is for the best.

~ ~ ~

Once work is finally over, you hop on the train home and stop by the local liquor store. You might not be getting wine with Jean tonight, but you sure as hell want a glass of wine. Or two. Or three. Anything to get Jean off your mind. And with Sasha out tonight with Nicolo, you need a distraction.

As you walk toward the store, you admire at the blush pink sunset. Mid-February is still freezing in Trost, but at least it's now light when you get home, albeit just barely.

You mindlessly roam the aisles until you find the boxed wine section. In college, you and Historia always opted for boxes over bottles. It was the economically smart decision and neither of you were well versed enough in wine to tell much of a difference between a box and a fancy bottle.

Although you prefer a chardonnay, you grab a pink wine knowing that it's Sasha's favorite.

A large hand clamps down on your wrist as you're mere inches away from the box.

“C'mon, you are breaking my heart with that.” You jerk your head up to see what stranger has rudely interrupted you.

But it's no stranger.

It's Jean.

You are quite literally caught red-handed. Or pink-handed.

Despite your internal insistence that you are just friends, that you need to avoid Jean, your heart leaps with affection at the sight of him in his parka and knitted hat. Then your heart squeezes tight with guilt when you remember that you canceled on him tonight – and here you are, at the liquor store getting ready for a night alone.

“Hey, nothing wrong with box wine,” you grin in spite of yourself. You can't help smiling in his presence.

“There is everything wrong with box wine,” Jean groans and tilts his head back, exposing a glimpse of his throat. “I gotta have you over sometime and re-educate you since apparently the wine bar wasn't enough.”

You offer a noncommittal smile in return. “Anyways,” you clear your throat and give your captured wrist a pointed look. Jean releases his grip and you grab the pink box wine. “I gotta get going.”

“Oh, that's right.” Jean adjusts his winter hat, which fails to cover up his lengthening hair. “So uh – what are you up to tonight?”

“Girl's night with Sasha,” you blurt. It's the first thing you think of since she's part of the reason you're getting the pink wine.

Jean frowns. “Doesn't she have a date with Nicolo tonight? He's been telling me for weeks about this concert they're going to tonight.”

“Oh um. . . “ you trail off. Your entire body is frozen like you've stepped outside, blasted by Trost's bitter winter season. Once again, you're caught. You fumble and stutter, struggling to come up with another excuse.

The hurt flashing in Jean's hazel eyes cuts through you like the knife to your thumb. He sees right through your lie.

“Ah.” He rocks back on his heels. “Got it.” He nods and swallows. “Message received.” He turns on his heels and walks away from you.

Desperation surges through your body. You've wounded him, and you want to stitch it up.

“Jean, wait! I didn't mean -” Your protests are useless. Jean has left the liquor store empty handed.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

You make a bee line to the register to pay for your box wine.

Maybe it'll be four glasses tonight.

[doudouneverte]

Director Love | VW (d-five)

a/n: hey everyone, this the fifth day of the Valentine's week and my second Supergirl fic (Alex is my favourite character by the way), i'm excited. don't worry i'll try to write more supergirl fic. I hope you'll enjoy this fic, it's a short fic. i'll see you tomorrow for a first [M.H] fic.

*not my GIF*

Alex Danvers x Female!Reader; Kara Danvers x Female!Reader(besties); Lena Luthor x Female!Reader(best friend); Supercorp

Summary: Alex forget today was 'the' day

Type: Fluff

Warning: nothing

word count: 974

day one | day two | day three | day four | day six | day seven

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

Alex was fighting an alien when something came to her mind, it was today, today you came back to National City. You were working for L-Corp, and Lena sent you to Central City to seal a deal with a potential business partner. The DEO agent was about to receive a punch, but her sister was here like a backup.

"What's going on, Alex?" Kara asked, and the older Danvers grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the other agents.

"It's today, Kara, and I didn't plan anything yet," she replied.

"Oh, you know how Y/N loves Valentine's Day; she will be mad if you haven't already planned anything. And she would be tired from the travel, so I'm sure she didn't plan anything either. You have like three hours to prepare something," the Kryptonian said, and the redhead rolled her eyes before suddenly stopping.

"Wait, I also forgot it was Valentine's Day today; oh my God, she will be mad," the director started to stress.

"Okay, calm down. I think Lena and I can give you some time," the blond said.

"But you have something to do with Lena too," the older sister said.

"Don't worry, I'll just take her to Ireland for this year," Kara said. "Oh, and you probably handle DEO stuff for yourself for the next few days," she added before flying away.

Three hours later, you were back in National City. You spent a week away from your girlfriend and your two best friends. You wanted to go directly home and start preparing everything you had planned for your special night, but you received a text from Lena.

Lena: Hey, I hope you had a good week. They called me about the meeting, and I know I made the best choice to send it to you. Also, can you come here? I need your help and your advice on something

You: Is it really important right now?

Lena: yeah, I need you to teach me how to cook something for my night with Kara

You: but can't you just order something?

Lena: yes but I want to surprise her and you're the best cooker I know

You: okay but we will do something quick cause I'm tired

Lena: promise

"Okay, she's coming," Lena said. "Great, I'll text Alex to let her know." Kara replied.

Kara: Lena convince Y/n to help her with cooking; you have 2 more hours, I think, to finish your thing.

Alex: thanks you. you're the best both of you

After twenty minutes, you were at Lena's home. "Hi you, I missed you," she greeted you when she opened the door. She hugged you.

"Me too," you replied with the same tone, "so what do you plan to do for your girl?" You asked, and she started to think.

"I don't know, maybe a dessert with some chocolate, you know, like fondant," she said, and you nodded.

"Okay, I think we can start with that, but you'll not just eat a dessert; we should think about a proper meal," you remarked.

"Maybe pop stickers, sushi, and pasta, or maybe just a big belly burger," you face palm yourself.

"Okay, we have to talk about your food habit later, but right now, don't you think Kara would want something else than just what she eats usually?" You said, and try not to judge her lack of imagination for a special night.

"I think you're right, so what do you suggest I do?" You smirked, and she started to regret having to distract you.

Meanwhile, in Alex's apartment, she was cooking your favorite food and trying not to 'accidentally' hurt or burn her sister, who didn't really help her; Kara was just here and ate something sometime. "You didn't plan to help me?" Your girlfriend asked her sister, and the blue-eyed girl shook her head and smiled 'innocently' "So what are you doing here?" the older sister added.

"Lena and Y/n are cooking for me in Lena's apartment; that means I can't go to see my girlfriend, and everybody is busy today, plus I don't want to be alone tonight," she replied.

"You can at least help me with the decoration," the blonde looked around.

"What do you want to do?" She was ready to use her super speed, but her sister handled some bills.

"You can go grab some flowers for me," the kryptonian mumbled something and walked to the door, "and take your time."

After a few more hours, all was ready. It was hard to help your boss, but you did it, and now it was time to go to your favorite place: Alex's house. When you knocked, Kara lowered her glasses to look across the wood. "It's her," she said to her sister before flying away. Alex adjusted her dress and opened the door.

You were almost trying to catch your jaw, which fell to the ground at the sight of your girlfriend. "Hi you," she said, and it brought you back to reality.

"Hi, you too." You kissed her and walked into the apartment. "You look stunning; like, wow, I don't even have a word to describe you." She blushed, and you gained another kiss.

"I missed you," she whispered near your lips.

"I missed you too, my beautiful girl," you replied, and she chuckled.

"Here," she grabbed your hand and dragged you on the couch, "I prepare something special for you." She quickly went to the kitchen and went back with a plate of food.

"Alex Danvers, you're the most precious girl on earth," you said, and this time it was her who gained a new kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied.

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