#anyway fuck customer service and good luck to those who had/have to work on new years

[kingcygnus]

you know what I'm glad I changed jobs because even if I still have to work during new years eve at least I'll get out early, while if i had stayed on my old job I would've literally spent both new years eve and new year at work while getting yelled at by rude customers

[booksarelife-stuff]

Godric’s Hollow’s 286th Annual Lawn Competition

My entry for the August Jily Challenge! @jilychallenge

Prompt:  my mother hired you to mow the lawn but can you put your shirt back on its distracting me, and omg stOP grinning at me like that I’m swooning (I did not follow this at all)

Between adjusting to her new town and the hot rude neighbor, Lily is determined to prove herself in Godric’s Hollow by winning their annual lawn competition. Featuring both shirtless Lily and James. 

My partner was the amazing @joyseuphoria, whose creativity and ideas really helped me write this fic! She came up with so many fun ideas and was a great partner!

Word Count: 5,075

Read on Ao3      Masterlist

When Lily opened the door to her small cottage to the outside, she took in the fresh air. 

Godric’s Hollow was so different from her and Marlene’s old apartment back in London. She could open her door and find a bright blue sky and fresh air instead of the stale smell that the hallway had reeked of. It was a nice and welcomed change.

She pulled the door behind her, taking a second to lock the door. Just as she turned to walk down her small concrete path to the sidewalk, she heard a sudden exclamation. 

She whipped her head around just as the words “Dibs!” left the tall man standing on his own walkway right by some overgrown bushes.  

He was looking right at her. There was no mistaking what or who was talking about. His eyes widened dramatically as Lily met his eyes. The man’s friend in front of him doubled over with laughter. 

“Did you just call ‘dibs’ on me?” she asked, anger coloring her voice. 

“No…” The man said, his tone culpable. His friend shook his head, still holding back laughs. “Well okay, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking!”

Lily didn’t want to hear whatever half-assed explanation the man was going to stammer out to her. She just rolled her eyes and continued on her way to the sidewalk, not paying attention to whatever the man was saying to her. 

As Lily stomped her way to her first day at her new job, she hoped she would lose the bad attitude and that man was not her neighbor. 

But of course, Lily’s hope meant nothing. 

That very night, there was a knock on her door shortly after she just got back from work. Lily groaned slightly, pulling herself off her couch and navigated through the maze of boxes she still hadn’t unpacked. 

She stubbed her toe on her entryway table and was holding back curses as she opened the door to see four men standing on her stoop. One of which was the man from the morning. 

“Hello,” the shortest man said, smiling. He was pale blonde and seemed to have not lost the baby fat on his face even though he had to be at least Lily’s age. “We’re your neighbors and we wanted to introduce ourselves after the little mishap this morning.”

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. 

“And we want to know what to call you besides Dibs,” the man with shoulder-length wavy black hair said. He had a smirk on his lips that Lily knew just meant trouble. The dibs man, who was trying to hide in the back besides being one the tallest, smacked him lightly on the head. 

“What Sirius meant to say is that we want to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Remus,” the tallest of the group with a light white scar across his face. “This is Sirius. Peter’s over to the right. And the one who called dibs is James.”

James groaned. “You guys said you weren’t going to do this to me!”

“And you trusted us?” the blonde, Peter said, innocently. 

“The last time that I do,” James said, glaring at Peter. Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus’s smile didn’t waver. 

“Are you guys just going to bicker on my doorstep?” Lily asked, leaning in the door jam, her arms crossed. Three pairs of eyes flickered back to her, James looking at the ground. 

“No, sorry. We really are here to make introductions,” Peter said, smiling. 

Lily assessed the men for a second. Her eyes stopped for a moment on James. She took in the large square frames and his curly hair. She moved on when she realized that she had spent a moment too long on him. 

She took a deep breath and made her millionth introduction for the day. 

“I’m Lily,” she said. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you. If you ever need anything, just call ‘Dibs’ really loudly and James will come running,” Sirius said, his smile seemingly sincere. 

“Man, fuck you guys. I’m getting new flatmates!” James said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

The ribbing on their mate brought a smile to her face, but the man was far from forgiven.

~~~

Lily wondered if her own small town had oddities like Godric’s Hollow. From the people to some of the town events, there seemed to be something that broke her brain a little bit. 

Like Bathilda, the sweet old woman who came into the library where Lily worked every day. 

Bathilda would come in, walking faster than Lily did, but with a walker, to where the new movies were placed. Ever since Bathilda found out Lily wasn’t from Godric’s Hollow, Bathilda would tell Lily all the town history she knew. From claiming there was magic or a coven of witches here to what the last mayor did to get impeached, Bathilda told Lily all of it. 

Like a true customer service worker, Lily just smiled and nodded. She enjoyed Bathilda’s stories but she didn’t really believe them. 

“Ah, it’s summer!” Bathilda said, giving Lily a bright smile, a stack of movies balancing on her walker as she approached the circulation desk. “The lawn competition should be starting soon.”

“Lawn competition?” Lily asked, reaching forward and grabbing the movies when they were in reach. 

“Aye,” Bathilda said, her white hair that was in a bun moving as she nodded her head. “It started right after they burned all the witches here. To bring back nature to the area.”

Lily just nodded, not knowing what else to say to Bathilda. 

“You best be planning for it. Some folks here take it really seriously,” Bathilda warned. 

Based on everything Lily knew about the population here, a lawn competition is exactly something the people would take seriously. 

Lily didn’t think much of the lawn competition until she got home and saw a colorful flyer on her doorstep with her newspaper. 

Godric’s Hollow’s 286th Annual Lawn Competition- Bringing native plants and beauty back to the Hollow.

Lily frowned as she inspected the poster. She needed to pay closer attention to Bathilda’s stories. 

She heard the jingle of keys coming from the boy’s house and she looked to see if it was Remus. 

Unfortunately, it was James leaving. He had his running clothes on, shorts, and a fitted t-shirt. He had a sweatband holding back his bangs. 

She had come to like her neighbors in the month of her being in Godric’s Hollow. She was particularly fond of Remus, but being fond of him meant that a fondness had grown for the others as well, even with their stupid nicknames for each other. 

Lily was even fond of James too. Just a little bit. The dibs incident wasn’t forgotten and though he apologized, he never fully explained what it was really about. 

He was better with his friends, in Lily’s eyes. With his friends, he was goofy and outgoing. He could make the whole group laugh to tears. But whenever he and Lily interacted alone, it was painfully awkward and he almost always managed to insult Lily in some way. 

She sighed and called out anyway just as James was putting his headphones on. 

“Hey, James!” she yelled. James jumped and turned, pulling a bud out. 

“Hello, Lily,” he said, politely. “Need something?”

She waved the flyer and James' eyes followed it, trying to see what it was. Even with his glasses, he was still blind as a bat. 

“What’s this all about?”

“The lawn competition?” he asked, walking across his small yard to the waist-high fence that separated their land. 

“So it’s a real thing?” she asked, frowning. James nodded as he leaned against the fence. 

“The old tale here is that it started after the last witches were burned,” James said. Lily blinked at him in disbelief, but James looked as neutral as ever, so she decided to just move on. 

“What do you do for it? Water your grass or something?” Lily asked. James let out a breath of air like a silent laugh. 

“No. It’s all about bringing plants native to the area back. And in the last decade or so, it’s kinda turned into a competition of who can do the most ridiculous things.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Ridiculous things like what?”

James looked amused, his hazel eyes sparkling. “I think the winner last year made some constellations out of corncockles.”

This town was crazy. Grade A, certified crazy. 

“It’s optional though. You don’t have to participate,” James continued. “People here spend years planting to just win one year. You’ll have some stiff competition.”

Lily felt the flare of anger at his words. “So you don’t think I can win?” she asked, crossing her arms and crushing the flyer. Lily knew she was being a bit competitive, but everything to do with James set her on edge. 

James seemed to have picked up on Lily’s temper flaring. He stopped leaning the fence and straightened up. 

“I didn’t say that. I just said some people spend years planning to win,” James reiterated.

Lily narrowed her eyes. 

“Well, I’m going to win,” Lily said. James huffed. 

“Good luck with that,” James said, turning away and popping a headphone into his ear. 

Lily let out a noise. “I���d like to see you win with those overgrown hedges!” 

James turned around and smiled brightly. “Those are for the competition!”

Lily stared at his back as he started off in a jog down the street. Once he was out of view, she took a survey of her yard. 

There wasn’t much. Just grass and a small tree. She looked back to the boy’s yard and it did look like it had a lot more potential than Lily’s. Greener grass, some shrubbery, and window boxes that have yet to be filled. 

Lily headed up to her front door, determined to spend the night researching plants and grass. And why witches getting accused and burned would start a lawn competition. 

~~~

There was a plant nursery in Godric’s Hollow. There was no website, no place for her to browse the catalog before making any purchases. Just a Facebook page that got updated once a month with grainy pictures. 

It was better than Lily expected when she finally dragged herself there after work. There were a few people browsing, one man had a large cart filled with pallets of various plants. Like a lot. Lily wondered if he was the corncockle constellations guy. 

Google only took Lily so far with her research, so she looked in the gardening section at the library and had found out that someone had written a book about native plants, specific to the region; The Southern England Guide to Native Plants and Shrubs by Euphemia Potter. She had that open in her hand as she walked around the nursery. 

She did a quick walk around, trying to identify what plants were in the book. Most of them she could find, but based on the care instructions, her yard wouldn’t be good for them. 

She paused in front of a plant labeled “Pitcher Plant”. It looked weird, but she supposed it would do. She was flipping through the book, trying to find out what the care instructions were when she felt someone beside her. 

“Don’t use that plant,” James said, making Lily jump. She glared at him as she rightened herself. 

“And why is that?” she asked. 

“It’ll discount you from the competition,” he said, touching one of the stems. “It’s an invasive species.”

Lily tore her eyes away from James, back to the plant. 

“This plant also eats insects,” he pointed out. “Bad for the bees.”

“Oh,” Lily breathed. “Yeah, I don’t want that.”

She closed the book and sighed, and looked back at James to see him staring at the book in her hands. 

“Nice book,” he said with a small smile. She looked back down to it and made the connection. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know Euphemia, would you?” she asked, her eyes trailing the Potter after Euphemia on the book cover. 

“I knew her very well,” James said, his eyes turning soft for a quick second. “I think there’s a section in there, around page 203. Most of those plants work with our yard type.”

Despite the sincerity in his voice, her eyes narrowed. She took in his lanky form and his hair that was getting frizzier by the second thanks to the humidity. 

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, crossing her arms. James laughed and ran a hand through his hair, making some curls stick straight up. 

“I just don’t want you to start an invasive plant plague here,” he said, smirking. “It would ruin my lawn too.”

“I wasn’t going to use it if it wasn't in the book!” she pointed out. James gave her a look and Lily rolled her eyes. “I’m not some saboteur!” 

“Yeah, I didn’t peg for the type,” he said, frowning. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Your nice is rather pointed and mean if you haven’t noticed.”

James just let out a laugh. “Only to you, Evans.”

~~~

The sun was hot and beating down on Lily’s shoulders as she was on her knees, squinting at a piece of paper that was just getting dirty as she tried to dig the appropriate depth for the honeysuckle bushes she bought. 

She still had no idea what she was doing with her lawn, but she figured she could just add in some plants to spaces anyway to liven up her yard. 

It was kind of relaxing, she had come to realize. All the research aside; she was able to just dig and place a pretty thing down in her yard. Tomorrow she could look out the window and admire her work. 

And it was something to preoccupy her time. Normally, her weekends had been full of just sitting on the couch, reading, or watching something on the television. Boredom would creep in usually, or the overwhelming feeling of missing her friends. 

But so far, gardening had kept her preoccupied. She didn’t feel that same loneliness creep in as she neared the two-hour mark of her being out there. 

She also talked to Remus a bit, telling him about the newest book she read. She shared a wave with Sirius as he hopped onto his obnoxiously loud motorbike. 

It wasn’t until her fourth honeysuckle was in the ground, that she looked up at the sound of humming and instantly regretted that decision. 

There was James, headphones in his ears and humming away. He had an assortment of his gardening tools with him and tons of flowers all spread out in plastic containers along their walkway.  

But what made Lily regret her life was the fact that he was shirtless. 

It wasn’t a secret that James was the most attractive out of the bunch at his house, though Sirius did give him a run for his money. With his curly hair, infectious smile, and his ability to make everyone laugh. You could look over his lanky limbs and knobby knees. Marlene, after she had come to visit one weekend, had even made Lily admit that if it wasn’t for the whole “dibs” business, she would have probably fancied him. 

It was true, but it was rude of Marlene to point out. 

He wasn’t buff or had any defined abs by any stretch, but Lily thought he was still well sculpted. His arms looked nice too, as she watched him unspool the garden hose. 

She tore her eyes away and tried to focus on her honeysuckle.

Lily stole a few more glances but overall was dedicated to her honeysuckle plant. 

Just as she patted the last of her dirt down around the roots, she suddenly felt the blast of cold water rush down her head. 

She let out a yelp and quickly raised to her feet as the blast continued to drown her newly planted honeysuckles. In the field of her vision, she saw James scrambling with the other end, trying to pull it towards him and out of where Lily was in the line of fire. 

It sprayed her one more time before James finally got it to stop. He ran over, an apologetic look in his eyes. 

“Lily, I’m so sorry. I forgot the handle is stuck on the nozzle and I didn’t know you were over there,” he said.

Lily sighed deeply as she pulled her t-shirt that was sticking to her skin away from her body, the fabric heavy. 

“It’s fine,” Lily said in a defeated tone. “Why was your hose over here anyway?” 

“I was making sure there were no tangles before I watered the hedges,” James said. 

Lily barely registered his words and she pulled her shirt off, not wanting to deal with the heaviness on her while she tried to garden. She threw her wet shirt on the ground next to her, leaving her only in her black sports bra. She looked up, running both hands through her shoulder-length hair to stop it from sticking to her face. 

James was rooted to his spot on the other side of the fence. His gaze locked onto her face. It was only then that Lily realized she had just casually thrown her shirt off in front of him.

“It was an accident,” she said. “You didn’t point the hose at me with intention, unlike the dibs. At least you watered my honeysuckles for me.”

James let out a laugh that could be mistaken for a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still sorry. For this and the dibs incident.”

She laughed. “I think you’re going to have to apologize for that as long as we’re neighbors.”

He smiled, amused, and nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m never living that down. Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t actually what I was doing.”

Lily tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What were you actually doing?”

“The truth is only slightly less good,” he admitted, his smile falling a bit. “I—Well, no we—No, I. I noticed you when you were moving in and I did make a comment—” Lily’s eyebrows raised. “—A respectful comment!”

“What’s a respectful comment?” she interrupted. 

“I said ‘I think our new neighbor is beautiful’,” James said, a hand coming to the back of his neck. “That’s respectful, right?”

Lily’s heart decided to skip a beat and she felt a blush start to rise on her cheeks. She played it off with an eye roll. 

“Anyway, we happened to be leaving at the same time and Sirius turned to me and told me to make a move ‘before someone else did’, were his exact words…” James said, making a face. “And then I said ‘What do you want me to do? Point at her and call ‘Dibs’?’”

Lily started laughing. “So all I heard was ‘dibs’.”

“Yeah… I probably shouldn’t have yelled it for emphasis,” he said. 

She shook her head. Her opinion of him changed slightly, but not enough to be okay with the way her heart was racing as she looked at his shirtless form again.

~~~

The summer seemed to breeze past. Lily spent almost every moment of her free time working outside after she had formed her plan for her entry to the lawn competition. 

There were a lot of times where James was outside too and they would talk sometimes. Most ribbing each other like petty housewives about the state of their various lawns. It brought a smile to her face more than she would like to admit. 

They had some nice normal discussion too. Lily had walked to the fence, holding the library’s copy of The Southern England Guide to Native Plants and Shrubs by Euphemia Potter. She wanted to ask James a question about one of the ivy species that was mentioned. 

He had gotten that same soft smile on his face when he saw the book and Lily had to ask again. 

“Did you know the author?” she asked, looking into his hazel eyes. 

He nodded. “My mum. She was a botanist. She came to Godric’s Hollow to observe how the competition was helping with local pollinating numbers. Met my dad, that year’s winner, and ended up staying.”

“That is so sweet!” Lily said, smiling a little before it fell. “Are your parents still around?”

He shook his head. “Dad passed away during my first year of uni. Mum passed away last November.”

“My dad passed away in sixth year,” she said. “It gets better, but it still hurts.”

They continued on, both talking a little more but still refusing to disclose what they were doing for the competition, even though Lily’s was a little more obvious with every passing day. James seemed to just be doing normal landscaping, besides his overgrown hedges. 

Lily began to notice a lot of things about James. Besides his tendency to speak without thinking, his heart is always in the right place. It caught Lily off-guard most times. 

Something shifted in her over the weeks as they worked on the lawns. 

It was two days before the competition when Lily got home to see James outside, hedge clippers by his feet as he examined his four very tall and overgrown bushes. 

“I hope you’re not planning to win with those,” Lily called. 

James smirked over to Lily. “Just wait until I give them a trim.”

“Nicely trimmed hedges aren’t going to beat my lawn.”

James looked at the monstrosity of Lily’s yard. There were lines of primrose flowers snaking through her front lawn and turning to the back. 

Lily had spent back-breaking hours and an embarrassing amount of money to make a maze of her yard. It wasn’t like a true maze, you could see every aisle because the primroses didn’t get very tall, but it was the end that really made it worth it. 

Lily had converted her small back patio to a fairy garden. She used hanging planters, climbing ivy, and lights to really make it special.

James hadn’t seen it yet. She was going to show him once she had won the competition. 

It wasn’t until the morning of the judging that Lily saw that she actually had competition. 

Standing proud at the edge of his lawn were four perfectly cut hedges in the shape of a deer, a dog, a wolf, and a large rat. 

Lily stood in awe by her window as James was taking small scissors and cutting more details and cleaning up lines. 

She opened up her front door and walked to her fence. James turned and met her with a smirk. 

“How did you do that?” she asked. 

“Good morning to you, too,” he said. “I watched a million Youtube videos.”

Lily brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she inspected the hedges behind me. “What’s the inspiration?”

“Have you heard Sirius call me Prongs?” James asked. 

Lily had heard their stupid nicknames in passing. She thought Peter was the worst but all of them were stupid. 

“Your stupid nicknames, yeah.”

“So I’m Prongs, Sirius is Padfoot, Remus is Moony, and Peter is Wormtail,” he said. Then made a sweeping gesture back to the hedges. 

She blinked in confusion as she looked back at the hedges. 

“I’m a little lost,” she admitted. 

James sighed. “So, I’m Prongs because Peter once told me the way my hair stands up looks like antlers. Sirius is Padfoot because he is the king of sneaking around. Remus is Moony because he exclusively wore those weird shirts that have wolves howling at the moon when we were 12.”

Lily let out a loud laugh, picturing a small Remus in those kinds of shirts.

“Peter?” she asked in-between laughs.  

“We were sworn to secrecy for that story,” he said. “He would actually murder me if I said it.”

Lily laughed and James joined in. 

The judging wasn’t until the afternoon, so Lily did some last-minute weeding and watering. She made sure the lights in the secret fairy garden still worked and made sure there were no dead leaves insight. 

James was standing on his lawn, talking to two of the most oddly dressed people Lily had ever seen. 

The woman was dressed in what Lily could only think of as a robe. It was a bright blue, with belled sleeves. The man was in similar clothes, but a blinding yellow with a long white beard. They both had hats that looked like top hats, only decorated with flowers. They also had clipboards in hand. 

Yet another town oddity that Lily would just have to brush off. 

James caught sight of Lily and waved her over. 

“This is another competitor. She just moved here about three months ago,” James told them as she neared. 

“Hello, I’m Lily,” she said upon arrival. 

“I’m Albus Dumbledore,” the man with a smile and twinkle in his eye. 

“I’m Minerva,” the woman said. 

Lily shook both of their hands. 

“We’ve been judging this competition for, what? Forty years, now Minerva?” Albus said as Lily raised her eyebrows, impressed. 

The woman pinched her lips and nodded. “Twice as long as these two have been alive.”

Lily, James, and Albus laughed. “Pleasantries aside, let’s get to judging.”

James and Lily stayed behind as they went and started looking at James’s hedges, inspecting it with great detail. 

“Still using those silly nicknames?” Minerva called, as she began writing down on her clipboard. 

“Of course,” James answered. “I would have put a mouse for you, Minnie, but we ran out of room.”

Lily nudged him as Minnie shot him a glare. “Unwise to insult the judges, James Fleamont.”

James frowned and Lily laughed. “Fleamont?” Lily asked. 

“That was my father’s name,” James replied. “And I got stuck with it as a middle name.” 

“I take it you know Minerva pretty well if she’s using your middle name?” Lily questioned. 

“Yeah, she was one of my mum’s best friends,” James sighed. “And before you think that means I have some kind of advantage, don’t. She’s going to judge mine ten times harder.”

It took about ten minutes before Minerva started snapping pictures and Albus stopped writing on his clipboard. 

“I think we’re ready to move on,” Albus said smiling. 

They came around the gate and Lily looked at them to the entrance of her lawn maze. James hopped the fence to join them and Lily laughed as she heard Minerva call him a showoff under her breath. 

“This is a maze made entirely out of primroses,” Lily said before stepping away from the entrance. “See if you can get to the end.”

“Normally, it’s customary not to be able to see all the different paths,” Minerva pointed out, looking across the tops of all the lines of flowers she had made. 

“Ah, but most can still get lost with directions in front of them,” Albus said, wisely. “Let’s see if we can win, Minerva.” 

They started off, Albus in the lead, who turned left towards the dead end. Minerva tapped him and made him go in the right direction, following her lead. 

Lily stayed by the entrance with James. He turned his back after a few seconds. 

“I want to do it by myself later,” he said. 

It took them about ten minutes before Lily saw them take the path that led them back to the secret fairy garden. She smirked at James when she heard Minerva’s surprised gasp and Albus’s appreciative chuckle. 

It took another ten minutes to take notes and pictures of it before they were saying their goodbyes. 

They were down the lane before James turned to Lily. 

“I’m doing the maze now,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement.  

Lily wandered behind him, laughing as he took the wrong turn that led him to exit that made him start all over. 

But eventually, he got it. And suddenly it was just her and James on her back patio, surrounded by ivy and twinkling lights. She even found a used metal patio furniture set that she placed.  It smelled good too, from the extra honeysuckle she placed back there. 

“Pretty nice, Evans,” James said, looking around. “And really good for your first year.”

Lily’s stomach swooped with praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “Your hedges are pretty nice too.”

It was shady in her garden area, so she invited James to sit until they announced the winner.

James told her the story about how he ruined his family’s competition entry by squishing a whole patch of Lily of the Valley’s because he thought they would be comfortable. Lily told him that her sister’s name was Petunia and that her mother was Violet. 

The hours flew by as they sat there and talked. Around six is when a moment of bravery came to Lily. 

“Want to go get dinner?” she asked him. 

A bright smile appeared on James’s face. “Like, just the two of us?”

“Yeah, just the two of us.”

“I’d love that,” James said, a hand coming up and raking through his hair. 

They stood up and were about to leave when James’s phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked down before gasping. 

“It’s Minnie!” he exclaimed. 

“With the results?” Lily asked, taking a step forward and invading James’s space. 

He didn’t seem to mind. “Yep… it looks like… Oh! I'm the runner up!”

“Who won?” she asked, frowning. 

James unlocked his phone and pocketed it. He looked at Lily with a soft smile. “Lily’s Maze and Enchanted Garden.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping closer. James nodded and their eyes locked. 

In the heat of the moment, Lily stood on tip-toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

Lily could have sworn that the world had slowed its rotation for a minute as pulled away and their eyes met again. It definitely stopped when James cupped her jaw and pulled her in for a real kiss. 

They both were smiling when James pulled away. She didn’t know how long they stared at each, smiling like loons until she found her voice again. 

“So, uh… Dinner?” she asked. James let out a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah, dinner.”

They just entered the maze again when Lily stopped and turned around. She got close to him again and he smiled, thinking she was going to kiss him again. 

Instead, she put a finger to his chest. 

“Dibs.”

[goldenraeofsun]

Good Ideas

1.5k of canon-divergence fluff, now on AO3!

Dean is almost finished with his standard gun cleaning (once a week whether they need it or not) when footsteps approach from outside his bedroom door. Heavier than Eileen but lighter than Sam - must be Cas. 

“What an awful day,” Cas sighs as he practically throws himself onto Dean’s prized memory foam mattress. He doesn’t even take his shoes off first, like an animal.

“Hello to you, babe,” Dean says, amused. He raises his head to fully look at Cas, now face planted into his pillow. Dean would like to say it’s unusual to see Cas this drained and frustrated after another shift at the Gas n Sip, but it’s become pretty much standard. And, because not-that-deep-down Dean’s a shitty person who lucked out and got a (fallen) angel to fall for him, he can’t entirely squash the pleased feeling in his gut that flares up every time Cas comes home to him, no matter the circumstances.

“Hello, Dean,” or that’s what Dean assumes Cas is saying, based on their past million and a half conversations over more than a decade.

Dean carefully sets down his colt and pads over to the bed. He takes a seat near Cas’s shins, the mattress slowly but surely dipping as it remembers Dean’s distinctive ass print. “What happened?”

“Humanity is stupid.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t have to tell me twice. What’d humanity do this time?”

Cas turns his head so he can glare balefully down at Dean with one brilliant blue eye. “Todd refilled the soda machine incorrectly. We had to reimburse ten customers who poured the wrong drinks despite the clear signs indicating the buttons were temporarily incorrect.”

“What a disaster,” Dean deadpans.

Cas groans a stream of indistinguishable words that might not even be English - knowing him, he’s probably insulting Todd’s mother ancient Aramaic or something - before he concludes, “It was a very uncomfortable situation. Todd is an imbecile.”

“Want me to kill him for you?” Dean asks casually.

Cas’s whole torso inflates with the depth of his sigh. “No,” he says, but the word is muffled and has zero conviction behind it.

“Come on,” Dean pokes Cas in the thigh. “You were the one who wanted this job in the first place. All the ‘human dignity’ you could choke down and all that crap.”

“I must’ve been mistaken.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Dean says, grinning as Cas rolls over so he’s lying normally on Dean’s bed. “Y’know, you could always do something else. Quit the Gas n Sip.”

“Like what?” Cas asks as he frowns up at the ceiling. “I don’t have much experience except in inventory management and customer service.”

“What about all your angel stuff?”

“I can hardly list ‘former Angel of the Lord’ on my resume,” Cas grumbles.

“You’ve got all those languages crammed in your brain, serious hand-to-hand skills - I could teach you all I know about cars, and you can add that.”

Cas gives a considering grunt.

“Look,” Dean says as he scoots further up the bed so he’s more aligned with Cas’s chest than his knees. “You were the one who was all gung-ho about getting a job to interact with normal people.”

“I needed a better baseline now I’m human because you and Sam are not ‘normal’ by any definition of the word,” Cas sniffs.

“Rude. Anyway, I told you to take things slow. So your first stab back at slumming it with regular folks isn’t going so great. Sometimes these things take a while to settle down,” Dean says, uncomfortably reminded of the time he had to comfort Sammy after three piano lessons didn’t turn him into the next Geoff Nicholls - or Elton John, as Dean had to amend after Sammy shot him a look of complete incomprehension.

“You don’t have to throw yourself into anything,” Dean adds gently to Cas. “We’ve got no big bad waiting out in the wings. It’s okay to take things one step at a time.”

“Because you provide such an excellent model of restraint and forethought,” Cas mutters.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Obviously. You don’t see me jumping back into Leave it to Beaver.”

“Because that’s not what you want,” Cas says, his eyes narrowing. “You said civilian life isn’t for you.”

Dean swallows. He pulls at a wrinkle in the sheets. “You so sure about that?”

Cas props himself up on his elbows, intrigued. “You’re truly considering retiring from hunting?”

Dean glances over at his guns, disassembled and gleaming on his desk. “I’ve been thinking about it. Sammy doesn’t go on many hunts anymore, says it’s more important to teach the next generation of fighters than handling everything by ourselves.”

“A wise thing to say, considering the limitations of the average human lifespan.”

“And you wonder why we never bring you to parties,” Dean says as Cas scowls in return, really only proving Dean’s point. “I’ve been looking into other stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not sure,” he admits. “Sam’s got his Hunter Hogwarts thing going on - I could help Sam out, but the thought of reading and assignments makes me want to throw myself out a window.”

“You do like to be more hands-on,” Cas says diplomatically.

Dean sighs, wistful. “If the Roadhouse was still around, I would’ve kicked ass there. Talking with veterans in the business, passing along intel, throwing out the occasional brawler.”

Cas cocks his head. “Why don’t you rebuild one?”

“What?”

“Another Roadhouse,” Cas says like it’s obvious. “Those hunters Sam is teaching, they will need another meeting point once they’ve completed their training.”

Dean gapes at him, trying not to get his hopes up. He can picture it with alarming clarity, him behind the bar, Cas sitting off to the side, pouring over the books or a translation for one of Sam’s kids.

But this thing with Cas is so new - rescuing Cas from the Empty, telling him haltingly and not in so many words Cas could have what he wanted after all, doing their weird not-dating thing that works for them. Dean can’t be sure they’re on the same page about this.

Cas is technically human, but so many parts of him are still pretty out there in terms of fitting in with normal people stuff. Dean suggested they go on an honest to God date about two weeks after that went down - dinner at a fancy place in Salina. He even looked it up on Yelp. But, naturally, Cas had to ask ahead of time what usually happened on a date - a real date, Dean, because Metatron’s pop culture dump gave me many false impressions of what is normal or healthy for humans. 

When Dean embarrassingly couldn’t think of a single thing people did on dates except eat and have sex, Cas went to Sam because apparently there are zero boundaries when it comes to Team Free Will. And Sam, like a total Samantha, said most people talked about their feelings and life goals.

To which Cas turned back to Dean, said those big, I love you, words like they’re nothing and everything, and added his life goal was not dying before spending the rest of his human life with Dean.

The fucker even looked pleased Dean didn’t have to shell out the dough for a fancy steak.

“You have enough connections in the community to round up a decent clientele base,” Cas continues. “Not to mention your reputation, which would go a long way towards drawing hunters you personally haven’t met before.”

Dean clears his throat. “You really think I could do something like that?”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” he says with that patented-Cas sincerity that Dean would call bullshit with anyone else. Cas continues, “Twenty-seven percent of restaurants fail in their first year, but I have every confidence in you beating the odds.”

Dean snorts. Even Cas’s Beautiful Mind statistics aren’t enough to bring his mood down.

“And if you need help…” Cas drifts off sheepishly, “I do have requisite experience managing inventory. I cut down on unsellable food by fifteen percent two weeks ago.”

“You’re a goddamn genius,” Dean breathes as he bends over Cas.

Cas smiles up at him. “Would you want to?”

“Would I - ?” Dean breaks off incredulously to kiss him. “Of couse I fucking want to. But you really think it’s a good idea?”

Cas purses his lips. “It was my suggestion in the first place.”

“But maybe you were just spitballing,” Dean hedges. “So if you really think restarting the Roadhouse would be a bad idea, I can take it.”

Cas wraps a hand around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer. “I don’t have bad ideas, Dean,” he murmurs.

That is so blatantly untrue, Dean almost bursts out laughing. But before he can make a sound, Cas’s other hand slides underneath his shirt, his fingers tapping lightly against the buckle of Dean’s belt. Dean raises his head to catch sight of Cas's face, and Cas’s eyes are dark with want.

Alright, so in times like these, Dean can admit Cas can have a good idea or two.

[zimms]

an olliewicks flower shop au to soothe the soul! this is somewhat based on mine and @tingo-tango’s tags on this post. 

fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels

Ollie’s wrist-deep in a pot of soil, sweat rolling down his cheeks and sunlight streaming through the windows of Faber’s Flowers, when the shop’s bell rings and a new customer stumbles through the door. Ollie frowns slightly and hastily wipes the beads of sweat off his chin with the corner of his shirt, before plastering on his best customer service smile to greet whoever needs flowers at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning. He mentally catalogues the possibilities; maybe they’ve forgotten their spouse’s birthday? Or maybe it’s a gift for someone at work? Maybe it’s an apology present because they accidentally cycled into a fruit stall and ruined a fresh batch of melons? 

(Okay, maybe not, but it would be a refreshing change in the cycle of constant businessmen grovelling for their partner’s forgiveness)

Ollie shakes himself from his thoughts and grins across the counter at the customer, who’s sporting a baseball cap and a t-shirt that sits just right across his broad shoulders. Ollie’s eyes track down the guy’s biceps which are a tad too big for the sleeves. Ollie consciously shut his mouth to stop himself from gaping; this guy was hot. As Ollie’s gaze roams across the customer’s face to meet his eyes, he realises three things. Number one is that he definitely shouldn’t be ogling a customer like he’s a piece of meat. Number two is that he hasn’t said anything to this guy yet. Number three is that at least a minute of awkward silence and staring has passed since the customer entered the shop. 

Ollie rips his eyes away from the customer’s face to stare at a spot slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”

The guy shifts on the balls of his feet, scanning the shelves of bouquets and individual flowers. “Erm, I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my mom?” His voice raises at the end of his sentence, which is kind of cute, if Ollie does say so. He rubs the back of his neck and his checks flush pink. “I kinda need to apologise to her.”

Ah, a classic apology scenario. Got it. 

“What’s the apology for?” Ollie asks as he turns to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands. “Not that you have to tell me that is; it just might help as we make the bouquet.” He unravels the roll of tissue paper and cuts off a square to package the flowers in. 

Hot Guy winces. “Ah,” he says, “I kinda got into a fight in front of her the other night. She was not happy to say the least, so I figured I might as well get her some flowers to apologise for it.” 

“Cool, cool.” Ollie grins at him. “What kinda flowers do you want for her?” He gestured to the whole shop, where various buckets of flowers lined the walls, each displaying a different species. “We can get her just a plain old bunch that’s all just the same type of flower, or we could mix and match, create a nice piece of artwork that she’ll admire rather than a bunch that’s boring and all the same.”

Hot Guy’s eyes flick up from the counter and meet Ollie’s own, moving slowly up his body. If Ollie was feeling particularly optimistic, he’d say the guy was checking him out, but he pushes that thought to the corner of his mind because he’s made way too many faux-pas in the past by asking out guys that have come into the shop just for all of them to be straight. Hot Guy clears his throat. “Yeah, a mixture sounds good. I know her favourite flowers are hyacinths if that helps?”

“That’s perfect.” Ollie shoots him the most reassuring smile he can think of, eyes softening. He grabs the bucket of blue hyacinths that sit behind him. “These alright?” 

“Yeah, those are great,” Hot Guy says a little hoarsely, squinting at Ollie’s name tag, “Ollie.” Something settles in Hot Guy’s voice and he seems a bit more comfortable. 

“So, why'd you get into a fight in front of your mom?” Ollie reaches for the bucket of Narcissus behind him and waves a bunch at Hot Guy for affirmation. He nods in return. “Doesn’t seem like the best idea to me-” Ollie trails off, hoping that Hot Guy might get the hint and finally introduce himself. 

“Oh, uh, Pacer.” He coughs and the remaining tension leaks out of his posture. “Nah, a guy said something about Ma, and you know, I had to rush to defend her like the rash idiot I am.” 

Ollie laughs. “At least, it’s one of the more noble reasons to get into a fight. There’s a bit more chance of forgiveness, then.”

Pacer nods and his gaze wanders away from where Ollie is deftly making the bouquet to settle on the purple Clematis. 

“You like them?” Ollie makes a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands and Pacer passes the bucket over to him. Their hands briefly brush each other during the exchange and Ollie does everything in his power to ignore the jolt that goes through him at that brief skin to skin contact. “You’ve got a good eye; I was just about to grab them myself.”

“Yeah, my mom loves blue and yello-” Pacer cuts himself off with a sneeze. “Also, aren’t they the colours of the local hockey team around here? The Falcons?” Although he has a completely clueless tone to his voice, Pacer is studying Ollie’s reaction as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. 

“Yeah, the Falcs! I only get to see them every so often, but they’re great,” Ollie says, doing his level best to ignore Pacer’s sudden intensity. “I was actually on the same team as Jack Zimmermann in college, which was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Pacer’s enigmatic expression becomes even more indecipherable. “That is pretty cool.” He looks slightly over his shoulder towards the street before meeting Ollie’s eyes and flashing a genuine smile at him. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself, you know.”

Ollie tries to convince himself that the bubble of excitement that rushes through him is because Pacer is such a good conversationalist and not for any other reason, like the fact that they have a couple of things in common, or that Pacer is one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen. 

(He fails.)

_X_

Pacer leaves about forty minutes later, with a bouquet and handwritten note in hand and a smile fixed firmly on his face. When Ollie goes to scrub down the counter and start repotting the plant he’d abandoned when Pacer had arrived, he spots a scrap of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. The note is pretty cute; it’s a string of numbers and a smiley face, accompanied by a couple of lines from Pacer.

Would you like to go I would have asked you out earlier, but my tea friend always says it’s bad form to hit on workers whilst they’re on shift. Anyway, here’s my number if you want to go out some time? Call m Don’t worry if you don’t though!

- Pacer 

Ollie grins as he opens up his phone to add the number to his contacts, but pauses as he sees a Google Alert come through that he’s set up for the Falcs. The text reads, Providence Falconers acquire forward Pacer Wicks from Colorado Avalanche in exchange for a second round pick in the 2022 NHL Draft, and immediately underneath the caption, Pacer’s smiling face stares out at him. 

Pacer’s voice echoes in his mind. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.”

Played a bit of hockey himself? Ollie cannot believe this guy. He plays in the fucking NHL and all he says is “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.” 

However, Ollie thinks as he opens up the article to see a picture of a bruised Pacer from his last game with the Avs, it would explain why he needed to apologise for fighting in front of his mom. 

_X_

Now that Ollie is aware of Pacer Wicks’ existence, he seems to follow him everywhere. Well, not Pacer exactly, but his name. 

It begins, like many things, at the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” the cashier asks, as she’s scanning his groceries two days after Pacer first came into the florist’s. “Are you that hockey player? Pacer Wicks?” 

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t think that him and Pacer look that similar, but then again, Pacer’s only been in Providence a couple of days, so people don’t exactly know what he looks like yet. “No, sorry.”

The cashier purses her lips, taking a moment to study him again before ringing him up. “Huh, sorry! You guys just look really alike is all.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ollie gathers up his groceries. “These things happen sometimes.”

(He almost texts Pacer to tell him about it, but, as Ollie looks at the clock on his phone, he realises that Pacer probably isn’t going to want to receive a message about how someone thought they looked similar mid-way through his game against the Pens.

Also, he’d have to wish him luck and honestly, as much as Ollie loves the Falcs, he wouldn’t wish them too much luck against his hometown team.)

_X_

ollie

hey! i’ve finished off that other apology bouquet for your ma!

let me know when you want to swing by and pick it up!

also i was watching the game tonight; do you need me to make up another identical one for your ma, or do you wanna come into the shop to choose this one?

pacer

thanks ol! i’ll probably swing by to pick it up tomorrow and then help make the next one at the same time?

ollie

sounds like a plan!!

_X_

When he said these things happen sometimes to that cashier in the grocery store, he didn’t expect them to happen all the goddamn time. Be it at his favourite café, on the street, or on the commuter rail, someone always, always, asks if he’s Pacer Wicks. 

_X_

ollie

oof that hit from eriksen looks like it’s gonna leave a mark

pacer

yeah, half my face is swollen

ollie

yikes

pacer

i assume we’re still on for dinner in a couple of days right?

even if my stunning visage has been marred by the fists of a schooner

ollie

that was a very weird way of putting it

but yeah, i still wanna go out with you even if your face looks like a dodgeball

_X_

A girl taps him on the shoulder at Bitty’s Bites downtown. “Excuse me, are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie smiles sheepishly at her, brandishing his coffee cup with a scrawled Oily on it as if it might keep the Pacer Wicks fans away. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong dude.”

He hurries out of there as quickly as his legs can take him after that, hands fumbling for his phone so that he can text Pacer about it.

ollie

jdshjkdsjh a girl just asked if i was you

pacer

oh?

ollie

yeah, i don’t really know why so many people ask if i’m you

especially as they usually ask when you’re on a roadie??

so i don’t get why they know who you are without knowing the falcs’ schedules

pacer

maybe they’re a fan of my dashing good looks rather than my hockey?

isn’t that why you agreed to go out with me after all?

Ollie grins to himself before sending back three words.

don’t push it

_X_

He’s less generous to the guy on the commuter rail, but in fairness that’s mainly because he stole the last seat just before Ollie could get there and it’s 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hockey pl-?”

Ollie barely looks up from his phone before cutting him off with a sharp “No.”

_X_

Today, someone even asks him at the flower shop.

“No,” he says, heaving the deepest sigh he can whilst still remaining in customer service mode, “I think Pacer Wicks might have other things to do on a Saturday afternoon than work the till at a flower shop.” He shuts the cash drawer on the register with a bang and hands the customer their change and bouquet as quickly as he can. “Thank you for shopping with us! Enjoy your day!” 

He collapses back onto the wooden stool that he keeps behind the counter, taking a breather for approximately five seconds before a laugh echoes through the shop. Ollie jumps half a foot in the air before locating Pacer, who’s stood in the corner of the shop inspecting a piece of sea holly. 

He’s dressed up pretty nicely considering hockey players’ notoriously bad fashion sense, wearing a button-up, a nice pair of jeans that do all the right things for his hockey butt, and his ever-present baseball cap, but this time, unlike his first visit to the shop, it’s sat backwards on his head. He spins around to face the back of the shop, grinning his face off. “I’m impressed by the fact that she asked you that whilst I was standing in the shop and she still didn’t notice me.” He laughs, smirking across at Ollie. “Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, some people are surprisingly oblivious sometimes,” he says, “but also, I don’t look that much like you?” He pauses, trying to work out what Pacer’s face means. He places his hands on his hips and jokingly rounds on Pacer. “Do I?” 

Pacer chuckles, taking a few steps closer so that he’s leaning against the counter. “Not that much, but would it be so bad if you looked like me?” A mock-wounded expression plays across his features as he presses his hand to his chest. 

Ollie takes off his apron and hangs it up behind the counter. “Nope, because you are extremely hot.” He threads his fingers through the hockey player’s belt loops to pull him closer, feeling emboldened by Pacer’s flirting. “And if that means that people are inadvertently calling me hot whilst asking if I’m you?” He shrugs. “I can live with it.”

Pacer has to lower his gaze to meet Ollie’s eyes, the two inch height difference between them clearly obvious, even if Ollie is six foot, thank you very much. “You were right about something though,” Pacer murmurs, “I do have better things to do than stand in a flower shop on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Like what?” Ollie raises an eyebrow.

Pacer smiles softly down at him, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with Ollie’s. “Like taking the cute florist that works there on a date for starters.” Pacer starts to move them towards the shop’s entrance. “There’s this lit-” He sneezes abruptly.

Ollie tilts Pacer’s head downwards. “That’s like the fourth time you’ve sneezed in the shop.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek, frowning when he sees that Pacer’s eyes are slightly red. “Are you okay?”

Pacer waves him off. “Yeah, it’s fine; my antihistamines just wore off.”

His-? Ollie furrows his eyebrows before leading his date out of the shop. “Pacer, are you allergic to flowers?” 

“No?” Pacer’s sheepish and slightly bunged up reply says everything that Ollie needs to know.

“Fuck, Pace, why have you been coming to the shop so much if you’re allergic? Surely you don’t like the aesthetics of flowers that much that you need to torture your sinuses every spare minute of the day.” Ollie pinches the bridge of his nose, voice full of exasperation.

Pacer holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defence, the first few times were because I did need to buy Ma flowers, but I didn’t keep coming back because the flowers were pretty.” He pulls Ollie close and frames his face with his hands. “I came back because the florist was.”

_X_

The final time Ollie is mistaken for Pacer is five years later as he’s heading towards the arena for Pacer’s final game of the season. In fairness, dressed in a Wicks jersey and a Falcs snapback, he probably looks more like Pacer now than he has at any time since he first got mistaken for him in the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” A teenager taps him on the shoulder, their arm slung around a friend. “Are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie grins at the kid. “Nope,” he says, trying not to take too much joy in the hope fading from the fan’s eyes before he drops the bombshell, “I am his husband though.”

“Really?” The teenager’s eyes light up. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ollie holds up his phone screen to show the kid a photo of Pacer kissing his cheek, just so that they know he’s not lying. “D’you wanna meet him after the game?” He smirks at them. “After all, I do know a guy.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.18 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch has already dealt with the local sheriff about his adventures in the local woods. Seems like Edge might have a thing or three to say.

~~*~~

Read ‘Electric Boogaloo’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was funny how some things become automatic. Stretch was still thinking about Buford when Edge came into the store not long after the sheriff left. Still thinking about those strange white eyes of his, wondering at exactly how much he could see. How much, how far, how deep did it go. Stretch knew a little something himself about seeing a bit too much.

Still, habits were habits. Even though his mind wasn’t necessarily working in the here and now, Stretch automatically stood up straight and greeted Edge when he came in, customer service skills were a heck of a learned trait, even if he was the only one who worked here that had them.

“morning, hey, what’s up? what do you—" need, he didn’t get to say. He barely had time to notice that Edge didn’t look like his normal gorgeous self, hips notwithstanding. Sure, he was wearing his normal motorhuckle gear and he was walking like he was on his way to kill Captain America. But he looked pale, his skull chalk-white and stark, his eye lights faded to a shade closer to dull pink.

That wasn’t what cut off his ‘can i help you’ spiel. Nope, that was Edge stalking right over to the counter and around it into the register area. Stretch found himself roughly pulled into Edge’s arms and held in a painfully tight hug that nearly threatened to crack ribs.

Okay? This was new but fuck it if Stretch wasn’t going to go for it. He wrapped both arms around Edge and squeezed back, relished the feel of that long, lean body against his own, even buffered under a layer of leather. “um. hi?”

Edge said nothing, only held on, with all ten fingers digging in through the back of Stretch’s t-shirt and damned if he was gonna try fight his way loose. Was it his imagination or was Edge shaking a little? Or maybe that was the earth moving under his feet because Edge smelled so good, no bone cologne could compare. Like spice and woodsmoke, like the heavenly pies he made for Mama’s.

Nothing to be done for it, might as well dive into the deep end and see if he could drown. Stretch closed his sockets and basked in it, reveled in it. Maybe this was some weird frosting on top of an already bizarre cake but Stretch really wanted his slice.

After a minute, Edge was showing no signs of letting up and much as Stretch would’ve been perfectly fine standing like this all day, probably he should say something. It’d be pretty hard to run register if he was stuck to Edge like a conjoined twin and considering that they were sort of the same person, maybe better not to risk it.

It was just a damn shame that Stretch was so shitty at digging beneath the layers of other people’s traumas. Hell, he could barely take a shovel to his own.

He managed to work up enough air to wheeze out, “is…something wrong?” A horrible thought occurred. What if he wasn’t the only person the lady ghoul went to visit last night? Maybe she took the nickel tour of the woods, maybe Buford’s all-seeing eye blinked and missed something. “is frisk okay?”

“Yes,” Edge choked out. His voice was muffled into Stretch’s shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Stretch shifted in his arms and only managed about an inch in any direction. “don’t take this the wrong way, but as fine as this feels, you don’t seem fine.”

That didn’t get any reply. Instead, Edge loosened his grip just enough to press his face into the hollow of Stretch’s collarbone where he inhaled deeply, mouth opened as if he wanted to taste whatever scent gathered there, get the whole experience.

Um. Holy shit. Okay, well, that was a fetish Stretch never knew he had, and if he wasn’t pinned like a sardine in Edge’s kung-fu grip, he might’ve honest to angel flailed at the feel of damp, hot breath against his clavicles. Every time Edge decided to go through his scratch ‘n sniff routine, it sent willie wonkers tingling right up his spine and right down his pants. All he could do was grit his teeth and stare blankly up at the ceiling as he tried desperately not to embarrass himself any more than the usual.

Finally, all too soon, Edge drew away. He took two steps back, putting some distance between them. He seemed almost embarrassed now and Stretch could only reluctantly let him go.

He was really, really grateful for his work apron right about now; good for catching dust and gook, with a side bonus of hiding inconvenient boners. Hopefully it wasn’t the not-at-all-a-pencil-in-his-pocket that chased Edge away. “not that i mind, like, really not, but you think you could let me in on what that was all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, stiffly. He crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and looked anywhere but at Stretch.

“uh, nope,” Stretch shook his head, “no apologies, hugs are free real estate.” He’d been this close to Edge before a couple of times but always before there had been distractions. Now looking at him was the distraction and Stretch let his gaze linger on the razer-sharp lines of his cheekbones, the tight narrowing of his eye sockets. The crack that ran through his left socket was obviously old, the edges worn relatively smooth, smoother than their owner.

Edge still didn’t look at him, not directly, anyway. A flick of his eye lights towards Stretch, then back away as he said, tightly. “We came very close to losing you last night. It was…upsetting.”

Oh.

Well, good news traveled fast, didn’t it, basically at the speed of light around these parts. He wondered glumly if Red was in his apartment busily composing a profanity-laden symphony titled ‘I Told You So.’

“How did you know?” Stretch sighed out. Maybe Frisk was tuned in to the local airwaves or Edgar Allen might branch out into branches instead of corn gossip.

“Buford,” Edge admitted. “He is the town constable, he looks after the town. Literally, in his case.”

Also had a big mouth, seemed like. “yeah, uh, he showed me his eyes.”

“Did he?” Edge seemed surprised, then pleased. “He usually wears his sunglasses. He rarely takes them off when he’s on duty because outsiders tend to find his eyes unsettling. But yes, it’s his duty to watch out for problems and he does it well.”

Stretch nodded slowly, “must be tough on him sometimes, seeing all that.” He had a little personal experience in that.

“Buford does his duty,” Edge said with a certain finality. Welp, looked like that topic was done and Stretch was fine with that since Edge was starting to look a little calmer. His eye lights weren’t on Stretch’s but lower, focused more on the mouth region and when Stretch flicked his tongue across his teeth nervously, those crimson lights went heavy and dark.

To his disappointment, Edge didn’t go for Ginormous Hug 2: Electric Boogaloo. Instead, he reeled back, shaking himself visibly and turning towards the door. “Well. I only wanted to check in on you, I should be going.”

“wait!” Stretch blurted and Edge hesitated, raising one browbone. “don’t go, not yet.”

He waved a hand in offering at the stool behind the counter and after a moment of hesitation, Edge stepped around the dog and took it. Mutt never stirred, burrowed down in the blanket Red had laid down for him, snoring away. Good thing they hadn’t been in the market for a guard dog.

Stretch hopped up on the counter to sit, (hey, his butt was cleaner than the whole store had been when he first got here) and wondered what the hell to do now. He’d wanted Edge to stay and now he didn’t know what to talk about. Every other chat they’d had was about some kind of Backwater weirdness, the peanut butter and pickle sandwich version of a conversation. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to have a white bread and butter chat.

Edge seemed to agree. He swiped a finger along one of the shelves behind the counter and checked the results, finding it to be relatively dust-free. “The store is looking much better since my brother hired you on.”

“yeah,” Stretch latched on to that topic gratefully, it was marginally better than bringing up the weather. “try to keep up on it. he’s paying me well enough for it, plus room and board, figured i can do my mr clean impression.” He gave the top of his skull a pat. “i’ve already got the bald part down.”

Edge made a rough, scoffing sound and even that was somehow delicious in that voice of his. “I suspect most of what fills up your board comes from my kitchen.”

Stretch suspected the same but leapt to his landlord’s defense, anyway, he owned Red that much and more. “hey, red is a damn fine microwave wrangler when he puts his mind to it.” Okay, so that was less of a leap than a trip and miss, but he’d tried. Maybe better to steer the topic boat out of the rapids and into calmer water. “my bro likes to cook, too.”

“Is he very good?” Edge leaned forward curiously, propping his chin up on a hand.

Woah, wait, abandon ship, that was not calmer waters, that was a storm a’brewing, a freaking typhoon. “good is relative,” Stretch said stoutly.

“Ah,” One corner of Edge’s mouth curled up into a smile. “Rest assured, I would never force you to disparage your brother’s cooking. If it’s any comfort, my recipes were somewhat unique when we first came here as well. Like the garden, it took some time for my skills to come into bloom.”

“seriously?” There was a little too much naked relief in that one word but fuck it, Blue wasn’t here to hear it, “so how many years until he’s less ‘nailed it’ and more ‘chef’s table’?”

That half-smile widened. “Time is also relative, as are brothers. How is your brother, I’m assuming he’s still back in Ebott. Have you spoken to him since you came here?”

Welp, he’d avoided the storm only to end up in shark-infested waters, wasn’t that just his luck, “sort of,” Stretch hedged.

Edge’s teeth parted in a silent ‘ah’ as he successfully decoded that message. “You texted him. Well, that’s better than leaving him completely in the dark.”

“i think he’s doing okay. he was even before i left.” He really hoped so, but then, Blue settled in easily enough from the start. From the Human’s perspective, his bro looked a little like he’d stepped out of some kind of cartoon. He was small and adorable, his starry eye lights in his huge sockets were as cute as if Disney blessed him from beyond the grave. Stretch didn’t begrudge his brother for that, ‘course he didn’t, but that didn’t make his own experiences easy cheesy. “frisk was pretty right about ebott. when it comes to monsters, it sure isn’t backwater.”

“I’m sorry.” Said with enough quiet sincerity to make Stretch shift uncomfortably.

He shrugged weakly. “eh, not your fault.”

“No, but I can still let you share your pains.” Edge reached up and took his hand. He rubbed a scarred thumb gently over his knuckles and Stretch caught his breath. “You know, I used to dream about coming to the surface. Back in my world, in the Underground. Frisk told you that it was a place of LV, not love. My brother and I spent much of our time there simply struggling to survive.” The reminiscence in Edge’s voice held no hint of fondness, but there was a certain faint wistfulness. “I had such grand dreams of what the surface world would be like back then. Hope was difficult to come by in my universe, I never truly believed a human would come and when they did, well.” Edge chuckled and there was the fondness missing from before. “Frisk was not at all what I imagined.”

“did the surface world live up to your dreams?” Stretch asked, curiously. His own dreams of the Aboveground were shaken to their foundations barely an hour into the sunlight, when the first Humans to arrive greeted them not with welcome, but with automatic rifles.

“In some ways,” Edge said. “Mostly, it’s very different from what I imagine. But like Frisk, not necessarily in a bad way.”

“ebott is sure fucking different then i imagined,” Stretch only realized how hard he was squeezing Edge’s hand when both of their joints popped. He loosened his grip, then pulled away entirely, picking up the pen from the counter to fiddle with; at least if he broke that, he’d be the only one stained. “doesn’t matter, anyway. i’m not there right now, am i.”

“Indeed not. You’re here, and Backwater is probably as different from Ebott as it is the Underground.” Edge stood in a jangling, creaking rhapsody of leather and buckles. “On that note, I do need to get going.”

Stretch stood too, hopping down from the counter. Much as he’d like Edge to stay, he did have some work to get done and who knew what Edge needed to get back to. “thank you for checking in on me.”

“Of course.” Too fast for Stretch to do more than blink, Edge leaned in and Stretch stood frozen as he pressed a chaste kiss to his cheekbone, the delicate scrape of his teeth almost ticklish against sensitive bone. He pulled back before Stretch managed to gather up all his scattered wits, and his smile was the soft, real one as he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“soon,” Stretch parroted dumbly. He stood there like an idiot and watched Edge leave, only coming back to himself at the jangle of the bell over the door. Then he cursed himself, roundly and in every language he knew, including modified flamespeak. Smooth moves, there, Marvin Gaye, couldn’t even turn your head for a real kiss? Just stood there with crotch plug store book and didn’t even try to kick it up a notch? But he’d gotten one hell of a hug and a hand fondle, that was worth nearly getting eaten by Lady Cthulhu out there.

Well, almost.

“mind not getting your sop all over my counter?”

Stretch whirled around, barely managing not to trip over his own feet, to see Red standing in the hallway entrance. He was leaning heavily on his cane with a brutally unimpressed look on his face.

Fuck.

“i’m sorry—” Stretch began and faltered, unsure of what to say. He’d tried to listen to Red, he really had. He’d warned Stretch against starting anything with his bro from the beginning, offered plenty of warnings against rebound fucks and people getting hurt, and Stretch had tried. Except he hadn’t, had he, not really, and he could try to blame Edge’s hips and that gorgeous voice all he wanted; in the end, it was his fault, just like everything else. He hadn’t really been fighting that hard, why would he, it wasn’t like he wanted to win.

Red only sighed heavily and waved him off. “ain’t nothing to be sorry for. toldja before, i ain’t worried about my bro. you’re the one keepin’ me awake at night.”

“speaking of worrying,” Stretch took a deep breath before plunging forward, away from the sharks and heading into the shallows where the piranhas swam. “look, before anyone else decides to spill the beans, i need to tell you something.”

Red held up a hand and Stretch fell silent. “lemme get my coffee first.”

Coffee sounded better than it had any right to and, in his chest, Stretch’s soul gave an uncomfortable lurch like it could hop out and get a cup of its own. Hopefully, he asked, “can i get some?”

“yeah, sure,” Red turned back towards the apartment and tossed back over his shoulder, “whatcha want in it?”

“honey?” May as well dream big.

“yeah, darlin’?”

What? ”No!” Stretch blurted. “I mean…I didn’t…”

“yeah, yeah,” Red snickered. “i gotcha, brat.”

It was both entirely too long and much too quickly that Red made his way back with two heavy white mugs that looked as if they’d been stolen from Mama’s diner. He handed one to Stretch and settled in to lean against the counter, sipping from his own. “so, this about why you and my bro were cozying up behind the counter?”

“uh, sort of,” Stretch hedged. He stalled by taking a sip of his coffee, glorying in the thick, over-sweetened brew. “he came by because buford got a hold of him.”

Red lurched upright as if someone goosed him right on his tailbone. Hot coffee sloshed over his hand and he hissed, shaking his wet, stinging fingers as he demanded, “he did what now? what the fuck happened?”

“it’s not that bad.”

It was a weak attempt at best, not that it mattered. Red didn’t fall for it in the slightest. He didn’t move, there was no noticeable change in his breathing or posture, but the sardonic humor that seemed to cling to Red like another shirt evaporated entirely and left behind nothing but cold sincerity. “buford don’t exactly text, he don’t get ahold of anyone unless—” Red stopped and gave Stretch a coolly assessing glance that he squirmed beneath. Quietly, he said, “kid, what did you do?”

“i didn’t do it!” Stretch blurted and no amount of defending himself to his own brother or even the Ebott police could have prepared him for this. “the dog ran off, but i didn’t go into the woods! not until—there was this…this thing!” Stretch gestured wildly, trying ineffectively to convey with skinny bone hands the shadowy, awful creature that lured him into the dark last night. He couldn’t hold back a shudder of revulsion, simply thinking about it was filling him with a renewed sense of horror. “it looked like a woman and then it didn’t, she was singing, she was doing something, and i couldn’t stop myself, i couldn’t even think!”

He stopped, panting, and Red said nothing. He only stood there statue-still and Stretch would have given about anything for the door to open, the bell to jangle as someone looking for a fresh supply of ass wipers broke that awful silence.

Desperately, Stretch pressed on, letting out a nervous laugh. “anyway, i’m okay. she didn’t touch me or bite me or anything. i got out okay.” He didn’t mention the bone dragon, wasn’t even sure why, but Red was still frozen and silent over hearing about one terrifying encounter, maybe better not to mention two.

“red?” Stretch tried, hating how his voice sounded so small and forlorn. In a dismal corner of his mind, he was already mentally packing his bags. He couldn’t go back to Ebott, not now, not yet, but where else could he go, what other job could he possibly find? Maybe a waiter at Mama’s or maybe the thrift shop needed a helping hand. He didn’t know. The little money he had wouldn’t last long and definitely not in a bigger city. He didn’t really have any options, no choices at all.

He jerked back as Red suddenly jolted into movement, limping around the counter without his cane. He staggered almost drunkenly and then swung around to violently ram his fist into the first rack of the shelves. The wooden frame rocked and groaned, scattering boxes and cans to the floor on either side. A small bag of cornmeal fell and burst open, scattering dusty yellow across the floorboards.

“i…i’ll just…” Stretch couldn’t say go, he couldn’t, saying it would make this real, and he couldn’t let it be real. He took a step towards the hallway, tasting heavy tears on the back of his tongue.

Red’s voice stopped him, “kid.”

Stretch stood there and watched Red wrap both arms around himself. The fingers of one hand were streaked with marrow, he’d probably cracked his phalanges, but Red only shuddered faintly, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a shaky rattle as he said, “if i’d’ve known she was awake, i woulda warned ya.”

Oh.

Oh, that made a terrible amount of sense and it didn’t make Stretch feel one fucking bit better to realize that Red wasn’t mad at him.

“it’s fine, red,” Stretch said, gently. It was hard to bank his own fears, but he managed, “it’s not your fault. i’m okay.”

Red heaved out a hitching little sigh and Stretch didn’t need Buford’s powers or his own magic to see that Red didn’t believe that, not even a little.

“okay,” he muttered under his breath, low and indistinct, “okay, okay.” Then louder, “okay, kid, get on out of here.”

“you’re firing me?” Stretch blurted, horrified. He’d begun to believe it was all right, more fool he, hadn’t he had the rug ripped out from under him enough times by now, when would he ever learn?

“what?” Red said, aghast. “fuck no! take a little time off, is all, after a shitty night like that, you need it. go see a movie, ‘wizard of oz’ ’s playin’, think it’ll be right up your alley.”

Relief left him weak, but he made no move towards the door. “but. your hand?”

“what about my hand?” Red raised his browbones and his hand at once and Stretch stared at the clean, pristine bones in confusion, what the fuck, he was sure he’d seen—

“okay, but,” Stretch still didn’t want to leave, some part of him vaguely convinced that if he left he wouldn’t be able to come back, like this shabby little store was some kind of fae place. “here, let me clean up.”

“i can fucking clean,” Red said impatiently. “been doing it since long before you got here.” He hooked his perfectly unbroken thumb at the door, “now, git! scoot!”

It seemed better not to comment on Red’s cleaning skills. Stretch hung up his apron and obediently scooted while Red limped over to the broom.

Outside, the temperature was just above a swelter. Stretch headed towards the theater even as the kids pulled up by the shop and dropped their bikes to head in, about five minutes too late.

Red had the right idea, he decided tiredly. A movie sounded like a good idea right about now. If, that was, he could stay awake through the opening credits.

tbc

[jooniperhun]

The End of the Rainbow | ot7 (1)

pairing: tall!black!reader x bts, poc!reader x bts, woc!reader x bts, black!reader x bts

genre: fluff, strangers to friends to (maybe) lovers [later], romance [later], comedy, misunderstandings [later], (slight) angst [later], smut (maybe??) [later], idol!au

rating: PG-14

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing

notes: the boys won’t make an appearance until chapter 2 but there is some foreshadowing in there (hint hint); pretend that corona never happened; most of the geographical locations/distances will either be made up or not named because I’ve never been to Korea lol whoops; this reads more like a reader-insert sorry that’s my default writing setting; and the boys’ backstories and such won’t be all that accurate because I’m the author and I say so teehee :)

“Text like this is spoken in Korean.”

“Text like this is spoken in English.”

summary: Your current job as a travelling housesitter has taken you to many places, some strange and many wonderful. When the acquisition of a new client takes you to Korea for three months, you wonder if your self-esteem can survive being around so many other-worldly looking people. Also, not to be paranoid or anything, but maybeperhaps you’re being stalked by the same seven strangers? They’re pretty loud and always surrounded by a tonne of people, so you write it off the first few times.

But this shit is getting excessive, chile. And annoying…

Rhetorical question, but what lies at the end of a rainbow? You hope that it’s a pot of gold, but with the way that your luck has soured, it might just be seven short(er than you), rowdy leprechauns ready to flip your world sideways…

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Usually, when it came to social outings, ___ would go out of her way to make sure that she looked her best. Her wild mane would be tamed, her makeup would be carefully, painstakingly applied, and her clothes wouldn’t hold a single wrinkle. This, however, isn’t ‘usually’— this is an airport, and ___ currently couldn’t find it within herself to give a single, flying fuck about her appearance after the flight that she had just had. 

That isn’t to say that it was terrible— she was flying first class, for Christ’s sake! Not to mention that she didn’t have to spend a single dime on it (excluding the multiple new outfits and lashes that she purchased for herself because if she was anything, it was slightly vain). But a roughly 18 hour flight, combined with slight motion sickness? It doesn’t matter how comfortably she had dressed, or how attentive the flight attendants were, or how delicious the food was— ___ walked off of the landing strip probably looking exactly as she felt (read: terrible). 

Luckily, the good thing about airports was that she wasn’t the only one. No one paid her any mind, too worried about themselves and finding their respective luggages and families to be giving some rando more than a passing glance. 

She was officially in Seoul, South Korea, and she couldn’t read a damn thing.

Okay— slight exaggeration. Most of the signs had English (and Spanish, and Chinese, and Japanese) translations beneath the larger blocks of Korean, but her damn near-blind ass missed that the first time around. 

The airport looked as airports tended to look— large, modern, and clean. There was a beautiful netting of glass in the ceiling that let gentle rays of sunlight in. The walls were similarly comprised of the netting design and slanted outwards, away from all of the passengers. Statues and abstract constructions divided the masses. People from all walks of life milled around, looking for their luggage or anxiously waiting for their plane to arrive.

Incheon International Airport, Terminal One, Flight DL27. ___ reminded herself over and over of the number of where she would go for Baggage Claim, scanning the area and mumbling slightly to herself. She adjusted her dark shades and hefted her purse (her only carry-on) higher onto her shoulders, following the crush of fellow passengers into the depths of the fragile looking place. 

There were a lot of people walking around with black facemasks and shades on, so she was glad that she wasn’t the only shady-looking sista walking around. Inwardly snorting at her own pun, ___ nearly walked past her destination. 

It was honestly this part of each trip that gave her the most anxiety— that is, waiting for her suitcase to come around on the conveyor belt.

She had heard and read multiple horror stories about too many passengers never recovering their luggage. Either stolen, lost, or dropped from the airplane itself— if it could go wrong, it went wrong. But it’s not like hers’ is particularly interesting to look at. It was a simple, standard black. Only a red, knotted ribbon tied around the handle marked it as her own.

Ten minutes of fretful bag checking later, ___ finally found it. She gave a silent sigh of relief and turned towards the exit. Then, her anxiety flared right back up when she realized that she would have to hail a taxi to get to her destination. 

Honestly, her people-meter was getting a little bit too full for her to actually be initiating direct human interaction right now. 

But she would persevere! Even if her persistence could use a bit of work, she’s faked confidence enough times to make it. 

Getting a taxi to stop for her was like pulling teeth. By the time that she had stuffed her menial baggage into the trunk and clambered into the front seat, her temper had risen a few notches. She’s had a long two days. The flight wasn’t kind on her stomach or her sleep schedule— not to mention the fact that she felt disgusting. A shower sounded so nice right now… She didn’t want to be on the streets any longer than she had to be, dammit!

Donning her ‘Customer Service’ voice (as she liked to call it), she politely rattled off her destination to the driver in Korean. He was on the younger side for the profession (at least, from what she’s seen), with neatly laid dark hair and slightly tanned skin. His dark eyes constantly shifted from the road to her when they were stopped for traffic, but he luckily seemed to sense her mood as he did not say anything more than the polite initial greeting. 

All in all, it was a 30 minute drive filled with determinedly unawkward silence. ___ sent a quick text to her employer to inform them that she would be at the house in a bit, then sent another to her mother to let her know that she touched down safely. Almost immediately, her phone began to buzz.

Rolling her eyes, ___ answered. “Good morning to you too, Ma.” She said as her full lips tilted up in amusement. Upon hearing the English, the driver sent another glance in her direction.

“Hey, baby! It’s night time for us right now (we just got finished eating dinner). How was your flight?” Her mother’s voice gave a slightly tinny echo as she spoke, and the sound of shifting fabric clued ___ in to the fact that she, indeed, was probably on the toilet.

“Tiring. I forgot to buy Dramamine, so it was a fun time for me.” She switched hands with her phone so that she could look out of her window more comfortably. Little snatches of the city flashed by before they turned into a slightly more residential area. The houses here were large and gated, yet closely located. “How is everyone doing? No-one dead yet, right?”

Her mother snorted. “Yet is correct. Turns out, ya’ sister got herself a lil boyfriend—” ___ had to stifle her laugh before she gave herself away, “— and ya’ daddy wasn’t too happy when he found out. Her fast ass is sitting in her room right now, phone taken and everything. Woulda’ gotten an ass whoopin if we found anything triflin’ in it, but she’s clean.” Yeah, only because of her advice. No sending nudes back and forth, no secret folders dedicated to trifling shit, and no conversations going further than normal teen-girl gossip. Those were her three cardinal rules to sneaking around with a boy, and it seems that her little sister had done well to heed them.

“And the lil’ boy? Anyone we know?” ___ asked, playing along. If her parents found out she already knew about him, her ass would be grass, too. 

“Yes!” Ma exclaimed frustratedly. The driver jumped at the sudden loud sound in the otherwise silent car. “That nigga, Devin. Lives a block down from us? You know the one.” She gave the appropriate gasp at the news while rolling her eyes. Devin was a sweet boy who had a good future ahead of himself. There was no goddamn way she would waste her painstakingly gathered advice on someone who wasn’t good for her sister.

“Dam— I mean, wow. You think you know the people you live around...” She caught herself quickly before she cursed. Even halfway across the world, her fear of her ma’s wrath was still very, very healthy.

“I heard that, but I’ll let it slide this time.” Her mother’s tone was amused despite her previous outrage. 

“Anyways, as I was saying… I don’t see anything wrong with Devin. He was a nice boy, last time I talked to him.” From the cover of her shades, ___ watched the driver watch her from the corner of his eye. The car began to slow.

“Tell that to ya’ daddy. He—” Ma began to rant as ___ pulled the phone away from her ear. 

“How much do I owe you?” She asked quietly, hands dropping to rummage through her purse for her wallet as she cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “—Alright, Ma. Imma have to call you back. We just pulled up to the house and I gotta get situated.”

Handing the driver the appropriate amount of Won, they both left the car to remove her luggage from his trunk. “Okay, sweetie. Love you! Call me again when you get settled in.” Her mother echoed as she mouthed a quick ‘Thank you,’ with a shallow bow.

“Gotcha. Love you, too! Bye.” She hung up and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, making it extend before dragging it behind her towards the house that they had stopped in front of.

She couldn’t really see anything past the high, brick walls and iron gate. Spotting an intercom, she quickly checked her reflection in her phone’s camera before she could press the button to call her employer.

Removing her silk head-scarf, she found that her high puff had held up reliably under it. She quickly stuffed it into her purse and pulled out her glasses case to place her shades in. Shoving that back in, too, she smoothed out her black jeans and checked for stains on her yellow top. It was only after assuring that her face was, indeed, clean that she rang the buzzer.

A red light blinked on before a voice answered. So there was a security camera for surveillance? Good. “Good morning! You must be ___, right?” Her voice was smooth and low, like velvet. It hinted towards an older age, especially when compared to the commonly high pitched tones of the youth.

“Yes, good morning.” ____ stepped back slightly to bow. The gate unlocked with a soft click, and she made her way up the driveway. She could only see one car at the moment, but from the size of the house— no, mansion—, she was sure that a lot more were probably in the garages (yes, plural).

The mansion was a modern white with a lot of windows to let in natural light. The lawn was cleanly cut and the rich, emerald grass shined with small droplets of morning dew. There was actually a surprising amount of yard space, which was ideal for pets and children. The only thing that she would be needing to worry about this trip was a dog and some plants, though.

Little solar-powered lights lined the walkway that ___ walked down. They looked nothing like the one-dollar versions from the Dollar Store, and definitely cost a lot more, too. She climbed a few stone steps to reach the porch. On either side of a dark-wooded door, two gold vases stood guard. They were almost as tall as her and intricately carved with little, delicate flowers. The welcome mat that she stood upon was a sensible dark brown and had a looping Welcome swirled across the front in white. 

She rang the doorbell and patiently waited.

A few moments passed before the door sprung open. The lady that answered was small and adorable in her old age. Her dark hair was sprinkled with white streaks, and her large, dark eyes were creased with laugh lines. The same lines were also wrinkled around her mouth, but they did not take away from the traditional beauty that she still held. Her cheeks were rounded and scattered with pink, and her skin was the color of milk. She was dressed in a fashionable black pantsuit and wore black pumps that boosted her height. 

“Good morning!” ___ bowed lowly with a sweet smile. Her eyes, large and slightly too round to truly be almond shaped, disappeared into crescents. With her face transformed so cutely by just a single smile, one would find it hard to believe that ___ had a mean, mean resting bitch face that, when combined with her not inconsiderable height, gave her a naturally intimidating demeanor.

Endeared, the woman bowed back. “Please, come in.” She invited, stepping aside and letting ___ and her suitcase drag in. 

***

She was still getting situated in the guest room when the door slowly creaked open.

Though she couldn’t see anything from where she was seated on the bed, the tell-tale pattern of claws clicking against the hardwood floor cued her in to who was entering— Mickey, a cute, little Shih-Tzu breed with floppy ears and a brown and white coloring. Despite the fact that he was male, Mickey had two tiny, powder-blue bows woven around his ears. His matching sweater creased slightly as he padded towards her.

“Hi, sweetie!” ___ cooed, reaching down to give him a gentle pat on the head, “Are you looking for some company now that Grandma isn’t in?” 

Mickey had been (surprisingly) very calm upon his introduction towards ___. He barely reacted (outside of a few weak wags of his fluffy tail) to her squealings of how cute he was. Perhaps it was behavior that he was used to.

He settled down onto the carpet next to her bed, the ideal spot for her to reach down and pet him if she wanted to. It was a good move on his part, because that was exactly what she wanted to do. 

___ was a huge dog lover— in fact, she just loved cute, fluffy animals in general. Cats, llamas, sheep— you name it. She tolerated reptiles, and if she had to handle insects, it was usually with gloves and a healthy bit of distance. 

The moral of the story is that she adored fur-babies, and until Mickey’s owner came to pick him up or his Grandma came back home, Mickey was her dog.

a/n: Thank you all for reading the first chapter! I really hope you liked it. The fun stuff starts next chapter, so please stay tuned! I have so much planned *evil laughter*

[wickedmilo]

YOU’RE REALLY NOT MY TYPE | MILO & LUCE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 1:13 AM SUMMARY: Tired of drinking alone, Milo approaches Luce and makes an attempt to befriend her. It does not go well. WRITING PARTNER: @divineluce CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcoholism, inebriation, PTSD

Milo was drunk. If he considered being inebriated a regular occurrence before his death, he had taken things to an entirely new level after waking up as a vampire. Even with Harsh making an effort to help him learn and understand, things were difficult. Beyond difficult. He missed his old life, missed being in the centre of a crowd, making friends with every single stranger in the smoking area, going home with someone without even knowing their name. He couldn’t do any of those things anymore. Not without an overwhelming desperation for blood. Not without fear, and anxiety clawing viciously at his chest. That didn’t ease the need to drink though, his body was still craving what it had been relying on for years. There was only so much he could do before being alone and sober became too much. Which was how, not for the first time, he found himself at a bar. 

It was stupid, he knew it was stupid. But he was so tired. If he could steal even a semblance of his old life back, then he was going to try. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting alone, staring down at the dregs in his glass, before he finally forced himself to his feet. There was a girl who didn’t look too far from his age, sitting alone just across from where he was lurking in the shadows. If she didn’t want company, he would leave. And if his bloodlust became too great, he was confident he would find a way to excuse himself. With that justification playing over in his mind, he set down his empty glass on her table. “Any chance you’ve reached the point of realising how depressing it is to drink alone, and wouldn’t say no to some company?” He asked, his voice lazy, drawn out by the alcohol in his system. “I mean, tell me to screw myself and I’ll go- I swear, I just- well, I’ve reached that point.” 

The nightmares were still coming. She’d heard bits and pieces of the weird dream situation from fucking Leah of all people, a fact that irritated Luce to no end. She’d heard that whatever supernatural bullshit that had been fucking with the town’s collective sleep schedule was over. But, tonight-- just like so many other nights-- Luce’s dreams had jolted her awake and driven her from the place she called home. She could see Lydia’s face, staring at her, wide eyed as she stalked towards her. She could see herself, blood rolling down the wound in her leg, dripping from the knife she’d yanked out of her own flesh. Luce had watched, hovering behind Lydia, and had seen the unrelenting rage in her own eyes as she’d lunged forward and stabbed the iron spear through her body. Luce had felt the iron burn and sear against her skin, she’d heard the begging, pleading screams that still haunted her to this day. And then she’d woken up. And dragged herself here. Some shitty hole in the wall bar with shitty, cheap whiskey. But at least it was cheap. 

Staring at the bottom of her glass Luce paused mid sip as some random kid approached her table. He looked as though he’d been drinking just as long as she had and he sounded it too. “If you’re making a pass, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” She said, more tired than irritated for once. “If you actually just want to drink. Sure. Go for it.” She said and gestured to the chair next to her.

Milo laughed, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He teased, his tone lighthearted, as he took a seat. “You’re really not my type.” Getting comfortable, something that was all too easy to do considering how inebriated he was, he tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his glass. If he leaned back against his chair a little, he could almost ignore the close proximity, the smell of his company’s blood. “So,” he started, watching the girl sitting across from him with an open curiosity. People didn’t just drink alone at bars when they were happy. Not in his experience, at least. “Do you get hit on by strangers very often?”

“Good cuz you’re not mine either.” Luce snorted. This guy looked like he was Nell’s age. A fucking kid. But, hey, if he was old enough to drink, so be it. And even if he wasn’t, she didn’t really give a shit. As he made himself comfortable, Luce stared at the ice cubes in her glass, willing them to melt. She wanted them to melt. For them to bubble and froth and to sublimate straight to vapor. But, they sat stubbornly whole in a pool of amber. Glancing over at the kid, she laughed. “No. Other way around.” She said before lifting the glass to her lips, “Usually, not right now though. Not really looking for that kind of company tonight. And if I was, it wouldn’t be here. Flaming Mo’s, Friction, anywhere but this shitty little bar.” She said, rattling off the usual haunts. Well, usual before shit had gone down with Remmy and Nadia, before her magic refused to flow through her veins.

Milo smiled. The easy, playful nature of the conversation was allowing him to relax. There was still a faint voice in the back of his mind telling him he couldn’t afford to, but it was the same voice that occasionally told him not to drink, or not to accept an unnamed substance from a stranger. He had been readily ignoring it for years. “Oh, really?” He asked, grinning easily at his company’s admission. He had a feeling he was going to like her. “So what’s got you drinking in this shitty little bar?” He asked. “There has to be a reason you aren’t at Flaming Mo’s, or Friction.” He downed what was left in his glass, dregs, really, before turning his attention back to the girl. 

Still staring at the ice cubes in her cup, Luce’s lips curled slightly at his question. Nope. A lot of shit had happened in the last year. A lot had changed, including her. But, she still wasn’t the type to just fucking unload her problems to some stranger at the bar. Let alone some kid who looked like he could barely afford his drinks. “Sometimes people just want a change in scene. Nothing wrong with that.” She said coolly, lifting her glass back to her lips. “What about you, huh? What’s got you here? There are plenty of other places in town that don’t card. And they’ve at least got a more lively scene than this,” Luce gestured to the sleepy looking bar, filled with other people who had been doing the same as her before this kid rolled up. They were all quietly stewing in their own thoughts, in their own misery, with a glass in hand because it was easier than sitting in the dark at home.

Milo knew from the look the girl gave him that she wasn’t about to tell her story. Which was only fair when he considered the fact that he definitely wasn’t ready to share his own. “A change of scenery like a downgrade?” He teased, glancing around at the less than classy establishment. There were posters tacked to the walls, thrown into focus by dingy, yellow lighting. The bar was small, the bottles behind it suspiciously dusty. And the lack of patrons was a sign of just how poor the customer service was. In a way, he almost liked it. It felt good to be somewhere so… unbothered. Whoever owned this place wasn’t out to draw crowds, or make money. They just wanted to give people a place to mournfully drown their sorrows, and he respected that. 

“Me? Oh, I really was looking for a downgrade.” He countered, sarcasm dripping from his tone. His eyes were shining though, a sign of his good nature. “You think I’m not old enough to drink? I’m 22.” He assured her, amused by the assumption. He had a list compiled in his head of every place in town that didn’t card at the door. Even though he didn’t need it anymore, the information seemed to be seared into his brain. Waving his hand, brushing off the mention of a livelier scene, he wrinkled his nose. He wanted a livelier scene, it just wasn’t an option for him right now. He had begrudgingly been forced to settle. “I’m kind of avoiding people right now…” He realised approaching her contradicted his statement, but it was the truth. Or sort of the truth. “Trying to, anyway.” He added. “Guess I’m not cut out for drinking alone.” 

Lips pressing together in a thin line, Luce finished off the last of her drink. “Change of scene like people not bothering me here.” She said pointedly. This wasn’t a place where people made conversation, or met with some friends after work for drinks. That was what places like Dell’s was for. This bar was a dusty hole in the wall where the people here were for one thing only-- cheap drinks.  “Uh huh. Sure you are.” Luce said with a shrug as she drummed her hands on the table. She should go home. She should just go home and just… deal. She should just go home and face it. With a sigh, Luce waved to get the sleepy-eyed bartender’s attention and gestured to call it quits.  

“Well,” Luce said with a long sigh, knocking on the table as she stood up from her chair, “Sounds like you’ve got some work ahead of you if that’s the case.” She said before putting a twenty on the table, gesturing to the kid as she made eye contact with the bartender. “Use whatever’s left to cover his drinks too.” She said before making her way out the door. “Good luck with whatever’s got you drinking here. Check out Mo’s when you have a chance. It’s a better scene than here.”  

Out in the cool night air, Luce paused outside the bar and pulled out her phone. She could Uber home, which would be fine. Or she could walk, it was how she got here in the first place. Without meaning to, Luce realized she was flicking through the contacts on her phone. She still had Remmy’s number. Which didn’t matter-- they’d left town. They were better off away from White Crest. Away from all the fucked up shit here. Away from her. Swallowing, her finger hovered over the delete contact button.  

She took a deep breath and hit the button. She had to move on, she had to move beyond her past. And that meant letting go. Stowing her phone back in her pocket, Luce headed back into the night. She had to go home.  

Milo frowned, suddenly feeling guilty for disturbing the girl. Although his motivations were often selfish, he never intended to cause trouble for anyone, and now he was forced to wonder whether she had agreed to his company to be polite. Or even worse, maybe she had felt as though she couldn’t say no to him. He stayed silent, listening to her brush off his comments. He liked to think he was self-aware enough to accept the fact that he wasn’t incredibly personable. On multiple occasions he had argued with people purely because they didn’t like his attitude, and looking back on said arguments, he couldn’t exactly blame them for getting upset. But he had kind of, almost been trying here. At the very least he had made a conscious effort not to be a dick. He watched as she flagged down the bartender, dropping a twenty before standing up to leave. “Oh- I… okay.” He couldn’t hide how miserable he felt, though he wasn’t sure why the rejection hurt. He had been alone five minutes ago, did it really matter if he was alone again now? Especially not when somebody had willingly paid for his drinks. 

Tapping his fingers against his glass, he downed what was left of the contents, thinking about the last time he had visited Mo’s. He wanted, more than anything, to trust himself in such a busy environment, but he had already taken too many risks. He wasn’t in control. When was he ever in control? Letting out a huff of breath, a habit he had yet to shake, he pushed away from the table too, uncomfortable in the sudden silence. Pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, he had one in his mouth by the time he reached the door, desperate for a distraction from his thoughts. The cold air hitting his skin the moment he stepped outside, the vague scent of the girl he had been talking to still lingered in the air, but she had long since disappeared into the night, apparently desperate to get away from him. He sparked up, leaning against the brick wall behind him as he struggled to force down his emotions. It wouldn’t be the first time he had chased his feelings away with a trusty combination of nicotine, and alcohol. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.  

[amaranthzhang]

A Helping Paw | Joey & Amaranth

Location: Al’s Diner and Baobing Bada Boom (Backdated to Joey’s arrival) With: @joeydarling and Amaranth Description: Amaranth helps a new werewolf down on her luck.

White Crest had proven to be different. More different than anything Joey could have ever anticipated. The conversation she had overheard in the diner should’ve been more of a warning call than an invitation, but she followed it blindly, eager to put as much distance between her parents and herself as possible. Living out of a car had proven difficult, especially when interviewing and applying for jobs. She had no solid home address, but it seemed like some places didn’t care-- they just wanted somebody to show up. That, Joey could respect. Al’s Diner wouldn’t have been her first choice, but she had worked in restaurants before. Though her parents wanted her to focus mostly on her training and knife skills, she had opted out for something resembling that of a true teenage life-- a summer job. It had proven easier than that of everything her parents had ever put her through, even with the constant yelling and snide remarks from customers who were upset about the lack of ranch on the side. Who even ate ranch?

Despite knowing it wouldn’t be, Al’s Diner had to be different. It was the only thing she had in the chaotic stream of things leading her to this moment-- the bite, her parents making it clear that they’d rather she die than have a daughter for a wolf-- everything. Joey needed things to work out. Only, the sudden spike in aggression had made things a little more difficult than she had anticipated. The words spat at her by one of the back line cooks made her stare down at her feet, her fingers flexing in an attempt to keep from lashing out. She had gotten gruff with one of the customers who commented on their lack of service-- something she couldn’t help due to being short staffed. Instead of smiling politely, she had told him to go fuck himself. The words spewing from the cook’s lips were lost on Joey. Instead, she began to untie the apron, “you know what? Fuck it, I’m out.” She dropped it to the ground, fingers still trembling, “doesn’t matter, this place smells like grease and sweat anyways-- maybe y’all should shower sometime.” She turned on her heel, stalking out of the kitchen, towards the front door. The noise was apparently loud enough that the heads in the dining room swiveled towards her as she eased her way between tables, beelining for the glass door. She needed to get out, and get out fast. The ache in her bones and anger heating in the tips of her fingers was vicious.

Ever since Amaranth had come across a wolf living alone, she had followed her around as a fox. Not all the time and definitely not the whole day. Just here and there, curious as to why she was without a pack and living on her own. Werewolves lived in White Crest after all - why would a wolf be all by herself. She eventually tracked her down to Al’s Diner. She wondered why the girl frequented there and it wasn’t until Amaranth stepped in that she figured out she was employed there. It didn’t seem like a bad place for someone who was on their own. They’d have a source of income and a source of food. Amaranth wasn’t big on greasy American food and often would only ask for a coffee or a water and just sit and observe. If Joey wasn’t working she’d be out after she finished and if she was she’d hang around and just watch the young girl.

This time, it seemed Amaranth was here at the right time. She had seen Joey’s outburst as it was only a few tables away. Soon after she heard a cook’s voice yelling and the sound of it made Amaranth’s blood boil. Her fathers’ never once raised her voice at her and while many feared the sound of her fathers voice - she had learned they only ever spoke with love in their hearts. So the sound of a man raising his voice to threaten someone - a young girl, it took everything Amaranth had not to enter the kitchen and shove him face down on the grill top. She watched as Joey stormed through the diner, heading out. Pulling out cash for her coffee, Amaranth quickly went after her. She’d watched this wolf for too long now - it would be wrong if Amaranth didn’t offer any help. “Are you okay?” Amaranth called out for her, quickly catching up with her. “The whole diner could hear him yell at you.” She explained.

Joey stalked towards the sidewalk, eager to put as much distance between herself and the diner as possible. The smell of something-- mammal, caught her attention. The wind shifted, and it grew stronger. She scrunched her nose. This wasn’t a squirrel, it was something else. Something a little more human. The sound of somebody’s voice sent Joey’s stance rigid. She afforded a glance over her shoulder. She hadn’t seen this woman before, but she seemed concerned. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. The wind picked up and the smell from the woman curled around her nose. She wasn’t a wolf, that was for certain, but smelling like an animal meant that she wasn’t a hunter. Or maybe she was. Maybe she was like Joey. She tensed as she turned towards the woman, the anger still bubbling. “I’m fine,” she replied, glancing past her and back into the diner. “Huh.” Joey realigned her gaze back onto the stranger, regarding her carefully.

She glanced down at the woman’s hands, then to her shoes. It didn’t look like there had been anything slipped into the cuffs, or up her sleeves. Joey leveled her gaze back to meet the stranger’s. “I’m fine,” she repeated, “it was--” Better, easier, Safer? “For the best.” She didn’t mesh well with the other employees anyways. They didn’t seem to do well with new faces. “It’s cold, you don’t need to worry about it.” Joey offered a tight lipped smile before she inhaled sharply. Definitely not human. She was still getting used to her new nose, but it had been a few months, and it was getting a little easier in distinguishing humans from not-humans, and even though White Crest was full of confusion in that regard, she knew it was something she needed to get better at.

“It sounds like it wasn’t a good work environment for you.” Amaranth observed, stepping closer but remaining a polite distance. Already she could note the way she was breathing, probably trying to see what her nose would tell her. Smart girl. “The food wasn’t that great anyway,” Amaranth judged, slightly wrinkling her nose and giving a faint smile. She needed to show she wasn’t hostile that if the girl wanted to, they could be friendly with one another. She was a werewolf after all and… she didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. While Amaranth wasn’t one to force someone to live with her family - it didn’t mean she would abandon a supernatural who needed help.

“I assume you must be on the job market now, am I correct?” Amaranth started, not wanting to scare the girl off but also wanting to offer her a position in her business. “I’m a business owner myself. I don’t know if you’re new in town, so maybe you’ve not heard of it. It’s a shaved ice parlour here downtown. It’s… actually not too far from here if you’re interested in checking it out.” Amaranth gestured to its general direction. “We have a very flexible work schedule, mornings, afternoons, overnight… so whichever suits you best we’re more than happy to work with.” No one was ever hired this easily in typical job employments but Amaranth’s hiring techniques were far from the norm. “We’re also very flexible in the event that… you’re unable to come in due to certain unforeseen circumstances.” Amaranth could only dance around the subject for so long but she didn’t want to scare her off.

The stranger’s comment about the food not being good had her let out a small, breathy chuckle. She wasn’t wrong. Joey would eat just about anything these days, though, and a part of the job meant she got discounted, if not free food. That was one perk she would miss. She had only had it for a month, though, so it wouldn’t be hard to move past. “You’re right,” she commented, watching the way that the woman took a step closer, but still keeping her distance. She wondered if she could tell what she was-- she didn’t seem nervous. Her movements were careful, calculated.

When the woman spoke, Joey nodded carefully, eyebrows pulled together. It seemed odd that this woman would offer her a job after watching her curse at her prior employer. A bitter cold wind dug underneath her sweatshirt and she braced herself against it. How a shaved ice joint could do well in the winter, she wasn’t sure, but the woman was offering her a job. She couldn’t sense anything off in her expression, or the way she held herself-- openly, her mother would say. She looked down at her hands, looking for a twitch in her fingertips, as if it would signal anything off. She looked back up to meet the woman’s gaze, her own careful as she spoke, “you just watched me yell back at those guys, and now you’re telling me I could come and work for you?” She arched a brow, the anger long forgotten. She flexed her fingers before she dropped her hand to her neck, her digits pressing into the skin there. “I don’t… know what to say.” White Crest, so far, harsh on her. “How much does it pay?” Joey asked, not willing to skirt around something that was increasingly important to somebody currently living out of a car.

“Let’s just say, you won’t have to deal with stupidity from your employer.” Amaranth hoped she would see the positives in that. “You may have a few… socially awkward coworkers.” The fenodyree were manageable however. Rarely did they ever break their cover unless a human got too close to them. She gave a hint of a smile as she thought of them - but of course, she couldn’t forget the most important part of this. The pay. Considering the fenodyree were paid in food, there was plenty of money to go around. “I’d say we offer quite the competitive pay rate.” What was competitive pay in the human world though? Money was confusing. She hated human wealth.

“Far better than Al’s I’m sure. Tell me how much they paid you so I can have a laugh at how pathetic it was.” Amaranth let out a presumptive huff as if already able to imagine a low amount. “We can take a walk to the shop if you’d like. You can get a feel for it. Decide if it’s for you or not.” Amaranth offered. She really only wanted to help the girl out but she couldn’t force her to take the help if she didn’t want it. Besides she didn’t feel safe speaking of supernatural things so bluntly out in public. In the shop, however, it was safe. She made sure it was.

Joey had been raised, or rather, conditioned to notice the change in somebody’s demeanor. If you noticed something off, it could save a lot of trouble, her father had said. However, there was nothing off about this woman, nothing other than she smelled of animal, just like her. If that were the case, then surely she would be able to smell Joey. It meant she wasn’t a hunter. Or-- Joey struggled with the idea of what this woman could offer, past her well intentioned offering of a job that she sorely needed. Joey wasn’t in the position to refuse, however, and so she lowered her gaze to the ground, to the woman’s feet. Polished shoes, or what seemed like it. The woman asked how much she had been paid at Al’s and she thought about her server wages, “barely 5 dollars an hour, but that includes tips.” Maine’s minimum pay was 12 dollars, but because she earned tips, she didn’t see that amount.

She shifted uncomfortably. She hated talking about money-- hated that she came across as needy. She swallowed the feeling. This woman was trying to help her, how could she refuse? She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to create a distraction from the unease she had been feeling. “I--” She watched the stranger for a moment, “What is your name?” She asked with a tilt of her head. At the very least, she’d like to know this stranger’s name, just in case something were to happen. What kind of thing would happen, she couldn’t be sure. Just in case, Joey thought to herself. She didn’t know anyone, and due to the town’s disposition for having all sorts of creatures, Joey was not sure how much she could trust the local police department, if at all. At least a name would give her the minimal amount of security-- then again, she could be provided a fake one. “But sure, yeah, you can show me.” She finally said, the cold worming its way beneath the thinly layered sweater she wore.

Barely meant it wasn’t good enough. Even then Amaranth was sure it wouldn’t have been considering her own shaved ice could cost up to 5 dollars depending on the weight. And for a whole hour? That couldn’t have been right. “Alright, come on then.” She already began to lead the way, crossing the street as it was empty. “I’ll triple it.” Amaranth argued. “15 dollars an hour.” She can afford that, right? She’ll have one of the money fae deal with it. They were good at handling the financials while she was still trying to figure out how these electronic cards worked. “My name is Amaranth Zhang. What’s yours?” She was quick to arrive at the shop, she didn’t think it would be right to mention anything supernatural outside.

It was colder in the shop than it was outside and Amaranth glanced over at the girl knowing she must have been cold. The shop had only one patron who was off to the corner. Amaranth recognized the regular. The employees behind the counter straightened up at the sight of Amaranth. A short one, no more than five feet came over. “We weren’t expecting you, Queen!” Amaranth glanced over at Joey and it was only then that the employee noticed her. “Hello, welcome to Baobing Bada Boom what can we get for you!” They greeted, a little too aggressively. Amaranth dismissed them with a wave before looking back to Joey. “They can be a little excitable but I assure you they are one of the most hard working coworkers you’ll come across. You’ll see a variety of different people come in for their shift. Some prefer working nights and even overnight as we are open 24 hours. We are really flexible. If you only want to work for a few hours a week, we can work with that. We’re not short staffed - I just want to help special people who may be down on their luck.” Amaranth glanced around, knowing the other patron in the shop was supernatural as well there was nothing to hide. She extended her hand and from it formed a purple flame. “You don’t have to hide anything here.”

Joey fought hard to hide the interest piqued by the mention of her rate being 15 dollars an hour. Even back in Conway, the few jobs her parents did allow her to have, all of which at friends’ shops, she never made that much. She hunched forward slightly to keep the wind from whipping her hair around her face and followed the strange woman across the street, continuing on their way until they finally came upon a bright shop. It was different compared to the shops that surrounded it. “Oh,” Joey looked over at Amaranth, “I’m Joey.” She omitted her real name, hopeful that the new nickname would catch on. Her mother would absolutely detest it.

The door opened and Joey followed her inside. A sweet scent curled around her nose and she looked towards the one person in the corner, then to the individual who made their way towards herself and Amaranth. She regarded them warily before glancing over to Amaranth as she spoke. The individual went back to their post with an urgency that Joey hadn’t thought she’d seen this late in the night. She wondered what time it actually was. Amaranth’s words caught Joey off guard. Special people? So did that mean-- The hairs on the back of Joey’s neck raised momentarily, but before she could let it sink in that Amaranth knew what she was, a purple flame flickered across her palm. Joey gawked at the sight, her mouth hanging slightly open. Had that just happened? Joey knew that there was magic in the world. Her parents had told her such things, but her knowledge was limited to wolves, and the occasional vampire that was necessary to take out in their small town of Conway. This woman smelled of animal and had magic dancing along her fingertips, so Joey couldn’t help but blurt out whilst backing into a table, “What are you?”

Amaranth smiled at her sudden intrigue and knew that she had made the right choice in offering a job at the shop. She didn’t expect the young wolf to make a career out of it but definitely a chance to pick herself up until she can confidently go about the world however she wanted, whether it was alone, with someone else or even her family. Amaranth never forced anyone to become a part of it and was willing to help someone even if they had no interest. Supernatural people had to stick together. No matter what. Once they were divided, that’s how humans took advantage of them. If they remained united they were unstoppable. This town would soon learn what that meant. The hunters will soon learn. She would make sure of that.

“There are many names for my kind. You can consider me to be a fox spirit. But more importantly, I want you to know we’re not so different, you and I.” Sure, a fox and a wolf had many differences. The flame quickly dissipated with a closed fist. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t befriend a werewolf. A normal wolf on the other hand, she would tolerate purely because of its necessity to the ecosystem. As a fox she tended to avoid other normal living animals. “I can assure you, Joey that you would be safe here. I’d see to it myself. I do not abandon my people. The decision is yours and yours alone. These doors are always open - whether it be to leave or enter.”

[tortoisesshells]

Six Sentence Sunday: Buying Time (1/3, ~1450 words, some salty language, people coping with grief poorly)

this was supposed to be modern!fake-dating!AU for Customs and Duties, but, so far, there’s no dating, fake or otherwise - just a lot of pottering around an antiques shop, with a side helping of cocktail-party knowledge of clockmaking and 19th century US naval scandals. I have a plan. maybe. I also may be sorry.

The first time Nellie Treat met James Norrington, esq., he was already drunk at 2:30 on a winter Tuesday. It was Tuesday simply because it was the day after Monday, and it was 2:30 because sometime after lunch the new-old naval clock had struck five completely uninspiring bells – and it was still light outside. A sixth bell rang from the door swinging open, and Nellie had glanced up from her unending round of correspondences and deep-internet trawling to see a tall, cleanshaven man glancing about himself with complete bewilderment, as though he’d been expecting Narnia – or maybe a drop into a bottomless pit.

“Welcome,” Nellie’d said, with her polished customer-service smile, “Can I help you find something specific? Do you have an inquiry?”

“I drank too much,” the tall man replied, gesturing vaguely behind himself down the main drag, to any number of establishments, “I’ve walked around for an hour but I left my coat somewhere.” He paused expectantly, as though what he said had made any sense whatsoever.

Unbelievably (or maybe believably – she was a widow with two children and wasn’t getting any younger, and it wasn’t like she got out much), this had been the start of a fairly interesting friendship  –

Even if he had spent the next hour rambling about the duel between Decatur and Barron and the Chesapeake-Leopard Affair.

*

What Nellie Treat learned about James Norrington, in fairly short order thereafter, was this:

(1) He was a graduate of Princeton, Yale, and Harvard, in some combination of B.A.s and M.A.s and J.D.s which, as a proud graduate of a state school, she forgot as quickly as she could,

(2) He had upper-class-WASP-male-appropriate love of all things maritime, which led her to believe there was probably a daysailer, at the very least, in a marina somewhere, and she would have bet Sam’s grandmother’s pearls that there was at least one model ship in his office, and a collection of Samuel Eliot Morison’s histories on his shelves, somewhere,

(3) He’d just been dumped by his fiancé at a political fundraiser luncheon in Boston, which didn’t precisely explain why he was here. “95,” was the closest thing she’d gotten to an answer, which she supposed was technically correct, and,

(4) He was both sharp and a little stuffily polite, because not two days after their inauspicious first meeting she’d received an immaculately-penned note thanking her for her coffee, her argument, and her kindness. A few days later came a formal inquiry through her shop’s email: he was looking for a shelf clock from a particular Newport maker she’d never heard of. Was this a commission she was interested in undertaking?

Considering Mary had one more year at Stanford, yes. Yes, she was.

*

God, that fucking clock.

*

There wasn’t any particular reason to believe that Elinor Coggeshall would have turned into a respectable antiques dealer, since as a kid the only thing old stuff meant to her was the endless round of family hand-me-downs. Antiques had been Sam’s thing – in part, he guessed, because he grew up around the stuff (that hadn’t been donated to places like the MFA or the Wadsworth Atheneum or even, in the case of his great-great-something-great Uncle’s punchbowl, with its bold maker’s mark, “REVERE”, in the Metropolitan). The other part had been his love of stories and people and the endless revolutions of historical rumor and gossip mills. So, Nellie had married into the business.

And then, after ten years of marriage, Sam started complaining about headaches. Six months later, he was gone.

Ridiculous as it was, she observed some of the old mourning traditions – she lived around the things that had seen it firsthand, over a century ago – and it gave her something to do, covering mirrors and tying black ribbons on her framed photos, and spending an atrocious amount of time on the internet only to discover no one really made mourning crepe anymore, because, well – who did that? Who needed it? She must have worn the same three black turtlenecks and the same two pairs of black slacks for three months, until Aunt B had kindly but pointedly told her she looked more like a beat poet than a widow. Polly and Sam seem pretty relieved, too – and Mary, all the way from Stanford, pointedly sent her a beautiful and brilliantly colored floral scarf, to mark the change.

And business went on. What else was she supposed to do? No amount of crying would ever bring Sam back – and it wouldn’t pay the grief-counseling bills, either.

*

Where the clock was concerned, she had little luck – furniture, really, was what she knew best, and sure, yes, there was a fair amount of overlap between cabinetry and clocks, particularly when, before the mechanization of clock production in the wake of Eli Terry’s innovations, clockmakers had really only focused on the gears and mechanisms, and left the housings to carpenters and cabinetmakers – but she’d never really dealt in clocks besides a novelty one every now and again. That was mostly for her own amusement, anyway – like the naval clock over the door to her office, or the clock in a fake old-fashioned diver’s helmet that she’d found at an estate sale and given to her brother, who laughed for a good fifteen minutes over Skype because of it.

At the end of the first month, she’d sent an email to Mr. Norrington, esq., reporting very nicely and not in so many words, that she’d found sweet fuck-all, but there were these promising leads on clocks similar in build, mechanism, or origin. She didn’t expect any of them were good enough, and, Mr. Norrington emailed back politely that he appreciated her effort, but none of these were correct, and he’d like her to keep looking.

March was much the same, as was April: Mr. Norrington, here are these clocks that aren’t exactly what you’re looking for; thank you, Mrs. Treat, but I’d appreciate it if you continued to look. There were a few more pleasantries from him, with reference to a short article on Decatur, belatedly making the point he’d tried to make but for the scotch those three months ago. It made her laugh a little, even.

May was shaping up to be much the same, save that, shortly before noon – an unimpressive seven bells, that was punctuated, again, by the ring of the shop-door-bell as it opened. “Welcome,” she said, looking up from her emails and list of estate sales she wanted to buzz through either for out of town friends or from her own sense of piratical treasure-hunting – and the intellectual challenge of getting in and out with two children at ten and eight in tow. It had been a good month since her last major commission.

At any road, she’d set aside her pen and paper, looking up with her placid expression, and –

“Ah, Mrs. Treat,” said Mr. Norrington, “Good morning.”

Nellie had a sudden presentiment that he’d come to thank her but dismiss her in person, since he seemed a thorough, conscientious, and probably old-fashioned sort. She probably should have expected that, and she smiled a little more determinedly and plastically as a result.

“Good morning, Mr. Norrington. How can I help you today?”

“I was passing through, on my way to New York,” he said, by way of explanation, “And I wondered, in light of that, and the work you have done for me, if I might not suspend the monthly email in favor of a short conversation?”

“All right.” She gathered her notes and her tablet under her arm, and gestured towards her office at the back of the shop. “It’s not the neatest place in the world, but it’ll do. Do you want some tea?”

“Would you like lunch? On my tab. I’ve never seen so many diagrams of mechanisms and assemblages, and I’ve certainly learned more about hardwoods than I ever expected. You must have gone cross-eyed, Mrs. Treat.”

Nellie protested that it was far too generous an offer, but Mr. Norrington pushed back that he had hardly discharged her – her kindness (he said, vaguely, a little color rising in his cheeks at the memory) towards him, from those months ago.

So, a little while later, that was how Nellie found herself locking up and setting the security system, setting her quaint little Out-To-Lunch sign that Sam had penned in during his calligraphy phase in the door, and poking her head into Hancock’s to tell Lydia that she’d be back in an hour.

[overdrivels]

Even more unsolicited resume advice

Corona has probably hit a lot of people hard and it has been a tough time for everyone, especially people who just left college to enter the work force or have been out of a job and had been looking to get back into the force. While this might not solve much, I want to provide some additional advice piggy-backing off a previous post.

<Previous Resume Advice Post>

Again, Your Mileage May Vary (YMMV) since this is entirely subjective and very US-centric. A lot of the resumes that come across my desk are for specialized jobs and higher-levels, so I’ve had a bit of a disconnect with entry-level and recent grad-level resumes. Regardless, I still want to help answer some questions that people have and hopefully give a bit of a push to help you into the jobs you want.

There’s more of this sort of stuff under the tag: ‘adult drivels’.

"What do I write for my Objectives/Summary of Qualifications?"

To be very honest, I only ever see Objectives from people trying to switch careers or from internship/entry-level resumes. At least 98% of the time, we know what your objective is. It's money. I don't care if the objective is to help save the world--believe me, I've seen enough resumes that say something along those lines (worked at a place that kind of championed that and boy is the reality nasty).

Anyway. Write a short paragraph (usually 2-3 sentences, but no longer than a full paragraph) about your skillset. Give me enough detail to want to read the rest of your resume.

Examples:

Finance student with 2 years volunteer experience in business accounting, correspondences with the Federal Reserve, and federal financial law. Specializes in XYZ, etc.

I couldn't make this any more detailed, but you get the gist of it. If not, here's another one.

Recent college graduate with experience in freelance computer repairs for Windows, Mac, and RedHat Linux. Customer-oriented from # years in customer service, and willing to learn new things especially more about network infrastructure and engineering. Currently studying to pass Network and looking to pass Security+ within the next year.  

This is just a personal nitpick, but be careful with very subjective character traits like ‘loyal’ or ‘hard-working’ or ‘effective leader’. Anyone can put that on a resume, but I need you to prove it in your resume. Some industries like this sort of self-description/self-evaluation, but I really don’t trust when people write that stuff down.

(Ex. Someone wrote they were detail-orientated and their resume was littered with typos. Mm, don’t trust like that.)

"I don't know what to write for my job experience. I don't have sales numbers or percentages like these websites are telling me."

You do. You have them, just not consciously.

You worked at Starbucks and trained newcomers? Fine.

"Trained ## new hires on all store procedures, safety, and customer service, and one was promoted to store manager with # months/one new hire won Employee of the Month/and I received formal recognition from corporate."

Or

"Created new training plan/procedures/whatever and implemented it over the course of # months, reducing the time needed for training and increasing effectiveness."

Didn't work at Starbucks? Just joined a club and helped organize a bake sale? Cool.

"Sold $# worth of merchandise for [school club] [sale] which contributed to #% increase in funding for the year's activities, allowing the club to do XYZ.

Don't have the percentage? Do a reasonable guess, or ask. Or just say it helped you guys earn your field trip to wherever. Whatever it helped do.

Didn’t do anything involving cash or numbers? No problem.

“Tutored # students at least # times a week in [subject], working with them using different teaching methods such as [example] and [example]; # students were able to pass their courses with satisfactory grades (insert grades somewhere, if you’re proud of that).”

The point is: [Action] --> [Result].

What did you do, specifically? And what was the direct result? That’s what I’m looking for.

“But I’ve never held a job. This’ll be my first one. How do I write my resume?”

That’s always tough. In this case, you’ll have to play on anything you do have. Volunteer work, school activities, extracurricular activities, personal projects, awards, personal achievements, etc. Sometimes people go for a skills-oriented resume which I don’t actually see a lot.

Basically, standard resumes have your regular stuff:

Personal Information

Summary of Qualifications/Objectives

Education

Job Experiences in chronological order

Extracurricular Activities

Skills

Awards/Certifications

Whatever else

A skills based resume usually replaces the ‘Jobs’ section with a huge-ass ‘Skills Set’ section which contains several main skills you want to highlight for the job and examples of how you demonstrated these skills.

Communication

- Corresponded and tutored students struggling in [subject] class, restructuring and explaining lessons using easy-to-understand anecdotes, resulting in students passing the class with scores of no less than a B. (This is lengthy as fuck, but you get the idea.)

- Successfully led one 24-person raid a month for 2 years in an online game where quick and clear communication and timing was vital.

So, that but multiple times until it fills out your resume.

This goes against my personal opinion about subjective traits, but if it works, it works. 

“Anything else?”

I turn my entire Word document into a table for formatting and then just hide all borders when I’m done.

Always, always export to PDF and do a test print. You never know how it’ll look on someone else’s screen or program. (Especially if you have LibreOffice or something, that really messed up the formatting sometimes.) 

I kind of like Google’s resumes, the one they have in Google doc templates.

To make different things stand out, I mess with fonts. Like sans serif for section titles and with serif for body text. Sometimes I just start going nuts with them, but not too nuts because again, it might not be a font on someone else’s computer.

To test the visual appeal of my resume, I’d usually print it out, paste it on a wall, walk away, turn around, and try to see if I can spot my name and the different section breaks instantly from a distance. If I can’t, I know I fucked up. If I can, great, formatting is clean. One thing I hate as an interviewer is searching through walls of text for important info or section breaks.

If you can, only submit as PDF. I swear, half the time, the Word doc gets mangled by the application platform that people send them through (you know, the automatic uploading thing?) It had definitely cost a few good candidates a job simply because the program mangled the resume’s formatting.

Following these steps still won’t necessarily get you the job. This is cruel, but reality. It could be your resume. It could be just because the role is meant for someone else with a different skillset. It’s not personal. You have to keep trying.

For the last time, TAILOR, TAILOR, TAILOR. You’re fighting with about 30 other people who have put in a hell of a lot of effort to get jobs. They also want the job and have been searching just as long or longer than you. You have to give yourself an edge by not blasting a generic version of your resume at the recruiter. That’s wasting our time and your own time.

Again, all of these opinions are my own and should be taken with a handful of salt and two handfuls of personal judgement.

Good luck on your searches and may the job you want be yours.

[songandashadow]

Monthly Fic Rec - October

hey guys! I haven’t posted anything in a long damn while, but life’s been stressful. Doesn’t matter now though, because I’m back and about to give you a rec of all the awesome fics I read this month! Main pairing: Harry/Louis unless stated otherwise. Please don’t forget to show these fics some love and leave kudos/comments if you want! Let’s get to it. :)

***PLEASE ALWAYS READ THE TAGS FOR POSSIBLE TRIGGERS***

⸙  'Cause You May See Me In Different Bodies by lookingfortherainbow | 2k

“So, what’s your actual name?’ The curved eyebrows go up, those deep blue eyes go wide, and Harry waits patiently. “What, you mean--you mean, like, my preferred name?” “Same thing, isn’t it?” A raspy chuckle follows that, and Harry inhales the whoosh of minty cologne that floats his way when the customer scratches at the nape of his neck, over the hair that has gone shaggier since he last saw him. -- Harry knows the customers at the drug store he works at a little too well--except for the one that wears too many Adidas clothes.

⸙  always be my baby by orphan_account | 3k   [log in]

Harry is Louis' baby. Harry also wants Louis' babies.

⸙ this town's just an ocean now by louistomlinsons | 31k

“I have really great friends. Do you remember Louis? You guys were always hanging out when you were growing up.” Harry remembers Louis. Harry remembers Louis. Suddenly, his throat feels way too dry, despite the ice cream he keeps licking at. He chokes a little on a chocolate chip before saying, “I, uh. I remember Louis.” Her face brightens. “We have dinner every Sunday. He owns the house now. His parents moved further north, and he wanted to stay here, so they just gave it over. Now if you want to worry about someone being lonely, that’s who I worry about.” inspired by watermelon sugar, featuring picnics on the beach and boys being dumb

⸙ deleted your number (so i can't call you) by tofiveohfive | 9k

Harry wakes up to a voicemail.

It’s Saturday morning and it’s raining, a barely there drizzle. He sees the notification as soon as he picks up his phone from the bedside table, bleary eyes making it hard to distinguish the words. He’s got a few instagram mentions, a couple unread texts, but what really stands out is the “Missed Call and Voicemail”.

From Louis.

Or the ten hours before Harry comes home to Louis, and the five hours after he does.

⸙ Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey | 24k    [log in]

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.

⸙ growing pains by crybaby | 63k

‘Harry Styles? It’s Louis Tomlinson. About the job,’ he pauses, ‘Would you be able to start this coming Friday?’

Harry Styles is stuck. He’s just broken his mum’s heart by dropping out of law school, lives with his childhood best friend-turned boyfriend-turned best friend again, and his greatest prospect at the moment is his casual arrangement with Nick.

Until Nick gets him a job as a nanny for the summer, resulting in multiple attempts at ignoring feelings, questioning morals and sexuality, pining, and the obligatory angst that comes with a Movie Star falling for his nanny.

⸙ No Such Thing As Second Choices by slashter | 29k 

main: louis/harry/liam

Harry is the calming rain, the peaceful serenity, the cleansing fall of water that makes Liam come alive and Louis is the thunder, the lightning, crashing and booming and shaking Liam to the core.

[Or the one where Liam falls in love with two men on a computer screen; real life, however, is a lot more complicated]

⸙ You Make Me Wanna Scream by dimpled_halo | 5k

Louis’ stomach flutters as he reads the words. Harry wants to “kick it up a notch”. His mind automatically comes up with different possibilities.

Hey Harry,

I’ll bring over some things and we can discuss them in more detail and determine from there what you feel most comfortable with trying.

See you Saturday,

Louis

Louis wants to ask him how his week is going and learn more about his life but he keeps it professional. He can’t get attached no matter how good of a potential sub the guy may be. With a long sigh, Louis resumes his lunch trying his best not to picture Harry tied up while he paddles his lickable ass.

⸙ Talk Dirty To Me by BriaMaria | 13k    [log in]

They were both naked. And that seemed, again, like a catastrophically bad idea, but here they were anyway. Naked. In the dark. Only a few feet apart.

It hadn’t even been a discussion. The minute Harry flipped the lights off, they’d both shucked out of their clothes as if they’d been on fire.

“Alright darling,” Louis said, his hand wrapped loosely around his own cock. “Just remember, start slow. Lots of descriptions. Light on the hygiene, heavy on the compliments. You’ve got this.”

As if Harry were about to compete in some kind of athletic game. __

Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it's a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway.

⸙ Here to Stay (here to Play) by SadaVeniren | WIP

Larry Kinktober 2020

New chapter every day. New kink every day.

⸙ Overwhelming by KrisStylinson | 13k

He groans and squints at the feet of whoever he’s bumped into. All he sees is a worn pair of tan boots that lead up into a pair of long, long legs. He sits up, sighing, and rubs at his eyes; there’s a hand in front of his face so he grabs it and allows this stranger to help him up.

He blinks once, twice, and can’t believe his bad fucking luck, because of course he slammed his entire body into a pretty stranger. Not only that but—he smells the air once to confirm his suspicions—a pretty, sweet-smelling, alpha stranger. Fantastic.

Pretty stranger opens his mouth. “I didn’t concuss you, did I?”

Louis is an omega attending university to get his degree and most definitely not waste his time with unimportant things such as finding a mate. Harry is the alpha who manages to unwittingly mess up that plan.

⸙ Face Your Fears by SadaVeniren | 92k

Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing.

my notes on this fic:  I fucking cried so much. beautiful, angsty rollercoaster of emotions. #fave

⸙ Just Jump by jaerie | 9k

Finally, after years of suffering alone, the insurance plan at Harry's new job covered omega heat services. As a grown omega adult, it finally felt like the right time to try it out. And, since taking an entire week of heat leave would really put him behind at work, using a service to shorten it seemed like a responsible decision. At least that’s how he rationalized it. He was nervous about his decision but it was too late. The doorbell rang.

“Hi!” The alpha said again and Harry took the hand he offered and shook it firmly. “I’m Louis from Omega Services. It’s nice to meet you.”

⸙ Cameras Flashing by juliusschmidt | 81k

With his breakout single platinum three times over and his second album still selling out in stores around the world, Louis Tomlinson has made it to the top. However, his position as Pop Heartthrob of the Decade is threatened by the edgier, more artistic Zayn, who happens to be releasing an album a week after Louis’ upcoming third. Louis needs something groundbreaking- scandalous, even- to push past him in the charts. Much to Louis’ dismay, his PR team calls in The Sexpert.

Consulting with PR firm Shady, Lane and Associates pays the bills so that Harry Styles can spend his down time doing what he really loves: poring over data. On weekends and late into the evenings, he researches gender, presentation, and sexual orientation, analysing the longitudinal study that is his father’s life’s work. That is, until his newest client, the popstar with the fascinating secret, drags him off his couch and frighteningly close to the spotlight.

As the album’s release date approaches, will Tomlinson and Styles be able to pull off the most risky PR scheme of the millennium and beat Zayn in sales or will the heat of their feelings for each other compromise everything?

⸙ reach the heavens own blue by loubellies | 21k

He steps up to the plate, eyes glazing over as he watches Harry chew sunflower seeds, his jaw moving obnoxiously and exaggeratedly. His eyes drag down Harry’s body, settling on his large bulge, accentuated in those sinful pinstripe pants. The lines cut across it just right, curving where he’s thickest. Louis wants to crawl across the dirt on his knees and just take what Harry gives him.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment, opening them to find Harry staring at him with a smug expression. He fucking knows. Louis gets into position and waits for the pitch. He swings when Harry throws, missing the ball just barely. Strike one.

or Louis is a Boston Red Sox and Harry is a New York Yankee.

⸙ He's Got So Much Fucking Hair by Queer_and_trashy | 7k

Professional hairstylist Louis for years has had a bit of a celebrity crush on Harry Styles the gorgeous queer model who just recently came out as genderfluid. So when he gets the opportunity to work with his dream partner on one of the coolest projects of career he might be a little flustered.

Aka Harry does the Another Man photoshoot and Louis is gay. Also, they're both trans because I can. Was written for hltransenbyficfest may it rest in peace

⸙ Worth the Wait by lovelarry10 | WIP

“Harry, you’re scaring me. Why did you need me to come home? I don’t mind, not if you need me, but… tell me what’s happening, love.”

“I…” Harry cleared his throat, but still the words wouldn’t come. His shaking hand reached down and pulled out the picture, his breath coming in shallow pants as he handed it to Louis, who took it from him, frowning down at it.

“Whose is this?”

Louis’ blue eyes met Harry’s green then, and Harry knew he had to tell the truth.

“It’s mine. Ours. I’m pregnant, Louis.”

*****

Louis and Harry had long ago come to terms with the fact they couldn’t have children. Rapidly approaching their forties, they’re settled at work, and more than happily married.

Life, however, has other plans for the Tomlinsons.

⸙ Meant To Be (Arse First) by Anonymous | 4k

Zayn groans in response, and Louis can hear the slow rustle of his bed sheets in the background. “Is it another ‘you woke up in the back parking lot of a Tesco’s with no pants and I need to come get you before the cops do’ panic or more of a 'I can stay in my bed and lend you an ear’ kind of panic, because I drank a lot more than you did last night, Lou.”

“Uhh,” Louis replies eloquently, “more like an 'I have two giant, blood red handprints on my naked arse, and no, they aren't from a good shag’ kind of panic.” ------ Or the one where your soulmate mark appears on your body where they first touch you and stays there until they touch you for the first time. Aka the one where Louis's soulmate must like bums.

⸙ planting seeds of love. by 4ureyesonly28 | 5k

When little Harry first sees the boy dressed in all green, with mismatched blue and red socks and the huge crown of yellow petals around his head, he doesn't know that he's just laid eyes upon the love of his life.

⸙ Her by jaerie | 7k

The buttery swipe of a high quality lipstick was almost a sexual experience in and of itself. This time a deep colour with purple undertones which drew out the emphasis of long, dark lashes and perfectly contoured cheekbones. It was a look for loose and styled curls, feeling the classy formal nightclub vibes reflected back from the mirror. The silky plum coloured slip dress would be perfect to debut. The tags still needed to be cut free from the new garment that hung in the closet, but tonight was the night to set it free.

When Harry gets home, she can finally be who she wants to be. Letting someone else in always feels like a distant daydream to her... until it suddently isn't.

⸙ at last, at last by suspendrs | 41k

“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”

Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?

Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.

⸙ don't you call him baby by Femstyles | 8k

But now, eleven months later, as his Uber pulls up outside the bar, Harry thinks he can absolutely handle this. He's going to walk into Liam's birthday party where the ex-love of his life is also going to be and he's going to show Louis that he can be a mature adult about everything that’s happened in the last year.

Or the one where Harry is absolutely doing fine and is definitely not still hung up on Louis. Except he is.

⸙ the anticipation of knowing you by sweetrevenge | 13k

Hello Neighbor! Just wanted to let you know that you were having sex so loud and scarily I called our building manager and security officer because I thought you were hurt. P.S. I sent them away when I heard you yell ‘cock’. I’m sorry that I heard that, but I wanted you to know in case they stopped by to check on you or something. Sorry! Your neighbor Louis Tomlinson in apartment #306

After Louis overhears his next door neighbor having sex, he doesn’t really expect anything but awkward hallway encounters to come from it. Instead, he’s surprised to find himself in a whirlwind pen pal relationship with the sweet, albeit loud, baker next door.

⸙ Into the Deep Below by writeivywrite | 18k

Louis can’t help but stare, his heart in his throat, because he’s never kissed anyone like that. It’s the sort of passion people ruin their marriages for, that they get tattoos to remember, and it hurts to look at because he wants to taste it, to get between them and feel the burn of it on his lips.

Surfer AU written for the prompt 'Les Misérables: the guide, the chief and the centre'

⸙ So Wonderful and Warm by SadaVeniren |3k

“I’m going to die,” Harry whined as she buried her face in her arms.

“Silly Harriet. What did you expect her to wear to the pool?” Niall said it loud and uproariously and Harry saw the way Shawn looked over at them from where he was pretending to tan.

She reached back and slapped blindly at his hand. “I don’t know. Trunks and a tank top? A one-piece? Not-” she gestured towards the object of her current pain. “that!”

That - for the record - was one Louise Tomlinson, dressed in a red bikini.

aka Harry is a useless lesbian who pines, but not for very long because this is a pwp.

⸙ You, Who Never Arrived by abrighteryellow | 42k

That was him, Niall.” He claps a hand over a disbelieving laugh. “My soulmate – the person I’ve been waiting for since I was nine years old. That was him on the other end of the phone.” “But it can’t–” Niall stutters, unsure of what to do, how to put a stop to this. “That wasn’t real.” “Wasn’t it?” Louis rushes past him, zipping up his fly. He grabs a black denim jacket from a hook near the door. “Then who did I just talk to?” “Where are you going?” Niall demands as Louis pockets his keys and swings his front door open. “I just have to get a look at him. I just have to see, that’s all!” “You’re not serious. Louis, it’s already late.” “He’s at the airport. Fifteen years I’ve been expecting him around every corner, and now he’s half an hour away. I can’t just sit here.” “Bu–” “I’m not going to do anything crazy, I promise. I just–I have to see him. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.”

Louis Tomlinson is days away from marrying a perfectly nice podiatrist when he gets a phone call that changes everything. Or, the Only You AU in which Louis has a soulmate and it's definitely not Harry Styles.

⸙ Home (It's You) by sunniskies | 28k

When Louis left his high-powered life in the city to settle down in the suburbs, he had hoped to one day fall in love and start a family. He certainly didn’t expect to meet the omega of his dreams within five minutes of moving in.

He also didn’t expect the love of his life to hate him so much.

Or, Louis and Harry are neighbors who can't seem to get along...until they fall in love.

⸙ Vanilla Extract by Maelstrom_Roots | 3k

"When quarantine had started, Harry had been the cool one. But sometime in the last week, a panic had begun to grow inside of him. It had started out small, a niggle of worry deep inside his brain, but had since metastasized into something hungry and unpredictable."

Or: Harry takes a trip to the grocery store, and then freaks out about it.

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 04 | Addressing Error | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB03: You're ready to go home with Jimin, but obstacles arise, namely your own drunkenness. Namjoon helps you out of a tight spot and you find a new way to stave off loneliness: falling asleep in the comforting arms of a trusted friend. But is there more to it?

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 11.4K

Series: Love Bytes (4/?)

Genre: F2l, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

CW: anxiety, hidden erections, nip-slips, and masturbation(teaser)

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

A/N: Leave a comment if you like! It’s like fuel to my fire. 💜  Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re stiff,” you murmur, nuzzling your head into the fabric of his shirt, trying in vain to get comfortable at a ninety degree angle. “Can you like… lay down instead?”

He sighs and repositions, wiggling down beside you. His massive hand cups your head close to his chest as he does so. His head falls against the pillow and he nudges the side of your face with his knuckles. “Better?”

Your face angles upwards and you can just barely make out the mocking flick of his tongue in the moonlight that slips through the blinds. You bury your face, humming a note of approval over his collarbone. You’re quick to splay an arm across his torso and uncurl your fingers against his chest. Heavy fingers climb on yours, trapping your hand between his and the heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand lands on your shoulder and you shiver when he starts to trace lazy lines up and down your skin.

You don’t have time to fully appreciate the motion as sleep threatens to take you. The last thing you feel is his chin falling against the top of your head, both of you subconsciously snuggling closer. Never in your life have you felt so relaxed, so fast. You forget whom is resting beside you, holding you in a way that keeps you from drunkenly crying yourself to sleep. The world falls away. The thoughts of the night fall away. The emptiness is replaced by something good. Something tender. It’s a strange and foreign concept, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but what you do know is that it’s the closest thing you’ve ever felt to a place you’ve never truly had: Home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first time Namjoon awakens, it’s to the sound of your heavy snoring. He lazily removes the cocked glasses from his face, relieved they hadn’t broken when he fell asleep. Turning his attention to you, he holds in a laugh, then a disgusted snort when he feels the moisture leaking from your mouth onto his arm. You’ve managed to roll away at some point, which makes it easier to slip his arm out from beneath you in order to remove the two layers of shirts from his sweating body.

How many times had he told you to get on the landlord about fixing the broken air conditioning in your unit? On such a hot night, this is torture. He’s tempted to remove his pants, but even half-asleep he knows that would get awkward real fast in the morning. Instead he carefully rises from the mattress and turns on the fan idling beside the bed.

A deep, quiet sigh passes his lips as he rests his head on the pillow once more, a wave of relief  flowing with the air towards him. He blinks a few times, eyelids incredibly heavy as turns to face you, letting the breeze cool his back. Your legs are out from under the sheets and you’re hunched over, oversized shirt scrunched up and exposing the small of your back. He catches the goosebumps that form on your arms and quickly realizes your body might not be running quite as hot. Maybe he can share his natural temperature with you?

He tries as best he can to slide back into position with his arm beneath you, gently feeding it under the crook of your neck. As gross as your drooling and snoring is, it isn’t going to stop him from holding you. He’s been thinking about this for too long to let the opportunity pass him by. He snuggles in closer, blanket acting as a barrier between his now bare chest and your back. His arm falls over your hip as he leans closer, inhaling your scent and committing as much as he can to memory before letting the sounds of your snoring lull him back to sleep.

The second time his eyes open, the sheet is partially draped over him along with an arm and a leg. He takes in the dimly lit view of your face pressed against the skin of his chest. It feels like he’s dreaming, hazy thoughts tempting him to press his lips to the precipice of your forehead. His fingertips twitch against your shoulder, tugging the sheet up and swirling his fingers across it a few times with a smile. That’s when he notices the subtle tremble of your form. Not knowing if you’re cold or having a nightmare, he gently presses you back towards the comfort of your pillow, slowly, regretfully untangling his limbs from yours. He reaches down towards the foot of the bed and hikes a soft, fuzzy blanket to cover whatever chill you may be feeling. He waits, studying the quake of breaths as your chest rises and falls.

He rolls towards you, cradling your head into him, arm draping over you. Your cold fingers quickly find their way to the heat of his core. He breathes a sigh of relief, taking in the beauty of your face before closing his eyes and letting sleep reclaim him once more.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When the sun creeps in through the blinds, it’s a good sign that it’s a lot later in the day than you’d like. You groan, rolling away from the light hitting your face and splay your hand across the mattress. Your eyes flutter open with the realization you had asked Namjoon to sleep with you last night. The sight of the empty space next to you has you breathing a sigh of relief --and if you’re being honest with yourself, just a hint of disappointment.

The recollection of his hands intertwined with yours causes a dull ache to form in your heart. It had been so long since anyone had held you like that. It felt so good. You close your eyes, envisioning those long, slender fingers cupping your shoulder. Were you remembering the details correctly? Had he actually been as caring and sweet as your mind recalled? The blanket covering your torso says yes. Scooching over to the side of the bed, you grab at the phone on your nightstand, pulling it from the charger. Your mind struggles to remember the moment you had enough clarity to charge your phone; you quickly surmise Namjoon probably did that for you too. As you swipe the screen, a message is waiting.

Joonie 😬: Drink up

That’s when you notice the cup sitting on the nightstand. The sweating glass and remnants of ice indicate it’s been there for quite some time. You throw your head back against the pillow and look over at the place where he had been laying last night. Again your hand drapes across the empty expanse of mattress, missing the heat from his chest when it comes into contact with something hard. Your fingers clasp around the plastic frames of Namjoon’s folded glasses. You puff your cheeks and expel a burst of air, wishing he were here instead of the item in your hand.

You attribute the thought to the frustration coursing through your lower abdomen. You reach into the drawer of your nightstand, pulling out the pink vibrator nestled between the lingerie you never wear. You’re sorely disappointed as you bring it to your aching cunt. Of fucking course the battery is dead. Tossing it aside, your fingers work quickly to ease the tension radiating throughout your body, remembering the way it felt grinding on Jimin’s cock.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s early in the week when you get the tech service request for Professor Kim’s office computer. It’s been relatively slow so far. If Namjoon’s good for one thing, it’s your job security. You’ve only gotten a couple repairs and a stream of basic support calls, most of which were fixed by turning the computer off and on again. You roll your eyes as you read the description of the problem, but when they click “in-person appointment: required, status: urgent” you hardly have a choice in whether or not the trek across campus is worth your time. How many times could you tell him what the ethernet cable looked like? Although with his luck, he might have ripped it from the tower with his gangly legs and broke it.

Regardless, you stuff an extra ethernet cable into your tool case and click “accept.” A message appears on your work tracker with a smiley face with thick black frames and buck teeth: “Your Tech Service Is On the Way!” On one hand you hate that stupid emoji, but on the other hand it makes you laugh that management is convinced this is the way you make people not scream at you when their wireless mouse needs a battery changed.

You begin the journey across campus on foot, knowing it’s a little over a kilometer to his office in the library. As you exit the computer science building, you longingly stare at the little golf carts you once had the luxury of using for quick transport from one end of campus to the other. However, since the last IT guy they hired took one for a joyride and crashed it into the koi pond in front of admissions, all carts had been recently restricted to security only. You also find the campus courtesy bike rack empty as you round the corner. You swear they should always keep at least one bike reserved for maintenance, but whatever. Your mood lightens a few steps in as sunshine floods your skin; it’s been a slow day anyway. Who knows? Maybe Joon actually has a reasonable problem with his network this week.

After a leisurely stroll in the sun, two flights of stairs, and stack after stack of bookshelves, you finally arrive at his office door. It occurs to you that he might be with a student as you approach the closed door, so you take a deep breath and try to put on your best fake customer service smile before rapping your knuckles against the wood, narrowly missing the plaque with his name engraved on it.

A few seconds later the professor is opening the door, with an expression as hard as stone. You can tell by the bags under his eyes that he’s fatigued, but physically composed nonetheless. It never ceases to amaze you the transformation he undergoes from slicked-back, slacks and suit coat “Mr. Kim” to mussed up hair, Saturday night baggy sweats Namjoon. The smile falls from your face as you look at him. You feel like Smeagol emerging from his cave for the first time in years, highly aware of the lack of makeup on your face, the disheveled birds nest that is your hair, and the cheap white t-shirt and cargo pants full of screws that loosely hang about your waist.

He blinks a few times and his expression softens, little dimples forming with a wan smile. “Oh good. It’s only you.” He nods towards his desk. “Come in.”

“Rough week, buddy?” you ask, half teasing, half concerned for his state of mind. When he doesn’t answer, you quirk an eyebrow at him, slipping in past his far-off stare.

The door closes softly a moment later and you’re already getting your case open in the event it’s needed. Clearly he’s not in a chatty mood, but you feel the need to offer anyway. Gripping his shoulder brings him back down to earth, looking at you through troubled brows. “Hey, if you wanna talk… I’m here, Joon.”

“I’d love to get your opinion…” A frustrated sigh passes his lips and he breaks past you to pace around the comfy chair across from his desk. “But... I can’t talk to you about my students, you know that.”

You cock your head to the side, sheepishly scratching your cheek with a fingertip as you watch him stride across his office. “Is this another one of those ethical things or an actual policy?”

You don’t take it personally when he glares daggers at you. As you settle in his computer chair you do a preliminary scan of his network settings, stealing cursory glances towards him. He plops into the cushioned chair across from the desk, sinking into it with a sigh.

“So there’s this student,” he begins, locking eyes with you briefly.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum in a tone that tells him to proceed, gazing at the screen as you wait for him to spill whatever he’s so preoccupied with.

“They’re brilliant, but they don’t care about the work. They don’t even need to try that hard; they have this natural talent, but they can’t be bothered to even put in the bare minimum. I don’t think they’ve even read any of the required texts for the course,” he continues, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like seeing anyone fail my course, especially not someone as smart and creative as this. How do you reach someone who doesn’t want to try? How do you keep someone from falling through the cracks?”

Your eyes rest on the screen, not really looking at anything as your brain scrambles to piece together some kind of advice. “I learned years ago when I tutored people… you can’t make people care about the content. You can suggest ways of making the experience unique or fun for individuals. But ultimately, it’s on them. Three things I think when I show up for work every day: do your best, be patient, and don’t give up.”

Your eyes meet again and you can see him exhale, features still troubled, but the smile he sends your way is warmer, more relaxed. “Do you best. Be patient. Don’t give up,” he repeats softly and lets a halfhearted chuckle loose. “Thank you. I’ll think about it some more.” He groans, rising to his feet and smoothing back his hair. “After I grade the rest of the tests and essays.” You stiffen as he circles the desk, standing behind you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Make any progress?”

You tongue the inside of your cheek as you stare at the blinking cursor on command prompt. You haven’t actually done anything yet and in an attempt to look busy you run a quick ipconfig command, knowing it will look like a bunch of gibberish to someone like Joon. With the computer not recognizing the ethernet and no wireless adapter installed, you know the first step is to check the physical connection. You clear your throat loudly as you drop to your hands and knees, mumbling a quick. “Working on it.”

The tower is further back under the desk than you would like and you pull it towards you just a bit, falling onto your elbows to inspect the cables. Seeing everything in tact, your vision follows the cord to the jack in the wall; everything looks normal.

Namjoon keeps his hands tucked away, watching the delicious sight of you on all fours before him. This is easily one of his favorite parts about your visits, though he always tries to act casual about it. Face down, ass up; you really get into it. He wants to say you do it on purpose because maybe you know what it does to him--he had seen your games of chicken with Jimin, ever the tease-- but he also knows it’s more likely a side effect of you being passionate about your job.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get a sick satisfaction watching you like this. You grunt softly, lunging even farther forward onto one knee in order to physically ensure the cable is pushed into the wall. Namjoon’s eyelids close and he sighs, biting down on his lip to force the air through his nostrils. He turns towards the window to hide the way his pants begin to tent, but keeps his head turned to watch your ass sway from side to side, the thin outline of your panties visible through the cream-colored fabric.

God, he hates himself for being so gross, but he can’t seem to break away from the sight, especially not with the lingering memory of Saturday haunting the gap between his thoughts: your legs dragging across the sheets, enticing him to join you in bed with the subtle pout of soft lips that promised more than they could possibly deliver. He wonders if you even remember, but doesn’t dare to get his own hopes up by assuming you do. You were drunk. Didn’t really mean it. Cuddling you was a one time thing. He knew that and yet he was still trying to find a way to reassure himself that once would be enough to sate the craving deep inside. But now he knew how it felt to wake up next to you, and it only intensified his desire to repeat the interaction.

You reach back towards the end of the cable plugged into the computer and push against it with your thumb and forefinger. There’s a small ‘click’. That will probably do it, but you lean back and wiggle out of the crawlspace beneath the desk, staying on your knees as your eyes scan the screen for any difference in connectivity.

You feel Namjoon hovering behind you and your eyes dart to the face that appears beside yours as he leans in. “Did you fix it?”

You fix your eyes back to the screen. Network connected. You do another ipconfig and flush the DNS just for good measure. “Looks like it. Ever thought about not kicking your big clown feet into the mess of wires down there?”

“Is that how you talk to all your clients?” he scoffs as he stands up straight. He casually walks behind the computer chair and plants his hands on the back cushion, careful to hide the softening bulge in his pants.

You move to seat yourself as he nudges it toward you. “Just the ones that are incompetent enough to need my help every week when they unhook their ethernet."

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in a huff. "Okay well it could have been something more. You would have yelled at me if I tried to fix it myself 'cause you know I would have probably made it worse somehow."

"That's true," you mutter, falling back to rest against the cushion of the chair. "Alright, is there anything else you needed or is this it?" You tilt your head back up to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours. Could he tell you? Is now the time? He starts playing all of the possible scenarios in his head of how this might play out. The anxiety bubbling in his chest causes an uncomfortable span of silence to choke the air out of his lungs. Nope. Not today.

You clear your throat loudly as you stand. "Okay well, as always, don't forget to leave a review on the app if I resolved your issue, Mr. Kim."

He blinks a few times in rapid succession, snapping himself back to reality. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

You grab your tool case and turn back for a moment, coy smile on your lips. "Just being professional."

"Professional, my ass," he laughs and you can still hear the tiredness in it. "Don't worry. I'll give you a good review."

"Okay, but like don't be too extra 'cause they'll know we're friends. Short and simple," you say, opening the door and flashing him a phony smile. In an attempt to make him smile, you put on your best customer service voice once more. "I hope my services were pleasurable, Mr. Kim!"

He chokes out a cough to restrain his laughter as you turn to face the student waiting outside the doorframe. You inhale deeply, holding the air in as you try to think of something that will save face with this doe-eyed, timid-looking girl --most likely a freshman.

The breath leaves you in a quick huff as you attempt to make a statement. "Sorry. I need to go service someone else, excuse me."

Hoping the words came out too fast for the poor girl to comprehend, you nearly sprint around the closest stack of books and try to purge the memory of the horrified look on that girl's face. Your phone beeps and a message appears: 'Feedback: Professor Kim Namjoon: "Better than GeekSquad."' You shake your head and mutter "he's so lame" as you travel through the stacks, but you can't help the smile that creeps across your face. Despite just embarrassing the shit out of you both, you take pride in the personal flare of his comment.

The rest of your day goes by painfully slow and for some reason you find yourself thinking how professional Namjoon always manages to look in his professor attire. Even dead tired, he still manages to look so good, so composed--again, not that you'd ever admit it to his face. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a blank monitor nearby and crinkle your nose at the reflection. Your boss is a pretty chill dude and is super laid back about dress code, but maybe you could stand to try a little harder. It's not like you're trying to impress anyone, but something about feeling like a shriveled goblin next to Namjoon today has you second guessing the laissez faire nature of your wardrobe.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A little later in the week, you're sprawled across the loveseat after work, neck craned around the armrest as you're catching up on a tv show. The phone resting on your chest buzzes and your heart damn near stops beating for just a second. Panic slowly seeps into your mind. It's not often you get a direct message from Taehyung. Group chats are one thing. You seeking him out for advice is another. But unprompted texting direct from the god of baritones? Why do you get the feeling there's something sinister at play here?

Oh, right. Because Taehyung is a beautiful goddamn hermit.

You stare blankly at the keyboard on your phone. Over the last year, you've gotten close to the seven of them, but Taehyung has been the most closed off, the hardest to get to know. His resting bitch face makes for a great barrier between the outside world and himself and you can't help but think maybe he likes it that way. Come to think of it, you still don't know much about him, except for the fact that he's loaded, good at painting, and insanely attractive. And you know how he makes you feel: nervous, faint, like a helpless animal caught in a trap.

You've never been well-equipped to talk to someone of his stature. Just catching eyes with him makes you feel unworthy of his gaze, like you're so far beneath him that it's a crime to do so. You know he's not so scary, that he's not a god to be placed on any pedestal, but his presence intimidates you. His eyes, his body language, the way he talks; it's all very closed off compared to the others and you worry it might be that you've done something to upset him at some point and he's just held onto it instead of mentioning it directly.

In fact, you sometimes worry that you might not even be friends at all, what with the level of distance he seems to maintain. You hope that he considers you one, but you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer the message before you remains an inquiry in need of response.

Tae: Are you busy?

Should you just pretend you didn't see it? No. He has a fancy new iPhone. There's no way he won't get the read receipt on it. Stop taking so long and just act normal.

You: Haha just me and some Netflix. What's up?

The loud gunshots playing from the TV do nothing to distract you from the silence of your phone. Your eyes are glued to the image on your lock screen, waiting for Taehyung to message you back. You nearly jump when the vibrations hit your hand.

Tae: Come over

Your eyes feel like they're going to pop out of your skull. Why? An invite to his place? Are we on a group chat? No? Oh fuck. The panic sets in and you feel like you're going to pass out as you read far too much into the two simple words on your screen. A knot forms in your stomach and sweat begins to build on your forehead. Clumsy fingers fumble their way across the keyboard.

You: Excuse me???

Tae: Oh... has Hoseok not talked to you yet...?

You peel your eyes from the screen and stare blankly at the television for a moment, brows immediately furrowing.

You: about what

The knot in your stomach grows bigger as you wait for the response. What the fuck did Hobi do now?

Tae: ...

Tae: The photoshoot?

You rise from the couch, dread filling the expanse of your belly. What the fuck do you mean photoshoot? You're a bitch on a mission, already sprint-stomping down the hallway towards Hoseok and Yoongi's apartment. Your knuckles rap against the door in quick succession, not having time or the patience for your special knock. Almost a minute passes before you press an ear against the door. Nothing. Again you knock, louder this time. There's a grumble and shuffling from the other side before the door swings open.

You're about to vent your frustration and confusion when you realize it's not Hoseok standing before you, but his roommate. You don't know why it hasn't dawned on you until this very moment that there was a very good possibility Yoongi would answer the door. The annoyance in his face fades with the recognition of the shock on yours.

He flashes you a subdued smile, sucking his bottom lip through his teeth. "Yes?"

Immediately your posture becomes rigid, bristling at the innocent response to you pounding on his door. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you prepare your lips for the words funneling painfully slowly out of your brain. You haven't had a chance to permanently quarantine the memory of Yoongi finger-fucking two girls at the club. You're positive that fact is written all over your face as he raises his eyebrows and darts his tongue out to wet his lips.

Amused by your silence, he leans against the doorframe and tilts his head up at you with a cocky grin. "Do you always freeze up when you see something you like?"

Your jaw snaps shut as you swallow the frog in your throat and shake your head. "Just when I see something I'm not expecting."

He seems entertained as he crosses his arms. "So did you actually need something or are you just desperate for attention?"

The direct nature of his question catches you off guard and you feel your pride take a hit. You mirror his stance, shrinking in stature as you fold your arms across your chest. "Y-You don't have to be rude!"

A smile cracks at the corners of his mouth. "Relax I'm kidding... Mostly."

You roll your eyes. "Well I'm not here for your mean jokes today. Where's your roommate? I've got a bone to pick with him."

You don't hear Hoseok approaching from behind you, a finger pressed to his lips as a signal for Yoongi to remain silent. The mint-haired man raises his eyebrows and cocks his head in the other direction, the anticipation of the upcoming scare growing the smug grin on his face. "Not up for banter? Tsk, tsk. That's not like you. Did your night with Namjoonie go that poorly?" he teases, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Are you sensitive because Jimin's rubbing off on you?"

Even ignoring the insinuation about Namjoon, which is totally ludicrous, the double meaning of his last statement is not lost on you. Yoongi laughs in his obnoxious way, shoulders rising and falling with the nearly breathless, croaky sound emanating from his throat. “Or is it because he’s not?”

The humiliation tints your cheeks with pink, although it's hard to hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears. Hoseok takes the opportunity to sneak in closer as you attempt to stutter out a defense.

He gives a sudden stomp towards you and grips your shoulders. “Again!?”

You jump hard, reaching out towards Yoongi for safety. The lurch forward is accompanied by a frightened yelp passing your lips. The two boys burst into a fit of laughter as you spin on your heels to face Hoseok.

"You're such a dick, Hobi!" you hiss, running shaky fingers through your hair, pretending you can comb the anxiety from your scalp if you just keep trying.

He grins and bows. "At your service. Still better than those Tinder dicks though."

"She's looking for you," Yoongi says with a yawn, scratching at the back of his head. "Sounded pretty pissed from the way she was stomping around."

Hoseok's brow knots and he puckers his lips at you as he whines, "Why?"

You note the duffel bag strapped to his chest and the sweat drenching every inch of his body. He looks absolutely exhausted. That almost lessens the desire to bring it up, but Taehyung's message is still unanswered. Every time you think about it you die a little more inside.

You take a moment to sharply inhale through your nose, sighing out a long exhale as you thrust the screen of your phone in his face. "Why is Taehyung texting me about a photoshoot?"

The way you're waving it around makes it difficult for him to see. He leans back, cupping his hands around the edge of the phone to get a better look. His eyes suddenly snap to you and a crooked smile splits his face in two. The knot in your stomach ties itself up a second time as he snatches the phone from your grasp and books it down the hallway towards your apartment. You blink a few times and give chase just as he steps inside; you want to scream at him but you're very aware of the public hallway separating you. Yoongi rubs his eyes and slowly returns to his lair, ready for the relief of sleep to cure the pain of extra shifts. "I'm not awake enough for this."

"I live here you know," you remind Hoseok as you close the door to your own apartment.

The man is oddly absent from the room, Netflix still blaring on the TV. The contents of his duffel bag have been dumped onto your living room floor and you can hear him talking to himself in another room.

"Hobi?" you call, rushing into the bedroom. "Hobi! What the hell?"

The duffel bag lays open on the bed, already half filled with clothes: your clothes. Hoseok doesn't bother to spare a glance as he tosses something in the bag; it looks vaguely familiar, but you don't bother to look closer because he's already taking out another item. He's careful with both delicate straps as he pulls it from the hanger, cellphone glued to his ear. A series of thoughtless one-word affirmations are mumbled into the receiver as he traps the device between his shoulder and neck. He cocks his head to the side as he inspect the dress, running his fingers down the material. Spinning on his heels toward you, he presses the fabric against himself, mouthing "WOW!" with a cheeky grin. You wish he'd act a little less surprised to find something sexy in your wardrobe. Dick.

You tongue the inside of your cheek as he runs one of his hands along the material draped across his chest and throws his torso back dramatically. That thing has been the back of your closet since the day you bought it; there is literally never a reason to wear it, but you can't exactly bring yourself to donate it either, not for the money you paid. He pauses a moment and notes the long slit in the side of the dress, playfully dragging a hand up his thigh. The impulse buy clings to him as he rotates his hips a few times to mock you, and heat rushes to your face. With a silent laugh, he tosses the garment into the bag.

"Yeah, we'll be over soon. See you in 15. Okay, bye." As he hangs up he slides the closet door shut, shining smile doing nothing to lift the frown from your lips.

"Hobi. What. Did. You. Do." The stippled words cut their way through your mouth. You can't help the bristle in your tone but your impatience has gotten the better of you.

His grin grows impossibly wider. "Ah, what are you mad for? Can't you at least hear me out before your face gets like this?" He scrunches up his features in an attempt to drop the scowl on yours, but your expression remains unchanged. "Hmmm. Okay!"

With a quick zip, he tosses the bag back around his shoulder. You raise your eyebrows at him and cross your arms. "You wanna tell me why you're packing my clothes?"

"We're going to Tae's. I'll explain on the drive," he responds simply, trying to loop his arm in yours but you shrug him off and step out of range. His face drops into a pout. "Come on. Why don't you trust me?"

"Because I know you," you snort, wagging your finger in his face. "You are not one to be trusted. Sneaky, Jung Hoseok."

He places a palm over his heart and looks at you as though you just wrongfully insulted his character, but you know better than to trust the dramatic act. He needs to explain himself and not just drag you off on some bizarre adventure. You're exhausted. While earlier this week had been pretty lax, an upsurge in service requests had you running all over campus on a tight schedule and not all of the issues were quite so easy as re-seating a loose cable. There’s a lot waiting for you tomorrow, so for tonight you want nothing more than to mindlessly binge TV and vegetate.

"Explain."

He shifts his weight to one foot and folds his hands over one another, sheepishly twiddling his thumbs. "Well... After looking through your dating profile, I thought maybe we could help you make it better."

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. "That's what this is about? Hobi…” You want to forget he even knew about that, but his words replay in your head. Your eyes narrow. "...Wait… We?"

"The group. Me. Yoongs, Tae, Chim, Kook, Jin... even Namjoon. We all wanna make you a new profile."

"There's nothing wrong with what I have. Give me my phone." You hold your palm out and flex your fingers at him a few times.

"Oh really?" He tosses your phone back at you, causing you to fumble. "Tinder's going good then? Talking to a lot of people?"

"I haven't really had time to look," you fib, an innate eye twitch threatening to give you away. Swiping is part of your bedtime routine and you haven't gotten any matches, but he doesn't need to know that. In your defense, you've only been shown bottom-of-the-barrel neckbeard types anyway. You look from the phone back to Hoseok's smug face.

"What's so bad about my current profile? I worked really hard on it!" The brittle tone of your voice betrays the defense of your words. Tears are building up behind your eyes, but you won't let them out yet. How embarrassing, how sad must your life seem if all seven of them want you to start over? He said even Namjoon was on board. Could it be because of Saturday?

Your eyes scan the disheveled blankets, remembering how stupid you sounded that night, how pitiful and weak you had been to practically throw yourself at him in a hopeless attempt to feel something with someone. Did he tell them? Or did Hobi just figure it out on his own? The lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow but it's all you can manage to suppress the rage bubbling inside you.

No no no no no. Do not fucking cry right now. The tears hold for now, but the dam can break at any second.

"Okay I'm gonna be honest. Your profile? Meeeeeeh." He holds out his hand and flips it rapidly back and forth. "But with our help we can make it like WOAH SO AMAZING!" He flips both palms and raises them to the ceiling before waving his hands around to further accent his statement.

How the hell did he have all this oomph left after dance practice? You can practically feel the positive energy radiating from him, doing your best to keep your expression sour. But the genuine smile on his face makes you want to believe he will make things better, not worse.

"...How?"

"Well, taking new photos for starters," he says, sheepishly scratching his cheek.

"What? What's wrong with my photos?" You're already pulling them up to review again, just in case they're actually embarrassing and you're just too clueless to realize.

"Ah! Nothing!" he yelps, pulling you into a hug. "But I think you can have better ones, not just selfies." He tussles your hair and you crack a smile.

The weight of his hands move down and tug playfully on the hair behind your neck, forcing you to look up at him. The memory of his offer at the club resurfaces in your mind. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire. You swallow, looking up into deep brown eyes that radiate hope. You lose the argument on the tip of your tongue before it can even form.

"I asked Tae if he could shoot something a little more sexy."

You step back to create some space, breaking the teasing hold he has. Your eyes drift to your phone and scour the app for your profile. You hold up the full body shot for him to see again, as if this time he will agree that you don't need their help. "Um, excuse me? This one is sexy."

He tilts his head to the side and throws up his hands. "Ah, yeah. That one's sexy and mysterious. I like the curves, but I think we can turn up the heat. I'm thinking more of you in that dress!" he adds with a wolf whistle.

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Of course he thinks that; he’s Hobi. His fire burns hotter than most people’s. Even so, maybe he has a point. "You think that will really help?"

"I know it," he says with the confidence of a man who knows he's got you on the ropes. "Ah... Look we all know how amazing you are. Let us help you show it!"

You're still not totally convinced this is a great idea, but your batting average is zero right now and you're at least somewhat willing to entertain the idea that they can help increase the number.

"Okay. Let me grab my makeup. We can't be out all night though. I have to work tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know it's a school night. Don't worry. I'll have you back before you turn into a pumpkin." He grins, jingling the car keys now between his fingers. You're already texting Namjoon to help you hatch an escape plan.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You've been standing with your arms covering your chest for the better part of five minutes, internally dismantling what little confidence you possessed before coming here. Hoseok had been persuasive enough on the drive here; he made a good argument for taking nicer photos in slightly sexier clothing with better angles and lighting. But you had gone far past "slightly sexy" the moment Hoseok abandoned you for a shower in Taehyung's master suite, handing you off to an almost too eager Jungkook. 

Needless to say, Hoseok failed to mention Taehyung's gorgeous roommate would be involved, nor did he mention Jungkook would be planning your outfit combinations with Tae's scene setup. Did they really have to get so involved and make a huge deal about your stupid dating profile?

Standing in Jungkook's bedroom now clad in swimwear, you stare at the grumpy reflection in the full-length mirror before you. I can't fucking go out there like this. I feel practically naked.

You carefully open a dresser drawer in search of cover for your humiliation. Jungkook is just outside with the rest of your clothes Hoseok stuffed into his gym bag. If only he let you have it so you could at least see if there was something in there to cover up with.You can tell his patience is waning as the familiar quick rapping of knuckles comes once more.

"Y/N, are you okay?" The concern in his tone almost makes you feel guilty for going through his shit, but you can't just go out there dressed in just your bikini and some cutoffs.

You swallow hard, eyes scanning every last piece of fabric crammed in the drawer. How the hell does he even fit everything in here???

"Yeah, I'm fine," you call back, trying not to sound as distressed as you feel. "Just, uh.... struggling with the straps."

There's a short pause. "...Do you need any help? I'm pretty good with straps." The words travel to your ears accompanied by visions of the mischievous grin you know he's sporting.

Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath. When you had first met Jungkook, he was shy, timid, kind, and definitely not the teasing brat you had come to know. No matter how much time passes, he still seems to hold onto immature remarks that make you want to toss him out a window. Like you could. That guy is built like a brick shithouse.

You take a moment to collect yourself, grabbing at the nearest piece of fabric that catches your eye. "Aw, it's so cute when baby wants to help."

As you quickly slip the white flowing fabric over your shoulders, you check yourself in the mirror one last time. Thank god you shaved this morning or this would be way more awkward. Combing your fingers through your hair drives you to look for more imperfections, wishing he hadn't taken your hair-tie.

The groan from the other side of the wall pulls you out of scrutiny-mode. "I am not a baby."

"Bras are a little different than the jockstraps you're used to, Kookie," you sneer, pulling the door open in a huff.

Jungkook is hunched over the frame with an elbow. The rebuttal dies on his lips as his gaze travels from the floor up your body. Your ears start ringing at the silence and the undeniable thirst in his expression, the way he darts his tongue out, holding his teeth over his lower lip. His stare lingers a little too long on your breasts so you cross your arms, the flowing material around your form obscuring his view.

Agitated eyes snap to your face as he uses his tongue to poke the inside of his cheek. His features scrunch into a scowl. "I do have game you know. You're looking at an international playboy."

God he's so full of shit. Making out with a girl at the 'Small World' ride at Disneyland doesn't count.

"Yeah okay, Kookie," you scoff, rolling your eyes as you move to walk past him.

A rigid forearm reaches across the doorway to block your path, sleeveless shirt showcasing every bulging muscle in his arms. He straightens his posture to tower over you, flexing in a show of bravado. "It's Jungkook."

The air is sucked from your lungs as he pins you with a dark, taunting look that almost rivals Yoongi's. Almost. Needles prick at your ears and you can feel your hands immediately start to break into a cold sweat.

"What, you don't believe me, Noona?" he asks innocently, sweeping gentle fingers along your shoulder and around your neck. You grow tense at the sensation, doing your best to fight the stutter in your blink and the hitch in your breath.

The arm crossing the doorway drops and tugs on the material covering you. "Is that my shirt?"

"You're not using it," you argue, grateful for the distraction as you slip past him. "Does it really bother you that much?"

"No, I don't mind. But..." His lips pucker up into a ridiculous pout and he sways his body back and forth. "The whole point is to make you look sexy but you're here covering up. Hyung trusted me with this job. Promise you'll take it off when you're in front of the camera?"

"You're taking it off for the camera?" Namjoon's voice booms out from over your shoulder. He takes a second to snap his tongue against his teeth as he approaches. "Wow. Guess you don't need saving after all, Geeksquad."

You spin to give him a playful shove, but an uneasy sensation quickly settles in the pit of your stomach. Time seems to slow as the strap around your neck falls. The words passing your lips are frenzied nonsense, clumsy hands fumbling to keep soft flesh from spilling out of your top. Namjoon's eyes go wide, mouth falling open at the sight of your failure. You curse, turning back towards Jungkook as you manage to regain coverage.

If the smug grin didn't give him away, the cocky words that follow seal his culpability. "I'm pretty good with straps. Sure you don't need some help?"

Your eyes narrow, fingers floundering with the tie around your neck. "Don't you have something better to do?"

His obnoxious laugh echoes down the hallway as he slips past you. "I'll tell Tae you're on your way."

You fold the cover across your chest and face Namjoon, clearing your throat weakly. "Y-You didn't, uh..."

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, blush mirroring yours. "No, no. I didn't."

"Okay." You breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Good."

"I-I mean I barely saw--" He puffs out his cheeks, guilt painting his features.

You inhale deeply, trying to quell the shame in your chest as you cast your gaze at the floor. Silence fills the air between you for a few seconds.

He sputters out a held breath and pinches his fingers together. "Okay, like just a-- just a little nip-nipple--"

"Oh my god! Namjoon!" You bring your hands to cover your face, wanting to slither back into Jungkook's room and seal yourself away. But you force yourself to brush past him and make your way to the room Taehyung had converted to his studio. You can hear Namjoon’s long strides behind you, barely needing to try to keep pace with your pathetic attempts at jogging. He keeps muttering out apologies, but every word only heightens your awareness to the awkwardness of the event rather than helping you forget it.

The door to Taehyung’s studio is already open and as you turn the corner to enter, you come to a screeching halt, causing Namjoon’s to smack against your back. He reaches to your shoulders to steady himself, but it doesn’t even register on the list of things currently buzzing through your brain. It’s so well lit in here. No one told you it would be this bright. You cross Jungkook’s shirt impossibly closer to your torso and swallow the hum buzzing in your throat.

Sensing your discomfort, Namjoon leans down and whispers, “Hey, we can just leave. This is too much. I’ll talk to them.”

A relieved chuckle bursts from your mouth with the breath you’ve been holding. He offers the escape you asked for. He offers the familiar comfort and safety of returning to your apartment. But these things bring you no closer to the companionship you crave, meaningful or trivial in nature. Maybe what you asked for isn’t really what you need.

Looking about the room, Taehyung’s back is to you as he works on finalizing the tripod in the middle of the room, focusing the camera atop it at the well-lit screen. Off to the side, a very casually dressed, very wet, curly-haired Hoseok holds both ends of the towel draped around his neck. Beside him Jungkook stands with arms crossed and crinkled nose as he throws his head back in obnoxious laughter that fills the room. The pair are speaking to a short, well-dressed blonde man who contrasts everything about the two standing adjacent to him. If his stature, tight pants, and billowing overshirt didn’t give it away, the way he quickly roams his fingers through his hair as he talks to Jungkook certainly does.

Jimin?! Jimin’s here too?! What kind of fucked up intervention is this? I’m going to kill Hobi.

Hoseok’s attention span wavers and settles on your form in the doorway as you all but cower back into Namjoon. Hoseok’s excited wave draws the attention of his companions and they turn their gaze on you. Jungkook’s smug smirk, Hoseok’s thrilled grin, and Jimin’s shy smile illicit extremely different fear responses, which mingle to form a deep panic in your gut that threatens to cause hyperventilation. 

Namjoon’s fingertips dig into your skin, thumbs kneading soothing circles into the meat of your shoulders. He speaks softly, but his deep voice buzzes deep in your eardrum. “Breathe. It’s okay. I’ll tell ‘em to call it off.”

You let out a deep, controlled exhale. Then another. The panic attack that threatens to take hold quickly crumples in your belly. You often take for granted just how well Namjoon knows you, how well he can read the signals of your body and avert disaster before it arrives. Never once have you given it a second thought, never questioned the stability he offers with a touch, the praise that mollifies you. Today is no different; you push the gratitude aside and settle your eyes on the blonde man across the room.

“Good. Good...” The delicate string of breath against your ear trails off, knowing full well you’re already past it.

The others have fallen silent, waiting for you to move in and say something. The snarky comment on your lips shrivels and your lips melt into a goofy smile at the awkward air filling the room. Taehyung senses something is off and turns slowly, one hand still on the tripod as he locks eyes with you from across the room. An icy chill fills your lungs as his intense stare bores into you. Your shoulders raise, muscles tightening as you slink back into Namjoon’s chest. Taehyung slips his hands in his pockets as long, confident strides carry him towards you.

“You look terrified,” he mumbles with a stony expression that twists your stomach into knots. “Are you afraid of me? Of us?”

The hardness in his eyes fades in an instant and is replaced by a kindness you rarely see. His mouth curls into a warm smile as he leans forward with a slight bow. “You don’t have to worry so much, you know. We’re friends. We want to help, but I understand if it’s too much being put on the spot like this.”

We’re friends. You knew that and still the anxiety corroding your insides persists. The energy shift in his persona nearly gives you whiplash. Was this the same angry-looking man, poised like a god as he did his peacock strut over here? He raises a hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling. The rings around his fingers seem to shimmer as they reflect the lights set around the room.

“Only take my hand if you want to be here,” he says softly, the low bass of his tone almost apologetic. “There’s nothing joyful about taking pictures of someone who doesn’t feel like smiling.”

He seems so sincere and genuine. Is this what Taehyung is really like under that cold exterior? Your shoulders relax and your arms drop to your sides, allowing Jungkook’s shirt to partially expose your torso. His eyes never waver from your face as he waits for your answer. The others watch on, silently nodding at his words. You can feel Namjoon’s fingers drop down your back, tracing light, reassuring lines as they go.

“Taehyung,” you begin, voice stronger than you imagined it would be. You clasp your cold, clammy fingertips along the warmth of his. “I would be honored if you would photograph me. Sorry it’s not for anything more exciting than a dating profile.”

His smile grows wider and he offers a playful tug, lurching you forward. “It’s not the final output that matters so much to me as the moments spent taking them.”

Was everyone else seeing how sweet he was being? You look over at the trio, but they appear unfazed. Were you really the only one surprised by Taehyung’s hidden kindness? You suppose it makes sense, considering they have all known each other for much longer. Not everyone is going to spill their guts to someone after a year of only moderate interaction.

You nod, appreciating the sentiment. “Okay. Show me where I should stand and what I should do.”

He gently directs you to a seemingly random spot in front of the camera. You feel washed out under the heat of at least three different lamps shining at you. Taehyung steps back, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you. His brow twitches lightly and he shifts his jaw back and forth before turning his attention to the trio standing nearby.

“Jimin, warm ups. Jungkook, reflector. Hyung--” Taehyung starts barking orders, but Hoseok interrupts already on his way to you.

“I got it!” He cheerfully replies, pulling a small lip balm from his pocket and hastily twists it open. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I thought about it for a long time before finally picking this color for you.”

You purse your lips and reluctantly tick your jaw a few times. Reluctance has a strong hold on you.

“Oh relax, you big baby,” he chides, vicing your cheeks with his thumb and index finger to force your lips to pucker. He’s careful with his application of the color to your lips, making sure not to veer off course. “You’re gonna do great. Trust me. Just relax.” He demonstrates by taking in a deep breath, holding it, and then exhales. “Easy!”

"Yeah, easy." You sigh and force yourself to give him a smile and a thumbs up. "Okay."

"Oh, are you going to keep this on?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over the silky collar around your neck. His eyes drag across the faint glimmer of skin hidden underneath before darting to Jungkook as if to say 'you had one job.' Jungkook catches eyes with him and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with a pout.

"I don't know..." you trail, trying to find the right words to convey your feelings. "I just... don't feel very confident, I guess."

Hoseok dabs your lip with his pinky for good measure. "That's okay. That's why Jimin is here. He's going to help you warm up a little. Maybe you'll want to take it off after you get comfortable?" He smacks his lips a few times, indicating you need to rub your lips together to make the color even.

You do as he asks, feeling a little foolish as you share a shy smile with the blonde man nearby. There are certainly other ways Jimin could help you warm up; it was still pretty hard to face him after bailing last Saturday though. You do your best to push the thoughts from your mind and turn your attention to the doorway where Namjoon is standing, arms crossed with a sly smile decorating his features.

"What are you just gonna watch the whole time?" you call out, feeling uncertain about his cheeky grin. Suddenly you remember not too long ago he watched your tits come toppling out of your bathing suit and you fall silent, focusing on the legs of the tripod.

He licks his lips and takes a few steps forward with a sharp raise of his brow. "You texted me, remember? So now that you don't need me for anything," he pauses as he takes a folded chair from the wall nearby and sets it down a short distance behind the camera, "I think I'm gonna make it worth my while and see how this plays out. If you don't mind, Tae?"

Taehyung's eyes flicker between the both of you. "I don't have a problem with that. Having you here might be more relaxing, don't you think?"

You resist the urge to bite on your bottom lip. Relaxing. Right. Hoseok moves to quickly change the backdrop behind you; the image is that of an ocean, calm, peaceful, and absolutely gorgeous. You squint as Jungkook begins to blind you with the reflector.

"Okay. It's a summer day, very hot, but not as hot as you," Tae says, quirking an eyebrow up at you from behind the camera. "Compete with the sun for me."

What.

You swallow, staring into the camera like a deer caught in headlights, your body stiff as a board.  The shutter sounds off only once before he shakes his head very lightly, a laugh escaping his lips. Namjoon brings a hand to cover his mouth as he manspreads and leans back.

"Ah, Jimin. Look at Jimin," Tae instructs, pointing to the blonde man close enough to touch, but far enough to keep out of frame.

Jimin sighs dramatically and cranes his neck towards the ceiling, looking up and blinking a few times. He angles off his body just enough to create a flattering view, balancing his casual stance with relaxed, broad shoulders. Oh right, he's a professional. You try to copy his stance, and do so perfectly, but you forget what you're supposed to do with your face. You steal a look back at him, almost immediately falling victim to his angelic features. 

Your heart aches when you think about the way you left things last weekend. He seems unbothered but you wonder how; Joon had explained that he was used to keeping things casual, but you sure as hell weren't and that's why you needed to keep that sort of thing off limits. Saturday night was a big faux pas and you couldn't feel more ashamed about it if you tried. Yet somehow you head still found a way to be smitten.

The shutter clicks again and you look over at Jimin, who is already modifying his pose. You continue mimicking him for some time, slowly increasing pace every time the shutter clicks. It starts to come more naturally and you feel yourself opening up. Jimin drops his outer shirt down, revealing a bit of his shoulder and without thinking you do the same, exposing the bathing suit underneath. You look over at Jimin, feeling slightly embarrassed at the display, but he just laughs and drops the fabric from his other shoulder. You continue to mirror his actions until you finally slip the shirt off completely and toss it Namjoon's way, covering his face briefly before he pulls it down while sporting a coy smirk.

An hour passes as you continue on with Jungkook coordinating your outfits, Jimin helping you pose, and Hoseok creating ambiance while Taehyung does all the shot calling with his camera. Namjoon is your cheerleader, offering words of encouragement with each new scene. Honestly the weirdest thing about the night is that it starts progressing smoothly and you almost feel comfortable in front of the lens now. That is, until you’re standing in the dress Hoseok pulled from your closet.

They’ve turned most of the lights off to create a candlelight effect. The warm glow of the remaining lamps barely kisses your skin and you’re thankful for the loss in heat, as well as the cover of darkness. Whatever confidence you’ve built up quickly diminishes as you catch Namjoon’s expression off to the side. His jaw is tight, screwing into a lopsided grimace; it’s hard to read the rest of his face in this light, but it certainly looks like a cross between sympathy and disgust. It could just be your brain filling in the gaps with nonsense, but you hug your elbows close to your chest and shrink back, finding a spot on the floor to stare at while the rest of them continue to tweak the scene.

This is for sure the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; there’s no way you could look more breathtaking, yet there’s something hidden just beneath the surface of your beauty. Namjoon swallows hard, watching your hesitant movements. You’re uncomfortable; it’s hard to miss the uncertainty of your posture, the shaky exhales, trembling fingers, subtle quiver of your lip. 

Okay, so maybe he searches for these things, but reading your body language has become a pastime. He’s not sure if it’s more for your benefit or his own masochistic torture --reading into every little detail to assure himself there’s no way you can feel the way he does-- but either way he can’t seem to stop himself from doing it. 

He’s thinking of ways to assuage the anxiety, but a heavy fog blurs the possibilities. The words become scrambled on their way to his lips as he looks you over again, and again, and again. Desire clouds his mind, moving in like a storm to coat every last thought with obscenities. His cock twitches against his thigh, already rock hard and aching to be touched. He stares blankly ahead as he crosses his legs and hunches forward onto an elbow, trying to will away the tent in his pants by silently reciting the alphabet. 

He’s absolutely disgusted with himself for being so lewd when clearly you’re in need of some support and he clenches his jaw in frustration. There’s no way he can stand right now without drawing attention to it, so the best thing he can do is try to compose himself and keep it that way. As he nears the end of the alphabet, he finally notices the way your gaze is cast at the floor and feels the need to say something, anything.

“Geeksquad.”

Your head snaps up to find Namjoon’s eyes locked onto your face, hard expression softening. “You look amazing. Try to breathe, okay? You’re doing fine.”

Your face brightens as you crack a smile, grateful for the reassurance. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, Joonie.”

He smiles back, dimples forming in his cheeks as he folds his hands over his lap. You fail to realize he’s equally happy about the lighting conditions in this moment.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The makeup is being stingy about coming off. You’ve been scrubbing remnants of eyeshadow and mascara off your eyelids for the better part of five minutes. A toothbrush lazily hangs from your mouth as you toss the makeup-caked pad in the trash bin. As you resume brushing your teeth, you pick up your phone with your free hand and begin texting.

You: hey… so

You: i may have overreacted earlier when i asked u to save me 🤔

You: but you still came through for me and i do appreciate it

When no response comes, you decide to come out and say what’s on your mind. You’d like to cut through any residual awkwardness left over from the nip slip incident because god knows it’s all that’s been on your mind since donning your regular clothes. As long as you can both pretend like nothing happened, you’re good.

You: i guess what i’m trying to say is thanks

You: it was nice that you made an attempt

You’re concerned about the amount of time that passes in silence as you finish up. You watched Hoseok drop him off at his apartment before returning home yourselves, so you know he got there safely. It’s only nine thirty. You doubt he’s asleep so you’re about to call, but you reconsider once you remember he’s had a lot of papers to grade this week and could be catching up on extra sleep. Or he’s avoiding you.

Your belly twists with the turmoil suffocating your brain. Do you just send something asking him if things are okay between you? It’s really awkward, but you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you accidentally flashed him. He’s probably avoiding you. Well fuck it.

You: are u avoiding me Namjoonie????

You: pls don’t :c

You sigh, falling back into bed as you open Tinder. What’s on the swipeLeft radar for tonight? A  blue star appears, telling you this person “super-liked” you; he’s an average looking guy, but once sentence into the profile tells you all you’d need to know about his shitty personality. Douche. 

You swipe left on a few more guys either holding fish, didn’t fill out their profile, or only have pictures of their current vacation destinations. There’s so much trash to sift through; it’s disheartening. Maybe Hoseok’s plan really will work and you’ll have guys eating out of the palm of your hand in no time. Maybe even eating you out. You’d have to find a viable candidate first, either way.

Your phone starts buzzing, familiar cross-eyed photo of Namjoon taking up your screen. Quickly swiping the green button, you answer, “Hello?”

“Geeksquad… Why you being paranoid?” Ragged breaths seep through his words just enough to pique your interest.

“Are you okay?” you ask, not entirely meaning to deflect, but still grateful for the opportunity to do so. “You sound a little out of breath.”

“Oh,” he sighs loudly, trying his best to reduce the sound of any following exhales. “Sorry I’m… just uh, working out.”

“You,” you begin in an accusatory tone. “...Working out?”

“It’s a great stress reliever,” he points out defensively. “Anyway, I’m just calling so you won’t worry yourself to sleep.”

“Wow. What? Pshh. I wasn’t worried, like, at all, dude.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah…” you answer, hearing the insincerity in your own tone. “I was just making sure you weren’t too mad about the false alarm.”

He chuckles. “Look, I’ll say it now and any time you need me to repeat it: I’m always gonna be there for you when I can. I wasn’t doing anything important tonight anyway and the uber ride was hella cheap from my place to Tae’s. Plus… I got to see you model next to Jimin, which was hilarious by the way.”

“Har. Har. Har. I got completely blindsided by Hobi and Tae. Super hilarious. Especially considering I haven’t spoken to Jimin really since Saturday. You know. When I made him think we were gonna hook up and then just peaced out. Like a bitch.”

“He’s not going to hold it against you. You know that.”

“Yeah.” You hum a sound of discontent as you fix your gaze on the ceiling. “Hey Joonie? Do you think those photos are going to look okay?”

“I think Tae can pull out some decent ones. He has an eye for that kinda thing. Once you started smiling for real and let go of that fake shit, I think those were the money shots.”

You can’t help but smirk at his words. “Good. I’m anxious about it still, but I feel slightly better.”

“Glad to help. Is there anything else?”

“Um….” You bite your lip, tasting the remnants lip balm. “W-We’re good right? I mean...about that whole thing with Kookie in the hall.”

Namjoon clicks his tongue against the receiver. “Ah, I hadn’t even thought about it all that much. But I suppose we need to address it.”

“Do you think you can pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“Like what didn’t happen?” he asks lightheartedly. 

You fail to catch on and you grind your teeth together before hissing, “The nip slip!”

He fumbles with his words on the other line. “I-uh,Ah, yeah-Hmm. I know. I was, uh… making a joke Y/N.”

“Oh.” You breathe a sigh of relief, while filling with embarrassment. You force the words out of your mouth at torpedo speed “Well... I think that’s all we need to talk about.  I need to go to bed. Thanks, Namjoonie. You have a good night.”

“You... too.”

“And remember to forget!” You want to die as the words pass your lips. 

You wish the mattress would swallow you as your head falls against the pillows.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you hang up, Namjoon sits back against his chair and stares down at the exposed swollen head of his cock, already dripping with precum and ready to continue where he left off.

“No worries… Hadn’t even thought about it at all.”

[cbyauthor]

NEW FIC!! AT YOUR SIDE, CLEAR SPACE FOR ME

Read it HERE on AO3!

Modern Au with CAT HYBRIDS!! Wei Wuxian is a handyman living at Cloud Recesses. That Lan Wangji guy is...odd.

Chapter 1/8

Story:

Wei Wuxian's main duties at the Lan complex—locally known as Cloud Recesses, which was just about the most pretentious thing Wei Wuxian had ever heard—were as follows:

1. Minor repairs and maintenance. Wei Wuxian might never have had an actual job, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to do things. A lot of Saturday mornings hanging out with Uncle Jiang had taught him enough that he could get by. Google was helpful when he was actually out of his depth. Who the hell still had knob and tube wiring, and why did they assume a random 20-year-old with half an engineering degree could fix it?

2. Clean common spaces. This was the easiest part of his job. Lans didn't tend to congregate, so tidying up in the library and the entrance hall took only a few seconds, especially if he set himself a timer and was trying to beat his best score. (He'd done the floor in 56 seconds last time, and didn't miss any of it.) (Except maybe a couple corners.)

3. Deliver mail—and food, because even Lans couldn't resist the siren song of Dominos—to the individual living spaces within the complex. Mostly, he took important-looking envelopes to the office of Lan Xichen, who was supposed to be running the family business, whatever that was. Nie Huaisang had told him that it was 'totally legit' but that was the same guy who believed his brother and his brother's weird uppity secretary weren't fucking, soooooooo. Debatable.

4. Ignore any weirdness. 

Namely, hybrid shit. As if it wasn't the most obvious thing ever, in this life or the next.

Everybody knew the Lans were cat hybrids, but nobody talked about it. After the legislation, the Jiang clan had opened their gates and actually socialised with the humans around the complex. No such luck with the Lans, though they could hardly be blamed for keeping their distance. The Jiangs were dog hybrids, pack-oriented at heart.

The Lans were...not that.

Which was why it was still a surprise when anyone approached the gate, and even worse when someone actually rang the doorbell.

"Oof!" Wei Wuxian managed to keep his face from slamming into the floor, but it meant the rest of him was in an undignified heap next to his tiny bed. "Coming!"

The door to his one-room cabin hit the wall with a loud bang as he rushed to the gate, then his finger bent at an awkward angle on the button for the intercom.

"Ow—yeah? I mean, hello?"

"Uh, I have a delivery?"

"Cool, one sec."

The guy looked spooked, jumping at the beep the outer door made, but he handed over the package just fine. Brown paper, a little warm on the bottom...food, definitely. Indian, if the smells coming out of the bag were anything to go by.

Wei Wuxian's stomach twisted with want. Not hunger...he'd just eaten. Just longing for something that wasn't cup noodles.

"Thanks, man," he said, deliberately loosening his grip on the bag. 

The guy smiled, tightly. And didn't leave.

He didn't outright hold out a hand in expectation, but the vibe was 'poor orphan boy asking for another helping'. Or for at least 15 percent on the price of the order.

"Did they already tip you?" Wei Wuxian asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Uh. No."

He kept his sigh inside as he dug into his jeans for his wallet. This guy hadn't done anything to deserve feeling like he was about to get reprimanded. It wasn't his fault that a lot of the older Lans were so removed from the human world that they'd forgotten—or had never learned—the most basic of social customs.

What the hell had they done before Wei Wuxian was around? Got shitty service, probably. That probably had something to do with why most people didn't even bother to ring the doorbell. A number of good pizzas had met an untimely demise out on the sidewalk that way.

Juggling the bag, he pulled a bill from his wallet, hoping it'd be enough. It was all he had, so it would have to be. "There you go."

"Thanks," the delivery guy said, his smile a little more genuine. "Have a good day!"

"You, too." The door—heavy and resistant to pressure, like all the doors in this place—closed way too slowly for Wei Wuxian's taste, since he felt obligated to keep his pout to himself until nobody was in sight.

He had to stop doing that. It wasn't his job to pay delivery people, and the Lans wouldn't learn if he kept enabling them, but it would be so shitty for the delivery people... 

"Ugh, whatever," he told the tiny smiley face written on the edge of the paper bag. At least someone was happy. 

His lunch break was over, so he hustled up the driveway to the living spaces, the sunshine putting him in a better mood with every step. One of the wind chimes that dotted the complex was going at it. Not annoying per se, just unignorable.

"And who do you belong to?" Wei Wuxian muttered, juggling the bag again to get a peek at the instructions to the restaurant.

218. Cool.

Wait.

218? Not 217?

He didn't even know there was a 218, but Lan Xichen's personal residence was 217, so he'd been there a bunch. He supposed he'd never been around the corner, but the hallway did continue.

The Lan homes were a bit like single-story motels, but really nice ones. Rows of widely-spaced doors were shaded by an overhanging porch roof, and inside, all the apartments—at least, the ones he'd been in—were virtually identical. 

There was nothing special about the door he stopped in front of. Nothing at all, except that he'd never seen it before, and it was in the nicest part of the complex. Someone important, then.

"Knock knock," he called out, then did the same thing with his hand. Next to the door frame was a nameplate.

Lan Wangji.

From inside, he heard a thump.

Then nothing.

"Hello? I've got your food." He shifted on his feet, then added in an undertone, "Smells good, too."

There was another sound from the other side of the wall, then the clunk of a knob turning, and then—

The door opened. About an inch.

A pale face and a dark eye were visible through the crack, but whoever it was—Lan Wangji, supposedly—didn't say anything.

So Wei Wuxian did it first.

"Hi!" The bag made a dry crunching noise as he thrust it out. "Delivery!" 

The door closed and the eye disappeared.

"Um."

What the hell?

The bag was starting to get heavy, so he dropped his am. Then raised the other one to knock again.

There was no more movement on the other side, but he knew someone was there, so he backed up against the railing, into the strip of sunlight that the awning didn't cover.

The door opened again, but still, the man—probably a man, if those strong eyebrows were anything to go by—said not a word. Both his eyes were visible this time, though, and his entire long nose. Long face, actually. And tall. Just...long everything.

"Um," Wei Wuxian said. Again. 

The door shivered, but didn't close.

Very carefully, telegraphing every movement, Wei Wuxian put the package on the ground in a cloud of warm, spicy smells. Then, he used the edge of his shoe to slooooooooowly slide it across the concrete. The scrape was like claws on metal.

When he'd pushed it as far as he could without getting any closer, he stood up and backed up until he was pressed against the railing. 

And he waited.

And waited a little more.

And...the door opened, enough to let a tall—long—body through. 

The bag was snatched up in a second, and the man was back inside his apartment in a flurry of flipping hair and loose, pale clothing.

A robe. The man was wearing a very tightly belted fuzzy bathrobe in the middle of the day.

Which Wei Wuxian only noticed because Lan Wangji was standing stock still as the door—heavy and completely unable to be rushed—sloooooooooowly closed.

"Enjoy your food!" Wei Wuxian said with a little wave that felt stupid as soon as he did it.

Lan Wangji stared. The gap narrowed. 

Just as the door started to cover his face, Lan Wangji said, "Thank you."

Click.

"Okaaay."

Weird. But oddly, not the weirdest thing he'd experienced here. That had to have been the carpeted bathrooms in a couple of apartments on the West side.

Seriously. Carpet. In a bathroom.

Lans were weird, and not because they were bad at social interaction.

***

He dragged his feet on the way back to his cabin, as far from the main complex as they could possibly put him.

His muscles were sore, weak from being stretched and used for so long. He wasn't out of shape, but bags of concrete were heavy and the new sidewalk on the northside pavilion had taken him all day.

Nothing he couldn't handle. It just would've been a lot nicer with some company.

When his cabin came into view, he saw a familiar spot of white on the door. Grabbing it on his way inside, he popped open the taped envelope that always managed to appear when he was busy elsewhere.

Counting his salary didn't make it worth any more, but he did it anyway before taking out a couple of bills for expenses that week….then a couple more for his phone bill.

As for the rest…

Hopping onto his bed, he pulled up the far corner of his twin mattress and added the envelope to the flattened stack. There were four or five other envelopes just like it, waiting for the next time he went into town and to the bank. He needed to do that.

...Not this time though.

The numbers on his phone's banking app weren't as reassuring as seeing it in his hand. Some instinct still urged him to bury his treasure instead of giving it to someone else to keep.

Thumping the mattress back into place, Wei Wuxian fell onto his back, knowing he'd regret it later when he found smears of concrete dust all over his sheets. That was a problem for Future Wei Wuxian, not him.

Freed from the ribbon that kept it held back, his hair was a little damp from sweat, and a bit grimy from the work. The scratch of his fingers over his scalp was just about as close to heaven as he thought he'd get.

Showeeeeer, the responsible part of his brain told him. You'll extra not want to do it lateeeer.

Future Wei Wuxian was a chump who'd be very pissed in like an hour, but screw him.

He messed around on his phone instead, endlessly scrolling until he found something worth sharing with Shijie or anyone else.

Group Chat: The Boys

Me: I hate this, hate it with me.

[picture]

YourSaviourJC: Ew. What even are those?

Sangbird: WUT R THOOOOOOOSE

Me: The spawn of satan. I hate how human they look. HATE IT.

Sangbird: Oh nooooo, they're so cute how can you hate them? They love you!!!

Me: No they don't, they want to kill me for sure.

YourSaviourJC: Agreed, they want to kill you, specifically.

Me: RUDE!!!

Sangbird: How's it going with the Lans?

Me: Fine

Sangbird: I haven't been to cloud recesses since I was a kid but Da-ge has, obvs. He used to tell me that they were just fully cats all the time and that he had to have business meetings with a fluffy Himalayan but the more I think about it, the more I think he was lying to me

Me: Lol he def was. Nobody is in cat form around here. Nobody even gets their ears out, it's kinda crazy.

Sangbird: NEVER? Doesn't that itch? My wings would like...fall off if they weren't out a lot. Like moulting but WORSE

Me: I dunno. 

YourSaviourJC: Do bird hybrids moult?

Sangbird: Kinda. 

YourSaviourJC: omg since when???

Sangbird: Evolutionarily speaking, its not that useful. Just makes Da-ge miserable for a few weeks in the spring, cuz he's got like...pure-ass bird of prey blood. I obviously handle mine with grace and don't complain one bit.

Me: Lol you forget I stayed at yours for spring break last year. There was crying. 

YourSaviourJC: EXPOSED.

Me: Thank god you and Shijie don't shed. Omg can you imagine Auntie Yu's face if her baby boy got fur on the couch??? 

Sangbird: Lol. Carnage. Speaking of. I heard she was on a tear.

Me: ?????

Sangbird: ummmmmmm MIGHT have let slip that you're working for the Lans

Me: !!!!!!!

Sangbird: yeah she's kinda pissed now. Thinks you're like… being sneaky? 

Me: What the hell does she think I'm going to do? I'm not part of the clan, any more than I was part of hers. It's just a job. Not a great one either.

Sangbird: You know her. 

Me: Yeah. Maybe I'll call Uncle Jiang, complain about my life, make it look even more pitiful than it is.

Sangbird: Lol good luck.  

Jiang Cheng's silence was damned by his read receipts.

"Fuck," he whispered to no one.

He didn't want to go farther away, far enough that'd it'd be hard to visit the people he liked. Or god forbid, actually leave the hybrid community. And even if he had wanted to, he'd barely saved enough for a few months rent, and he'd been there for almost six months, barely buying enough groceries to eat. 

He'd left Yunmeng himself before he was asked to, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. If he'd managed to get along with Auntie Yu for a couple more years, he might have had a college degree to get him on his feet with a good job before long, but she'd hit her limit of tolerating the fox in the hen house.

Or Uncle Jiang had run out of ways to say no to her.

Rolling over to face the concrete wall of his shack, Wei Wuxian snagged the ribbon that'd been in his hair, rubbing the end of it between his blistered fingers until homesickness no longer threatened to sweep him away.

[sakurasangcl]

Comfort, Interrupted

so this is a little rp kind of thing I wrote for my pathfinder character, Reyna Wolffe. this was her day before she met up with her party. I’ll include a bit of background info, and under the cut is about 1.5k of it! 

Reyna Wolffe- Halfing cavalier, a former slave to Dorian, head of the Mafia in Glinthelm. She was the Hounds Master for his dogs in the dog fighting arena. She escaped out of luck, when Snowflake was fighting the strongest dog and took out his eye. In the panic a fire started, and she and him escaped, stealing her free person papers.

Snowflake- a wolfdog who serves as her mount. He is pure white, but while in Glinthelm she had him roll around in coal to turn his coat gray to disguise him. He also acts as a service dog for her at times. 

Faali’el- a half elf they brought to Glinthelm after a battle in his town against his father and a necromancer, his half sister. He is in a wheelchair he made, and is a gifted alchemist. Disabled people are uncommon, but also often have a slave companion to help. He opened Staves and Salves once they reached Glinthelm with the help of Otto. 

Otto- a former slave, freed totally legally. He owned the building Staves and Salves, and now helps Faali’el there.

Dorian- Reyna’s former owner and head of the Haven Mafia in Glinthelm. He is in charge of the dog fights. 

Rowan- a party member who is a kitsune psychic mage who spent ~25 years trying to figure out their “curse” and how they are an abomination

Nivrath- another party member. a elf/half elf druid who is more or less a host for mushrooms. its pretty interesting. 

Maya- a part member, a dhampir noblewoman vigilante who has a halfling servant named Sophie. 

Sweet Mable- the dog Reyna chose to be Faali’el’s service dog. 

the Jamesons- the noble family of Glinthelm, former slaves who led a slave revolt. They are in charge of an organization of more or less bounty hunters. 

Reyna knew immediately when Snowflake began helping Faali'el that she needed to get him his own dog. Perhaps it was selfish of her to get him a female, but she had a critical eye with the dogs. If this is where a noble would get a best dog, it was where she would get and train Faali'el's. 

The markets were never something she enjoyed, and was only steadied by the presence of Snow. Remembering the directions the Jamesons’ gave her, she found herself where the hounds were. The noise was overwhelming; barking, yapping, growling. The scents were the same, only the tiniest better than the kennels. These dogs needed to look presentable. Reyna found herself gripping tighter onto Snow’s lead thankful for her vantage point from her saddle. 

Reyna knew what she was looking for. She wasn't getting a pup for a lady, nor a hunting hound. She definitely wasn't there for a fighting dog. Something potty trained and with basic manners would suffice; she could do the rest. She really just needed a dog with alert and sharp eyes, clean teeth, a sturdy frame, and the correct demeanor. 

Sweet Mable was the name of that dog. She seemed to be bored, and a likely candidate for breeding. Reyna knew how miserable that could be from experience. She took a deep breath of the stench surrounding her, grounding herself and pushing *hat out of her mind. Sweet Mable was bored just laying there tied up. When Reyna approached her, she didn’t mind the person at the stall until she could properly assess Sweet Mable.

She would be perfect for Faali'el, especially because Reyna intended to get him only the best. Mable was smaller than Snow, but a beautiful brown in color. Her eyes were like caramel and her nose wet and healthy. After a bit of tension between the Snow and Mable, they got along well. Reyna knew Snow wouldn’t fight her on his own, and Mable seemed more curious of him. It made sense, seeing as he was half wolf. Snow easily asserted his dominance due to his size and demeanor, a relief to Reyna.

The awkward part for Reyna was buying the dog. She used to be able to get away with being gruff or short with these people. After all, it used to be Dorian backing her up. But with her new friends, she was learning and becoming better mannered. She knew how to interact with people differently. In this instance, she needed to be polite but firm. Reyna wasn’t one to overpay for a dog, and wasn’t about to start. She was a bit anxious about the interaction. Reyna hadn’t met this person all those years ago, but that didn’t calm her anxiety about being seen. So, she bartered and quickly paid, trying her best to avoid many questions or too many eyes. 

Reyna quickly tied Mable together with Snow, so she had to come with them without Reyna worrying about holding the leash and reins. Snow was bigger anyways, so he could easily pull Mable in the right direction, back to Staves and Salves. Once she was there, she unsaddled Snow, knowing that he deserved a bit of a break himself. He wasn’t unsettled the way she was, but she inflected her emotions onto him unknowingly, thinking it was him who needed the break rather than her. 

Reyna took them all inside, putting Snow's tack away with her bedroll before patiently waiting for Faali'el to finish with customers. Reyna was nervous again, playing with the hem of her shirt. If he didn't approve, she did a major fuck up. She took another deep breath, gently stroking the fur on Mable's back. Reyna needed to have more confidence in her ability.  This was her area of expertise. She knew what she was doing, and still does.

Reyna then waited to speak to the two, Mable sitting patiently next to her. When the customer leaves, and Reyna is given a chance to speak, she says, "This is Sweet Mable, or just Mable for short. I think she will do great for when Snow and I aren't here…” Reyna pauses, uncertain what else to say. “I’ll train her well, so just let me know what you would want and need her to do, so I can teach her how.”

Then, as an afterthought, she adds, “And if you don’t like that name, you can give her a new one.”

While Reyna may not be smart in the conventional sense such as Rowan, Reyna knew what she was doing. Mable greets Faali'el with a wagging tail, and she can tell that the two bond. A bit of tension leaves Reyna's body, but most remains. It would continue to remain until they left Glinthelm and Dorian was strictly in the past, no longer looming over her future like storm clouds waiting to pour. 

With the greeting over, Reyna starts training Mable. She had forgotten how much she missed training dogs, and was beginning to feel almost happy that she had the ability to train a dog in this way. Mable would have a beneficial purpose in her life. Reyna preferred teaching her how to help Faali'el than to fight or hurt someone. Rather than destructive purposes, Reyna was creating.

Praising good behavior and redirecting bad behavior worked wonders, as usual. This made Reyna wonder...

Why do people think it works well to threaten or hurt them for bad behavior? It just makes them scared of you and eventually they’ll retaliate. Those are the worst kind of people. The way you treat dogs shows a lot about a person. If they take out their anger on them, they’ll do it on their spouse and kids… And slaves.

Reyna begins to dissociate at the thought, backing up against the wall as she panics. Her reaction isn’t noticeable; this hasn't happened in a while. And never in front of other people. Thankfully, Snowflake picks it up immediately. He starts licking her face and tugging lightly on her shirt, letting out little playful growls and a sneeze. Reyna immediately snaps back into reality, giving him a hug. Snowflake’s tail wags as she does, and a curious Mable comes over and nudges her for attention, licking at her hand. 

No matter what, slavery is wrong. If Halflings are being treated properly, like Otto and Sophie, they stay because they want to. They’re paid and treated like equals. In a situation where I was powerless, I took power in the chance I was given. Perhaps Desna gave me that opportunity… but it shouldn’t just be me. My situation was worse than death, and I know it is that way for others as well. If given the opportunity, we can all be equal… but not everyone wants to give up the power that they have over others. I wonder if Rowan knows a word for that?

Reyna is interrupted from her thoughts as another customer enters. She quickly goes back to training Mable in how to react with new people, instructing Snow to go lay down out of the way. Reyna knew she had to play the part of a good slave while she was there, but it wasn’t intolerable. Reyna carried the weight of his father’s death upon her. Yes, it was in self defense by Snowflake, but it was still his father, no matter how terrible of a person he was. But after the week of traveling to Glinthelm with Faali’el, she had gotten used to his company in the way that she was comfortable with Rowan, Nivrath, Maya, and Sophie. Reyna valued and respected him, so if she had to pretend to work for him, that was okay with her. She wanted to help people she cared about, even if it was simple or seemed to be necessary. Reyna had a sense of companionship and camaraderie with Faali’el and now Otto as well. There was deep value in these bonds for Reyna, so she expressed how she felt for them in the only way she knew how. By helping them freely, just because she can. Reyna expects nothing in return, but seeing as she knows they are working on a magic item to help hide her scarring, she works harder and goes out of her way to get Mable and train her into the proper dog that Faali’el needed.

Reyna hoped that her… dare she call them friends? felt the same way as she did. Reyna only had experience feeling this way with Snowflake. She never let herself be close to anyone. But with the shared experiences they’ve had, how could she not? Do you ask someone if you are friends? Or are you supposed to know somehow? Reyna was uncertain, but knew enough to know that they were… relatively good. Or perhaps accountable and consistent, especially within their individual inconsistencies. Reyna wanted to ask someone, but who do you ask these kinds of questions? Her head pounded at the thoughts. They were deep thoughts; something Reyna was not accustomed to. She easily pushed them away, as she does with most thoughts, and focuses on training.

[deadofwinterrp]

[Character information]

Full Name: Agent 64 Chuntao Wang Phoebe Zhao

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Place of Origin: New York

FC: Gemma Chan

Role within the community: Guard

How long have they been in Sanctuary: 3 Days

[Traits]

- Calculating: Nothing Phoebe does is out of the goodness of her heart, every move she makes has some sort of benefit to her. Even if you don’t know what that benefit is at the time.

- Deceptive: You can never be too sure about the truth behind any of Phoebe’s words. She could tell you the sky was green and be so convincing, you believe her.

- Apathetic: People outside of Phoebe’s immediate family don’t interest her at all. If she were in a room with a stranger, and that stranger was being tortured in gruesome ways, she wouldn’t lift a finger.

+ Tactical: Phoebe has a higher than average intellect, something she’s put to use many times over her career as an assassin. She sees patterns in people’s movements, giving her the almost uncanny ability to predict people’s future positions and actions.

+ Loyal: There are currently only three people alive who have Phoebe’s unconditional loyalty. Her husband and first love, David Zhao, their son, Logan Zhao, and her sister-in-law, Rebecca Zhao. For these three people, there is absolutely nothing Phoebe wouldn’t do. Except for leaving them.

+ Opportunistic: Being a world class hitwoman requires a surprising amount of improvisational skills, something that’s transferred very well over to the post-apocalypse. From the ability to grab influence where she can, to creating strange yet powerful weapons, Phoebe is definitely no slacker in the creativity department.

[Connections]

David Zhao - Husband

Rebecca Zhao - Sister-in-law

Logan Zhao - Son (5 years old)

[Biography]

Chuntao Wong was born the bastard daughter of an unknown businessman and a prostitute working under the Triads in Hong Kong. Her early years were spent in a high end brothel, playing among the silks as her mother fucked her way through half the elite men and women in Hong Kong. She didn’t hate her life, it simply was the way it was and nothing would change that. Every few weeks, a man came to collect money from the madame of the brothel and Chuntao was sent to sit in a small room to play quietly away from his wandering eyes.

Until the month the man came early. There were no immediate repercussions for her mother’s deception, and a few tense days went by before several men from the Triads came to the brothel. Chuntao was dragged kicking and screaming away from the only home she’d known for five years. She was taken to a building on the outskirts of the city and told and taught to smuggle the opium they were creating into the city.

From there, she spent 5 more years on the streets, running all manner of drugs from the warehouse to the customers. It was a dangerous job, and Chuntao lost many of the children she worked with, but she was crafty and small and quick, and she was the best damn runner they had. It wasn’t something others would be proud of, but she was proud of it anyways.

Not too long after her tenth birthday, a woman came to the Warehouse. She was tall, graceful, beautiful, and everything Chuntao remembered her mother being. She was everything Chuntao wanted to be, and for the duration of the woman’s visit, Chuntao was ducking in shadows and following her every foot step.

She did not go unnoticed, and even though the woman left, she returned not even a week later and Chuntao left the Warehouse for the final time. Until Chuntao turned thirteen, her every day was filled with all sorts of training. She learned how to kill a man with her bare hands, how to turn every item in a room into a deadly weapon, how to be merciless when everyone expected her to be soft.

It didn’t take long before she started to be assigned missions, and by the time she was nineteen, Chuntao had racked up a known kill count of 73 targets. She was known among the Triad as the Lady Jiàbēng, the Lady of the death of kings. Once she had finished her training, it was easy for her to consider this as the best her life had ever been.

Then the branch of the Triads that she worked for was raided, and many of Lady Jiàbēng’s associates were taken into custody. The Lady herself fled across the seas, ending up in San Francisco, working in a small dumpling shop as she struggled to adjust to a life she believed to be no longer tied to death.

It took almost a year before they found her, the International Intelligence Agency, or the Agency for short. They were quick to recruit her, once they realized just who she was, and Chuntao found herself with a new identity and a new job.

Phoebe Jiang walked out of the Agency office, keys to a new apartment in her pocket, and a sense of purpose making her walk with confidence. Six more years passed in the service of the Agency, in which her kill count nearly tripled and her reputation as an unstoppable instrument of death only grew. It was around that time that Phoebe met David, an army vet, at a small restaurant in colorado.

He was working as a waiter, trying to get his feet under him after returning from Afghanistan. And he was… everything Phoebe had never believed a man could be. She was obsessed instantly, and that small restaurant became the only restaurant she would eat at until, finally, David asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee.

They were together for two years before they finally married, and Phoebe found herself faced the challenge of keeping her work separate from her home life. Luckily, she found a balance with her cover of being a bank auditor. When Phoebe discovered she was pregnant with her first child, it was the happiest day of her life, shadowed only by the love and awe she felt as she held the tiny baby boy in her arms for the first time.

She took a year off from work, staying home and playing housewife for a time. And it was… nice. But it wasn’t what she was. She was Death, and she would bring Death to those she was told to.

She returned to work when Logan began walking.

Phoebe was in New York when the outbreak hit. She’d poisoned her target, a politician trying to run for president, when a scream alerted her to something going on outside the skyscraper. Seeing people turn on each other with such ferociousness- it was the first time she’d felt fear since she was a small child running through the alleys of Hong Kong.

Immediately her brain shut down her fear, and Phoebe managed to get herself out of the city through no small amount of skill and luck. It was as if her brain had gone into auto-pilot, and by the time Phoebe felt safe enough to stop, she was nearly an entire state east of New York.

The next two years were filled with travel. She had a family to return to, and return to them she would. She was in Indiana when she found her first gang of thugs- people who had viewed the end of the world as a chance to maraud and take what they viewed was theirs. After Phoebe savagely beat several of their heads in, they offered her a place in their ranks. Had they not mentioned that they were looking to head west, Phoebe might have simply killed the rest and taken their supplies.

As it was, she convinced them to allow her to join them, and together they finished her journey to Colorado.

Once in Colorado, it was child’s play to slip away from the gang and go off to hunt for her family. A visit to their home revealed a few rotting corpses, but not the ones of her husband or son. She tracked them for several months before the trail went cold. She didn’t want to give up hope, but after two years it was hard to ignore the fact that they might actually be dead.

Working simply on survival mode, Phoebe managed to stumble across Sanctuary. A part of her simply wanted to keep walking past, but that tiny flame of hope in her cold heart made her stop and approach the gates.

[edenfalling]

[Fic] "Free Time and Other Unicorns" - MCU (Defenders)

sholio said: MCU Defenders, Colleen and Misty (or your choice of MCU Defenders-verse ladies if those ones don't click), "Magical Creatures." Finding some kind of unexpected magic animal, or having to fight one. (1,675 words)

--------------------------------------------- Free Time and Other Unicorns ---------------------------------------------

"Unicorns," Misty said flatly, crossing her arms as she leaned against her kitchen doorframe, still slightly irritated at the unexpected disruption of her day off. Her plans had involved catching up on her Netflix queue and then an hour or two down at her salon getting her monthly dose of hair care and gossip, not whatever nonsense New York's gaggle of vigilantes had stumbled into this week. But it was better to be in the loop than to get blindsided by the aftermath, however inconvenient that level of involvement could be on occasion.

Colleen made a sympathetic face. "I know, it's ridiculous. But I swear one of the tourist-trap cabs has a horse with a horn and nobody seems to have noticed."

"Except you?"

"I think after you exposed to enough weird stuff, all the other weirdness sort of... loses its ability to slide under your attention. Or maybe it's just the Iron Fist." Colleen shrugged, hands still stuffed into the pockets of her windbreaker as she hovered near Misty's front door.. "That's one reason I want you to come help me check it out."

Misty laughed. "Token Muggle's a new job description, but what the hell. I've got a few hours before I need to be anywhere. Unicorn hunting in Central Park's as good a way as any to pass the time."

"Unicorn investigation," Colleen corrected. "I checked with Karen Page -- you remember her, right? -- and she didn't find anything that sounds like a pattern of trouble around Central Park. Plus neither of us meets the, uh. You know. Traditional unicorn bait requirements. Or at least I assume not?" She flushed and didn't quite meet Misty's gaze.

Misty raised her eyebrows.

Colleen's flush deepened.

Misty took pity on her, and smiled. "Yeah, point taken. I think that was always kind of metaphorical, though, and anyway, aren't Asian unicorns different? Who says this one's European?"

"Me. Nobody could mistake a qilin for a horse. Trust me on that."

"Always," Misty said. "Let me dig out some shoes and we'll hit the road."

So much for her Netflix queue, but she could probably still make it to the salon in the afternoon.

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

Thirty minutes (and one delayed A-train) later they stood on the curb of 59th street, hands shoved into the pockets of their jackets against the early spring chill, and watched a black equine figure with an oddly reflective coat shift idly in its traces while the cab's driver scrolled through something on her phone. The sharp, spiral horn was unmistakable, and yet nobody else seemed to have noticed.

"That sure is a unicorn," Misty said, just loud enough for Colleen to hear over the general background noise of the city streets.

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think the driver knows?"

"Beats me."

Misty sighed. "Figures. Guess we'd better go ask."

"You think that's safe?" Colleen asked.

"Of course not. But it's a lot more honest than stalking the poor woman or hiring Jones or Page to ransack the internet for her life history and all her company's records, and if she does know it'll save a lot of time. I'm a big fan of the direct approach."

Colleen tipped her head sideways in acknowledgment. "Fair. And this is more your thing than mine. Just let me take point if it goes bad -- your arm is cool, but sometimes it takes, uh--"

"Weird glowy shit to hurt other weird glowy shit?"

Colleen made a face like she'd just smelled rotten leftovers, then laughed. "God, that sounds so undignified. But yeah."

"I am more than happy to leave the weird glowy shit in your hands," Misty said. "Oh, green light. Here we go."

They hurried across the street toward the waiting cab. The driver seemed to catch sight of their approach in her peripheral vision, and looked up from her phone. "Hello! Are you the Johnsons?" she called, straightening her top hat and tucking a flyaway strand of blonde hair behind one ear.

"Not the last time I checked," Misty said. "And we're not doing a walk-in request either, sorry."

The driver dropped about two-thirds of her customer-service cheer and shrugged. "Eh, not your fault. I just hate no-shows, and these dumbfucks are already ten minutes late. Anyway, you're here for the horse, not me, yeah? You can pet Sugarplum if you want. She's a sweetheart. Just make sure she can see you coming and don't touch her until she gets a chance to check you out a little, okay?"

"Do you get a lot of people wanting to pet the horses?" Misty asked without moving to take the driver up on the offer. She'd never had a horse-mad phase like a lot of her friends, and even if she had, unicorns were a whole other story.

Colleen, typically, broke into a huge smile and acted like petting a giant magic animal that could crush her to death with a careless step was the best thing since sliced bread. She took a careful step toward the unicorn -- and what kind of name was Sugarplum anyway? -- and extended an open palm for the animal to examine. The unicorn rolled its eye as if giving Colleen a professional once-over, and then turned its head to snuffle at Colleen's skin with its fuzzy lips and oversized teeth.

"Sorry I don't have any snacks for you," she murmured into the unicorn's ear. "But you're wonderful. Yes you are."

Misty had a sudden surety that Colleen was one of those girls who'd had a horse-mad phase.

She turned back to the driver. "Thanks. Um. This is going to sound a little weird, but, are you aware that your horse, uh--"

She trailed off. The driver looked politely inquiring and not at all impatient. (She gave good customer-service face, Misty noted.)

"Sugarplum's a unicorn," Colleen said. "Yes she is, aren't you? A wonderful unicorn with a sharp horn and strong hooves, and you could skewer an asshole right through a brick wall, couldn't you? I bet you could."

Colleen's attraction to Danny Rand -- also fuzzy, arguably adorable, out of place in a modern city, and unquestionably dangerous -- took on an interesting new dimension in Misty's head. She promptly shoved that thought aside in favor of watching the cab driver's customer service face melt into tired exasperation.

"Fuck. The concealment charm's wearing off again, isn't it? And my old magician retired so now I have to go deal with that complete jerkwad Strange to get it refreshed. How is this my life." The driver pulled off her top hat and raked her fingers through her hair, dislodging even more strands from her already disheveled braid. Then she paused and shot Misty a sharp stare. "...Nobody else is reacting. The spell can't be fraying that much. So how did you two see through it?"

Misty glanced at Colleen, who shrugged unhelpfully. She sighed, and turned back to the cab driver. "We've been through some weird shit. Our current working theory is that that makes us more likely to notice other weird shit. If you've got a better explanation, I'd love to hear it."

"I just want to know where and how you got a unicorn," Colleen said. "And why you brought her to the city. Shouldn't she be running around wild in the mountains or something?"

The cab driver sighed. "Okay, A, no, I think that's how it works. Lots of people can get mixed up in one weird thing and it just rolls off, but two or more and weirdness starts to sort of stick to you or something. And B, Sugarplum's been with my family for three generations now, and I brought her to New York because the Appalachians are fucking boring and I wanted company and good luck. Also guaranteed protection against muggers," she added, grinning at Colleen. "She can skewer dickwipes right through a brick wall. I've seen it, and it's beautiful."

"Awesome," Colleen breathed, and stroked the unicorn's cheek with slightly worrisome glee.

Misty shook her head fondly. "Yeah, that's some weird shit. Speaking of which, do you mind if we tag along when you go get your... concealment charm, was it? When you get that repaired. I have a feeling a magician is the kind of person I ought to be keeping tabs on."

The cab driver looked down at her phone, then shrugged. "Yeah, why not. Weird shit solidarity and all that. And the Johnsons are now late enough that I don't need to keep waiting for them, so that's me done for the day. Let me unhitch Sugarplum and get the cab put away, and we'll head off to Bleecker St."

"With or without the unicorn?" Misty asked. "Because I've gotta say, walking a unicorn down the street is not the kind of thing that goes unnoticed, even with magic in the mix."

"That's what you think," the driver said. "Bet you ten bucks nobody blinks twice."

"Deal," Colleen said instantly, and then started interrogating the driver about how exactly a concealment charm worked and whether she could buy one for herself.

Misty quietly wrote off any chance of making it to her salon that day. She wasn't sure why she'd thought that might be possible -- she knew by now that both vigilante and supernatural weirdness expanded to fill all the available time and then slopped over to claim even more.

Sugarplum the unicorn nudged her shoulder with its soft, fuzzy lips and blew warm, horse-scented breath into her ear. "You keep your magic snot out of my hair," Misty told it sternly. The unicorn snorted and lipped at the collar of her jacket.

"Rude," Misty said, but she could feel a smile pushing at the corners of her mouth as she raised her flesh and blood hand to stroke gently along the unicorn's nose. "Why is all the weird shit rude?"

Rude, and inconvenient, and hazardous to life and limb, as she could attest from very painful experience.

Still worth it, though.

"Yeah, okay, good horse," Misty told the unicorn, and let the smile win.

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End of Fic

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That got away from me slightly, and also involved significantly more background research than I intended. Oops? :)