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scuttling · 3 years ago

Text

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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afriendlyblackhottie · 4 years ago

Text

Risk

Summary: Chris couldn’t believe he was finally meeting you and you were even more more perfect than what he’d seen in your music videos.

Pairings: Chris Evans x Black!Pop Star!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Daddy Kink, Face Riding, Oral (female receiving), Girl on Top, Missionary, brief doggy style

(A/N: this has been sitting in my WIPs for a minute so it’s kind of a relief to finally put it out. Anyway, like, comment, or reblog.)

Tagged: @titty-teetee, @harrysthiccthighss, @iam-laiya, @mariahthelioness29, @night-of-the-living-shred, @liquorlaughslove, @blackmissfrizzle, @whiskey-cokenfanfic, @olyvoyl, @zaddychris

There was no way Chris could have possibly focused on the interviewer’s questions when you were so close. Your tight shirt showed off your tits so well it was distracting. As you laughed, they jiggled and he couldn’t help the half smile that came on his face as he couldn’t help himself, but to take a glance.

What was fucked up was that this was for a charity. You were a pop star that was very involved in investing in programs to protect the arts. He coming from a family of theatre nerds was of course interested in the same thing. The two of you got paired up for an interview. Only meeting for the first time today as there’d been a fundraiser event. Though Chris had been obsessing over you since he’d found out your name.

The first thing that struck him about you was how goddamn gorgeous you were in person. All of the pictures of you online didn’t even do you justice. He’d went through all your albums surprising himself with how much he actually liked them. You sounded like an angel yet your lyrics could be downright filthy sometimes. When he’d watched your most recent music video, he found himself growing hard seeing you in that tiny outfit and shaking your ass.

He’d seen your music videos. Watched a few live performances. Maybe clicked on a few interviews because he needed to know how your voice sounded. None of it prepared him for reality.

Those eyes and your lips. Fuck he could kiss the fuck out of your lips. You looked like you’d just walked straight out of his fantasies.

Nothing prepared him for how your ass looked in those jeans. His hand twitched as he managed to fight off the urge to just grab it. Then there were those perfect tits. Perfectly swelled under your t-shirt. Being distracting.

His eyes raked up and down your body another time. This time you’d laughed at something he had said. He wasn’t prepared for how giggly you were. How bubbly you were.

It honestly felt like he’d known you for years with how comfortable he found himself. Like you two were old friends catching up instead of strangers. As he made a shitty attempt to respond to something the interviewer had said your head turned as you listened. “Well, the arts have always been important to me,” his voice low and raspy like he’d just woken up. “My family was insanely involved in theatre when I was growing up and I jumped around from piano to tap dancing. I even did ballet for a little.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading on your face when he’d said that. “Really?” You perked up. “I did ballet.”

Of course, he knew that already because he’d taken a look at your Wikipedia page. “Really? How long?”

“I did it for,” you drew out the last word as you thought, “ten years, I think.”

He nodded almost losing himself as he looked into your eyes. “Wow that’s a long time. You must have loved it.”

“I did.” You smiled. “It was such an important part of my life growing up. All the friends I made. The things I learned and discipline. It’s also why I’m so flexible.” You giggled looking over at him again with this look in your eyes.

Were you flirting with him?

He quirked an eyebrow also grinning. His eyes darting from your eyes to your lips then back. How were you so goddamn pretty?

The interview moved forward with you sending signals that you were definitely flirting with him. You giggled at everything he said. Had played with your hair making you crane your neck to the side. The way your tits were fucking jiggling anytime he said anything mildly amusing. How you’d positioned yourself so they were perked up towards him.

Once everything had wrapped up, the both of you had been whisked away by your respective teams. He got one last good view of you walking away before being told to move onto the next thing.

It took two hours before your paths would cross again. This time at the panel the two of you were part of. You were once again seated beside each other. You were once again giggling at everything he said, while fixing your hair craning your neck to the side, and perking your tits in his direction. His hand twitched again as he fought the urge to grab your hand when you touched his bicep playfully to add onto something he’d just said.

This time when this had come to an end he’d manage to avoid being whisked away by his team. Getting off of stage fast enough to where they didn’t even see him. You lingered behind sort of blending in with the crowd as you managed to slip away.

The two of you bumped into each other smiles immediately spreading over your faces. “Hey.” The two of you said at the same time.

You bit your lip as the corners of your mouth were turned up. He let out a sigh before swallowing. “And here I thought I’d found the perfect hiding spot,” he said.

“Actually, I’ve been eyeing this spot since we got here so I think I found it.” You joked back.

“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe we should wrestle over it.”

You shook your head with a pout. “Sorry I can’t do that. I’m a lover not a fighter. “

He chuckled. Fuck you were cute. “Could I be a lover and a fighter?”

“Ohhh I don’t know. I feel like that’s cheating.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes you have to play dirty to win.”

That fucking giggle. Those goddamn jiggling tits. That goddamn hair. That fucking neck. And you perking your tits out. Except this time, you gave him a pretty generous glimpse down your shirt.

“You busy after this?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Does catching up on Netflix count?”

He laughed. “Yes, but well I was thinking of going out for dinner after this thing,” he said, trying to suppress whatever urge he was constantly getting to touch you. “And, I didn’t want to look like a dick and eat alone.”

At this point we got the point of how you were trying to convey your flirty ness with him. “And?”

“And,” he started, “I was wondering if you’d wanna join me.”

You nodded. “Where we going?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you want, Honey.”

“Don’t tell me that. I can be expensive,” you seemed to purr. Everything about you was making him feel like he was fifteen again and waking up from a wet dream.

He nodded eyes drifting down to your lips. “You’d be worth every penny. Gimme your number so I can find you after?”

You nodded. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” his mouth twitched as you walked away from him. He eyed you up and down as your backside was to him. Damn your ass looked good in those jeans.

—

It’d been a pretty long day, but finally it was over. Like promised through text, you and Chris managed to get away from your teams in order to be whisked away in a town car to a bar he said was great.

The two of you talked on your way over. This time you were a little more subdued. Your voice was lower, sensual. It made him feel like someone had hugged his heart and dick at the same time.

He was sitting so close as he’d managed to get the most private booth in the place so the two of you could talk. He was so damn close to you and you hadn’t moved the whole time his arm was around you. In fact, you seemed even closer than before.

He wanted to kiss you so damn bad. “You gotta man?” He asked, before taking a sip of his beer.

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ in the word.“You gotta girlfriend?”

“Nah,” he sighed. “Been single for a minute.”

You nodded. “Oh damn. You poor thing.” You rested your hand on his thigh.

“Yeah? How long you been single?” He asked grabbing your hand and playing with your fingers. That twitch in his hand had finally won. Your skin was just as soft as it looked like it’d be.

You shrugged. “For like a year,” you answered. Liking the feel of his rougher hand against yours. “I get so busy I don’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, same.” He somehow managed to scoot you closer to him. “Then sometimes you meet a cute stranger and then maybe you end up taking them home to smoke.”

You chuckled. “How do you know I smoke?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone in this town smoke?”

You nodded shrugging your shoulders. “True.” You smiled. “Fine.”

After calling another town car and him paying the tab you were on his way to his place. Chris was still finding ways to touch you. Not that you were complaining that you were sitting so close.

Now the joint was resting between his lip as the television played in the background. Chris let out a big puff of smoke.

You were still sitting way to close. As he grabbed your hand again. Running his thumb across your knuckles. You were telling him a story about this photo shoot you had a few weeks ago that just so happened to be with you in lingerie. Then in turn he told you about a photo shoot he had to do for a free weeks ago where he just so happened to be shirtless the whole time.

Then you started talking about your favorite movies. To him telling you stories about all the shit that went down behind the scenes. Which led to you telling him stories about being on tour. Then you talked about music and he felt someone tug at his heart strings with the way your face lit up when talking about your favorite musicians.

He had to kiss you.

With the joint in between his fingers he leaned down to finally brush his lips against yours. “God, you’re fucking beautiful,” his voice once again at that low tone, raspy like he’d just woken up.

“You think so?” You looked up at him so innocently, peering up at him through those lashes.

He took another hit of the joint before leaned back down to your mouth. He blew the smoke into your mouth before kissing you again.

You started to make out deep. Stroking his cheek with your thumb. His tongue slid against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. You moaned into his mouth suddenly feeling all airy. If Chris wasn’t holding onto you, you may have drifted away.

He leaned to the side so he could put out the joint. When both of his hands were free, he put them under your ass so he could get handfuls of each cheek in each hand. Then making it jiggle.

You broke away from him so you could finally pull that top over your head. “Fuck,” he hissed seeing the tops of your breasts. You quickly reconnected your lips. One of his hands grabbed at you through your lacy white bra.

You let out a whimper that was like music to his ears. His mouth trailed down to your neck hoping to kiss you in a spot where you’d be forced to make that noise again. You shivered as his lips left hot opened mouth kisses on your skin.

Then it was time for Chris to pull his own shirt over his head, exposing his muscular physique. You put your hands on his shoulders as you kissed him more. He reached behind you to undo your bra. Your nipples all sensitive as they were exposed to the night air. Your body felt all fuzzy as you giggled when he smacked your ass.

His hands reached up to play with them. Fuck it was better than any thought he’d had about them since you’d met. Rubbing your nipples with his thumbs and making you moan.

You got off of him so you could undo your jeans. Except before you could even pull them off, he made you lay on the couch as he slid them off of you. He kissed along your stomach at first. Then he proceeded to take off your jeans and panties at the same time.

When you were finally completely exposed to him, he kissed you again. Then his mouth started practically worshipping your breasts. He licked your nipples with the tip of his tongue. He came to suck it wanting to hear that goddamn whimper again and then reeling at the other little noises you were making. “Fuck,” you moaned. He gave your other boob similar treatment before kissing a trail down to your lower half.

He could have died and gone to heaven after seeing that pretty pussy. He flicked his tongue over your clit loving the taste of your arousal. He’d pushed your thighs up so he could properly feast on you. Fuck you were so wet for him.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs so he could get as deep as possible. You were moaning so much for him. The noises you were making were fucking pornographic.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whined.

He stopped to kiss up your body so he could kiss your lips again. You could taste yourself on his lips. His fingers stayed on your pussy as he kissed you again. You gasped against him, throwing your head back.

His moved to your tits again. His tongue was craving to suck on them again as he finger fucked you. As you exploded around his fingers he decided to rub your clit to draw it out.

“Daddy!” You screamed.

“What’d you just call me, Baby?” He asked still rubbing your clit as you clung to him.

“I- I,” you stuttered, but it was hard to talk when he was doing that to you. “Ugh, Daddy!”

“That’s a good girl,” he kissed you again.

He finally carried you off to his bedroom with your legs wrapped around his waist. He’d taken you apart so easily. Like he’d done this to you so many times before. Instead he’d just been thinking about it so much he didn’t want to fuck it up.

He sat down with you still wrapped around him. His jeans were still on, but you could feel him through his jeans and fuck. He felt so huge against you as he moved you right over it.

His fingers reached between you two so he could rub your clit again. Chris wasn’t your usual type, but you couldn’t deny that he was fine as fuck. Or that he was dangerously charming.

When he’d finally taken off his jeans and underwear, he sat you back in his lap so you were straddling him. He was holding you tight against him so even when you tried to sink down onto him because fuck you wanted to so bad, he wouldn’t let you. Like he needed you to know who was in control.

“Ride my face,” he said, slapping your ass.

You giggled. “Really?”

“Yeah you taste fucking delicious.”

You looked down at him as you could see his eyes peeking out. From underneath you. He really was eating you up like you’d be his last meal.

He felt like he was in heaven with his head between your legs. Like you were sweeter than any candy he could ever eat. Better than jelly beans. “Oh my god,” you breathed out a moan.

You moved your hips trying to ride his tongue, but it was almost too much. His beard was burning your thighs only adding to how good it felt. You grabbed at his hair while he smacked your ass again, palming it in his large hand.

He felt like he could taste your orgasm. The way you leaked out into his mouth. He didn’t even care that you were making such a big mess on his face. “Daddy, yes!” You gasped. You put your hands on the headboard to brace yourself because as your stomach started to tighten you could tell this one was going to be much more powerful. “I’mgonnacum,” you rattled off.

He chuckled into you pushing his fingers into you again making it so you had to ride his hand, too. How the fuck was this man able to get you like this and you hadn’t even taken his dick yet. Fuck you needed to take it.

He didn’t even let up when it happened. It was like he wanted more of you. He was drinking you up. Wanting to have you at his mercy. Like this was the last chance he’d get to feel your pussy on his tongue and he needed to take advantage.

It took two more orgasms for him to finally let you up. You fell down onto the bed completely spent. He didn’t even care as he kissed you hungrily. Quickly pushed you onto your back, wrapping his arms around your thighs and didn’t even give you time to realize what was happening before he slammed into you.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to feel you around his dick. And fuck did it feel perfect. You were so tight. So wet. So damn sexy with the way your mouth formed into an O because how was he moving his hips like that.

It should have been illegal for him to fuck you like this. For him to leave your pussy craving more from him. How the hell were you supposed to come back from this.

He fucked into your spot like he already knew where it was. Like the two of you had done this so many times before. All you could do was take it. All you wanted to do was take it and take it and never stop taking it.

You were everything he’d thought you’d be since he’d saw that first fucking music video. Your sparkly acrylic nails scratched his back. “Fuck me, Chris.”

He slapped your ass. “You call me Daddy,” he growled into your ear.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you buried your face into his neck. He should have not been able to fuck you this well. You bit your lip, as he put his forehead against yours.

The burn from the way he split you open was so good. This couldn’t have been the last time the two of you did this. Not when he was this deep inside of you.

The first time you came around him he pulled out of you so he could lay beside you. Then because he didn’t give a fuck about how it was too much or whatever you kept saying he made you sink down on his dick.

Your pussy creamed down his length. You kept telling yourself that you couldn’t take it even though you were riding his dick like such a good girl. The bed was shaking so hard you were scared you might break something.

This was about to be a long night.

—

Chris couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this fucked out. It was like when he thought he had enough you’d pounce on him and when you thought you’d had enough he’d do the same to you. Until finally the two of you passed out with his arms wrapped around you and you buried into his chest.

He kissed your forehead, nuzzling your face with his nose. He felt content for the first time in a long time with you there. Like you were meant to be there in his arms. You’d barely gone to bed at four in the morning so it was no wonder you were still asleep at ten a.m.

When he realized the time, he groaned because he was so late. He reached for his phone seeing the tons of missed called. “Baby?” He shook you gently.

“Mmm,” you hummed as you finally peeked up at him. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Ten thirty,” he answered.

“Fuck,” you groaned, but didn’t even attempt to move. “My managers gonna kill me.”

He grinned because you looked so cute half asleep. “Same.” He pecked your lips. “Good morning, though.”

“Good morning,” you replied saying fuck it in your head as you stayed where you were. You were too comfortable to move.

“We should do this again sometime,” he said, tracing patterns into your skin.

“I’d like that,” you replied.

“You busy tomorrow?”

“I have some stuff to do in the morning, but I’m free after nine.”

“Perfect. How about a late dinner?”

You smiled. “Like a date?”

He chuckled. “Of course.” His phone went off right when he was about to kiss you and he groaned because as much as he’d prefer spending time with you, he did have obligations to get to. “Hello?”

“Chris!” His managers voice boomed. “Where the hell have you been! Have you seen Twitter today?”

“No, I just woke up,” he said with a frown on his face. You looked up at him noticing the change in his tone.

“Well, you’re trending. They posted the interview online and fans are going insane.”

“What?” He said. “Hold on let me look.”

It wasn’t just him trending on Twitter. So were you. Together. He shook you so you could look before clicking on the thread.

Damn Chris was looking at her like she was a whole meal.

And at that moment Chris Jamal Evans was ready to risk it all

He over here just eye fucking her

There were a lot. Plus, all the memes people had posted. He hadn’t realized he made it that obvious. You started giggling not being able to stop yourself as he scrolled. “Wait is that her? Is she there?” The faint voice of his manager came through the phone.

“I gotta call you back,” he said before hanging up. “I am so sorry.”

You were still laughing as you grabbed your own phone so you could read through more. “It’s okay. Just glad I didn’t make it obvious that I was doing the same.”

“I knew it!” He laughed before tickling your side.

You tried to push his hand away and all that lead to was a wrestling match where he pinned you down. “Daddy!” You squealed which again music to his ears.

You struggled against him until you finally broke your hand away so you could reach forward to grab at his dick that seemed to awaken immediately under your touch. “That’s cheating!” He protested with a laugh.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“You better not start something you can’t finish.”

You smirked. “Oh, I can finish it.”

“You know, I can afford to take the day off,” he noted realizing he was not letting you out of this bed anytime soon.

“Me, too.”

He leaned forward capturing your lips with his. Not even caring about morning breath. Just needing to feel you. As he turned you over so he could fuck you from behind he realized that it was true. He was ready to risk it all for you.

And it was pretty funny to watch you laugh at all the memes afterwards.

#chris evans smut #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #daddy!chris evans

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mercurysstars · 4 years ago

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All That Glitters Is Not Gold (part 1)

Summary: Y/n gets hired to be the avengers chief physician and also happens to be an ex assassin.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Violence.

A/N: this is an old story that I wrote the first few chapters of so I figured why not finish it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦

𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸,

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

Y/n POV

"I'm pulling up Matt ill talk to you later," Y/n says while turning on to the gravel road that leads to the Avengers compound.

"Alright call me if you need anything." With that Matt hung up.

As Y/n was nearing the end of the road she looked up to see a tall black gate surrounding the compound. 5 feet in front of the gate there was a waist-length box where you could scan your badge or press a button to talk to the operator.

Y/n pressed on the button, and it began ringing. Three seconds after a muffled voice came through.

"Hello Avengers compound front desk, this is Teresa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um hi, I'm Y/n Y/l/n. I'm the new Chief physician."

"Oh of course Dr.Y/l/n, when you hear a buzz pull right on in."

"Thank you!" Y/n exclaimed before she pulls in the gate.

Today was Y/n's first day as the Chief Physician for the Avengers. Everyone before her either quit because the job was too demanding or they were scared for their safety. Generally, doctors are 'nerds', and most time nerds aren't really Averger threat worthy of defending themselves. Tho you couldn't really say the same for Y/n.

Y/n pulled in the gate to see several buildings, she pulled in front of the biggest one with lots of windows and a huge A on the side. Y/n put her car in park and rested her head on the steering wheel giving herself a mini pep talk.

Who wouldn't be nervous the first day of their new job? Especially if you were working with superheroes. They'd have to rely on her in their most vulnerable moments. Y/n could only hope she could be what they needed.

A knock at the window caused Y/n to jump.

She grabbed her chest and took a deep breath while opening her car door.

"Hello, ma'am, would you like for us to valet your car?" The man said with a boyish smile.

"Oh, that would be great." Y/n squinted her eyes to get a good look at the boy's name tag "Torres thank you."

Torres gave a polite smile with a little nod and took the keys from Y/n.

The compound was crowded with SHIELD recruits, scientists, journalists, and other lower-level avenger employees.

Y/n began to weave between people to get to the front desk. She approached the desk to see a blonde petite woman with round glasses.

Y/n cleared her throat "Teresa right."

The stalled her typing and looked up from the computer screen. "Yes Ma'am and I'm assuming Dr.Y/l/n?"

"I am she, I was told I'd get my pass here," Y/n said

Teresa took a badge off her desk and swiped it on the side of the computer screen. "Here you go. You have a gold pass, so you can get into any room or floor you please. Happy is by the elevator to escort you up to your office."

Y/n looked over to her left to see a chubby man with short brown hair in a black suit with his arms crossed behind his back looking around standing exactly where the woman said.

Y/n quickly thanked Teresa, put the pass over her head, and walked over to the man.

As Y/n nears the man she could see the prominent scowl on his face which didn't change when she became within a few feet from him.

Happy gestured his head toward the elevator and Y/n followed. When they got in Happy swiped his badge and pressed the 2nd floor. She furrowed her brows in confusion her office was on the 11th floor.

"I thought we were going to my office," Y/n questioned as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

They stepped out "He wanted you to meet the Avengers, so you wouldn't have to meet them in more unfortunate circumstances." Happy replied dryly.

Y/n just nods in response. They walk down the long hallway the only noise between the two is Y/n's heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

They arrived at the door of the Avenger's conference room. "Thank you," Y/n says. Happy gave tight-lipped smile in response. What a dick she thinks.

Y/n paused, she wiped her sweaty hands against her skirt. Taking in deep breaths didn't seem to help calm her nerves. Adjusting her bag, plastering a fake smile on her face, and tilting her chin up just the slightest, Y/n manages to walk into the conference room.

"And there she is." Y/n heard as she entered. Her eyes darted around the room when she looked to the left her gazed finally found the man she was looking for.

"TONY!" She shrieked happily and ran into his arms. "Hey, Sunshine long time no see." Y/n scrunched her nose at the nickname as she squeezed Tony nearly to death.

Everyone that sat at the table watched them confusingly as they embraced each other. After an awkward silence, Clint spoke up.

"Not that I mind the beautiful face compared to these hags, but who's the new girl." Nat jabbed him in the ribs. "OW!"

They pulled away from each other and Tony cleared his throat "Oh yes, of course, guys meet our need chief physician Y/n Y/l/n or more specifically our new personal doctor."

"Y/n this is Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, And Bucky. Peter is at school and Thor's in Asgard, so you'll meet them later " Tony added.

Saying that didn't ease their confusion. "No offense or anything Dr.Y/l/n but you look quite young to be a doctor and a liability in the field" Steve Rogers or better know as 'Captain American' says.

"Just Y/n please, Captain Rogers, and I assure you that I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove. As for the age, well I'm only 26, so I'm quite young for a doctor."

That catches Bucky's attention 'I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove' what does that mean?

He looks up from the table and looks at Y/n, he was immediately drawn to her. There was a familiarity in her eyes.

She had y/c/h colored hair and y/h. She wore a confident demeanor. Y/n had a white blouse, a black pencil with black heels. She had a lanyard around her need with her ID and a couple of keys.

Bucky felt a poke in his side. He looked over to see Sam with a raised eyebrow giving him the 'I totally caught you staring' look. Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him the 'I don't know what you are talking about' look. He huffed annoyed with Sam and looked back at Y/n.

The hair on the back of Y/n's neck stuck up as she felt like someone was watching her. She looked around for the source to be met with deep blue eyes.

She felt her stomach flip. Bucky Barnes or more commonly known to her as 'The Winter Soldier' the world's best assassin. Bucky quickly looked away.

"We bumped into each other a few years ago, right Y/n?"

Y/n eyes snapped to Tony's and nodded at him. It isn't technically a lie she told herself.

Y/n 7 years ago

"Goddammit." Y/n cursed herself while scooping up her textbooks off the pavement. She crossed the street while holding her books to her chest.

Grunting and wrestling caused Y/n's eyes to snap toward the alley. Out of curiosity, she walked closer to the commotion. As she neared she heard muffled screaming. Her eyes went wide she dropped her books, heard a splash, and she darted closer to the sound.

When she approached she could see about 8 men dressed in black tactical gear surrounding a man in an expensive suit. She caught a glimpse of a hydra sign on the van behind them. "Oh, fucking hell" she whispered.

The man started to scream again. She pulled her hoodie over her head "here goes nothing." She huffed.

Y/n rushed toward the man closest to her. She pulled her backpack off, wrapped the straps around his neck, spun around, and flipped him over her back.

She rushed towards the next man. She used her momentum to bring herself around up his midsection and sat on his shoulder. Y/n grabbed the hydra agent's gun off his thigh holster and shot the two men that were trying to shove the man in the van.

She tried to shoot the third one, but the gun clicked as it was out of bullets. The Hydra agent's shoulder she sat on kept trying to throw her off. "Hold on you cocksucker you'll get your turn," Y/n grunted.

She cocked her shoulder back and chucked the gun at the other hydra agent she couldn't shoot before, it hit him in the head, and he hit the floor within seconds. She took her knife flipped it around and shoved it in the man's throat that she sat on. The hydra collapsed, she hit the floor and rolled up onto her feet.

The next agent seen her a rushed toward her, he swung his knife, and she ducked, she faked a punch and the man went to block it. She saw an opening and kicked him in the stomach, he fell back with a thud.

She snuck up on the second to last man, she wraps her arms around his throat and pressed a pressure point to get him to pass out. Y/n turned around to take out the last agent but the man in the suit head-butted him and jabbed him in the ribs and they both collapsed.

At that time Y/n got a chance to really look at him, and it finally clicked. Expansive suite plus hydra agents equal Tony Stark. She felt her heart drop, only her luck that she would save an Avenger.

She yanked her hood down, walked over to Tony, and stuck out her hand. "Well, mister Stark it's good to see your suit wasn't too badly ruined." She joked.

Tony grabbed her hand and grumbled, she pulled him up, and he straightened his jacket. "I had them on the ropes." He commented dryly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you did." She rolled her eyes. They started to slowly walk back towards the street.

"Okay, what the hell was that? You pulled up all G.I Joe and took like 10 of them out."

Y/n figured after he saw that she couldn't lie and told Tony about how she grew up, and her training. They talked for a good 20 minutes. They neared the end of the alley and Tony turned to her. "You know we are always looking for more people on our team, we could definitely use you."

Y/n chuckled grabbing the books that she dropped earlier "I'm no hero Tony, and I'm a little busy going to school for my doctorate, which on that note I need new books because I dropped them in a puddle." She grimaced.

Tony paused to think for a second. "Here I'll make you a deal, I'll pay for your college, housing, and anything else you need if when you graduate if you consider joining our team."

Y/n's eyes went comically wide "Wait what? I can't ask you to do that, that's like 200,000 dollars of just school debt, let alone housing and all that."

Tony just smiled "Oh Sunshine you truly wound me, that's basically a trip to the Bahamas, c'mon think about it."

It was an offer she truly couldn't refuse, no one has ever been this kind to her sense well ever. Y/n thought it over for a moment, She stuck out her hand "Well Tony Stark you have a deal, and don't call me Sunshine."

Tony gladly shook her hand.

"Funny enough, Tony wasn't paying attention to where he was going and ran right into me and spilled coffee all over me and him. But I don't blame him I know his eyesight is getting worse because of his old age, right Anthony?" Y/n put an arm around Tony mockingly.

Tony scowled and pushed her arm off with fake disgust. "What's with the insult's sunshine?" This time it was Y/n who grimaced.

"Any-who I've got another meeting to get to, so you're gonna have to have someone else show you around."

"Bucky will do it." Sam grinned.

Y/n looked over to see Bucky wide-eyed. "Well let's get to it, Sargent Barnes." She smiled.

Once everyone left the conference Bucky looked at Y/n with a pink tint to his cheeks. "Uh sorry, Sam can be a bit much sometimes." He rubs his neck sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it Sarge, I'm flattered that you'd show me around." She grinned.

Bucky looked torn for a split second, but his expression eases at Y/n's easy-going demeanor. "Well then, shall we get going." He Stuck out his arm.

She smirked back grabbing his arm "We shall."

He explained how the first floor is just mostly open to the public and where they hold press conferences. The second floor is where the SHIELD training room, a tiny med-bay, and the kitchen are. The whole third floor is for the Avengers to train which includes a weight room, sparring room, shooting range, pool, sauna, and locker rooms.

The fourth floor is where Bruce and Tony's lab is located. The 5th floor is where the Avengers common room and kitchen are. The 6th floor is where the debriefing room, weaponry, and where they get dressed to go on a mission. The next five floors are where their rooms were located.

"And here we have the 11th floor. Avengers med-bay and where your office is located also out the window you can see the Quinjet."

"It's awfully plain in here," Y/n murmured peeking into her new office.

"Our last doctor was a bit older in age and a little strict. No conversation, no joking around, and absolutely no color was her motto." Bucky crosses his arms while looking around the room.

"Thank the lord I won't ever have to meet her." She said with slight distaste.

"Actually Dr.Smith is the new SHIELD doctor, so don't thank god just yet."

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes and smiles back at Bucky. "Well thank you Sargent for the tour I appreciate it."

"I told you doll, call me Bucky." Her knees nearly buckled at the nickname.

"Alright then Bucky, thank you." Bucky put on his famous smirk

"Anytime doll, anytime."

Before Bucky walked out the door he turned to look at Y/n one last time. She gave him a mock salute and he chuckled.

Part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky x female reader

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elizabeth-mitchells · 3 years ago

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Sam Fraser Has a Good Day

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, Nightmares, Breakfast, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Napping, Dancing, Late Night Conversations, Making Out, Kissing, Fluff without Plot, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff, literally what the title says Words: 2401

In the span of a couple of days, Sam Fraser was: in a car crash, chased by several undead killers, used as bait, almost overdosed, drowned, possessed, tied up in the trunk of a car, hit in the head several times... and somehow she survived.

She deserves a good day. She deserves to: stay in her girlfriend's house and steal her sweaters, sleep until noon, have a good breakfast, eat jello in peace, get clean bandages, play video games, eat ice cream, take a nap, dance to her favorite songs, go on a late-night drive for cheeseburgers, and cuddle and kiss her girlfriend the entire day.

Sam wakes up startled, as usual. She is gasping for air and sitting up hastily. Was she having a nightmare? Is she stepping into a nightmare now? Because she can tell she’s wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts. But what if her mom sees her? Is she going to catch her? Should she start running from something, or keep herself from running toward something?

“Sam?”

That soft voice is the one that breaks the spell.

“Deena,” Sam sighs.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Deena whispers, tentatively wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. Instantly, she feels Sam relax in her embrace.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, tucking her face on the crook of Deena’s neck. “Just a nightmare.”

“I got you,” Deena says softly. She places a kiss on Sam’s forehead and carefully guides them to lay down again. “It’s early. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Deena asks, realizing right after that Sam fell asleep before answering at all.

A couple of hours later, Sam wakes up again. This time there are no nightmares, no screams of terror caught in her throat, no reaching out blindly for air or a weapon. She wakes up slowly, clutching the heavy blanket that covers her body, yawning without restrain, and eventually opening her eyes slowly. The first thing she does is look for her girlfriend, and she finds her sitting at the foot of the bed, sketching on a notebook with an endearing frown of concentration on her face.

“Good morning,” Sam says through a new yawn.

“Well,” Deena smirks fondly at her, “it is closer to noon now, but good morning to you too, baby.”

“What? Noon?” Sam frowns and attempts to rub the sleep off her eyes. “Since when do I sleep longer than you?” Sam asks, and puts on a pout on her lips for her next question, “And why are you so far away?”

Deena chuckles affectionately at her and puts away her pencil and notebook. She crawls back to her girlfriend and playfully flops down beside her. “Hey,” Deena greets her with her signature raspy tone. She receives a dreamy “hi” and a soft peck on the lips in response. Afterward, she explains, “To answer your question, I just thought you deserved a day to sleep in.” When Sam gives her a look of pleased surprise, Deena adds, “In fact, I think you’ve earned a full day, just for you, to rest and enjoy.”

“Deena, you don’t have to do that,” Sam attempts to protest, right before her girlfriend interrupts her with a kiss that turns into two, and three, and four, and soon enough they simply lose count.

Deena’s plans encounter an obstacle as soon as they manage to leave the comfort of her room to go make breakfast. Sam was fresh out of the shower, wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts this time. Deena barely gets to open the fridge before Sam tries to intervene with a soft-spoken, “Let me.” It’s safe to say that Deena puts up quite a fight, though.

“I just wanted to take care of you for one day, okay?” She insists. “You fucking deserve it.”

“That’s sweet,” Sam replies, feeling absolutely endeared. She leans in and places a kiss on Deena’s forehead, and Deena tries and fails to keep up her frown. “Listen, I appreciate it, and I love you for it, okay?” Sam says, giving Deena’s lips a small kiss. “But consider this. One, you already took care of me at my worst. Two, a perfect day, for me, means that you get to enjoy it too, and I get to take care of you too, got it? And three… do you really want to burn my breakfast on my special day?”

Sam attempted to quickly kiss Deena’s cheek and run away, but the brunette was quick enough to reach out and take her in her arms, ticking her in revenge for the not-unfounded critique of her culinary skills.

After their meal, the two girls make their way to the living room’s couch, where they are free to cuddle and exchange lazy kisses for as long as they could possibly want. Eventually, though, Deena finds the strength to pull away long enough to have an actual conversation.

“So, while you were sleeping, Kate and Simon stopped by,” Deena says. “Everyone feels kind of bad about you, you know, getting possessed and shit.” Deena pauses with a grimace, not proud of her choice of words, but Sam quickly kisses her cheek to urge her to go on. Deena begrudgingly stands up from the couch, to look for a certain bag, and explains, “Josh, oh so generously, gave us the gift of privacy and he is staying the fuck away from home for the day. He’s sleeping at Simon’s house. Also, he says you can play his video games, if you want. And… Kate and Simon brought all this.”

Deena drops a bag from the Grab N’ Bag on the couch and Sam eagerly looks through its contents. She gasps, “Finally!” And pulls out one of many packets of jello.

Deena’s love-sick laugh spills right out of her lips. “You’re adorable,” Deena says before kissing the top of Sam’s head and climbing back to the couch beside her. “There’s also popcorn, chips, ice cream is in the fridge, a couple of your favorite movies that I think were yours in the first place and they’re just returning, and a happy birthday card because they don’t exactly make cards for the shit we’ve lived,” Deena explains, content to watch her girlfriend smile and nod happily while enjoying her jello. Then she clears her throat and not so contentedly adds, “We also have a bunch of uh, fresh bandages and stuff.”

The two girls exchange a look and understand exactly what this means.

“This is not what I had in mind when I planned to give you a perfect day,” Deena says. She is sitting on the bathroom counter without a shirt on while Sam gives the final touches to the fresh bandage on Deena’s stomach. At the beginning, her hands were shaking with guilt, and fear, but she quickly got them under control and lovingly worked on the healing wound that a different version of herself caused.

“I told you,” Sam insists without looking away from her work. “I also want to take care of you, you know?” She is standing there without her shirt on, with an equally fresh bandage on her back.

When Sam iss done, Deena gently grabs her hands and moves them up to her lips to kiss them sweetly. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Sam turns breathless at the gesture. She feels butterflies in her stomach and decides to tell Deena how much she’s enjoying her day. Speechless as she is though, Sam only thinks to lean forward and connect their lips, determined to kiss her girlfriend until they lose track of time.

Some time later, Sam finds herself comfortably seated on her girlfriend’s lap, wearing her sweater again, and biting her lip in great concentration as she tries to succeed at one of Josh’s video games.

“You nerd, I can’t believe you’re into this,” Deena chuckles fondly behind her.

“Hush, I almost got it,” Sam mumbled.

As much as Deena wants Sam to win whatever game that is, she thinks it would be a crime to hold herself back in a position as convenient as this one. So she moves Sam’s blonde hair out of the way and starts placing feather-light kisses on her neck. At first, Sam tries to ignore her. Then, she squirms just a little. After a very effective bite from Deena, a small whimper escapes from Sam’s lips.

“Tell me,” Deena starts saying with a seductive whisper. “Do the other cheerleaders know you’re secretly a dork?”

That finally gets Sam to stop the game and turn around with a gasp. “Deena!” she protests, although she’s laughing. And she crashes her lips together. She would hate to let Deena win so easily, but she feels much more like a winner in this situation.

Sometime in the afternoon, Sam wakes up on the couch with her head on Deena’s chest. She’s so perfectly comfortable and warm and safe, that she starts to feel suspicious. She didn’t even have a bad dream at all. She starts to fearfully consider this might be nothing but a dream about to turn into a nightmare, but then she moves her head up to look at her girlfriend and her worries vanish all at once. Deena is still asleep, she’s frowning a little and her lips are slightly parted as she adorably mumbles in her sleep. The feeling of love and adoration in Sam’s chest is so strong and so real that she doesn’t have any doubt this has to be her reality.

After all the pain, the fear, and the danger of it all, this is real, and they earned it. It’s not even just about those days of extreme violence when they ended the curse, it’s even bigger than that. It’s a moment of well-earned peace and happiness that’s been more than three hundred years in the making. They have been fighting for this moment their entire lives, and they were so close to losing hope forever, but they made it. Deena was right, they fucking deserve it.

So, Sam makes a couple of decisions. First, she decides it’s best if they go one day without watching a horror movie. As much as she loves them, they have had enough horror for a while. And two, she decides that continuing her nap is the perfect way to honor Deena’s wish of giving her a perfect day. She gets comfortable again on top of her girlfriend and drifts back to sleep.

Not too long later, Sam and Deena are in the middle of a tube of ice cream and halfway through watching Grease. Well, Deena is watching the movie. Sam is a little more focused on the extremely amusing sight of Deena trying to avoid smiling at the movie.

“Oh my God, you love it,” Sam keeps giggling whenever Deena slips up and grins at the movie on the television screen.

“No, I fucking don’t,” Deena rolls her eyes, makes no move to quit the movie, and adds through gritted teeth, “I just acknowledge that it’s a classic.”

Her words only make Sam smile even brighter as she continues to take spoonfuls of ice cream and marvel at the sight of her girlfriend.

A perfect day, of course, wouldn’t be complete without listening to the mixtape Deena made for Sam, and dancing in the middle of her bedroom without a care in the world.

Sam is the one that starts dancing, swinging her arms around, not very gracefully. And Deena shakes her head at her with extreme fondness. “You are a weirdo, Sam Fraser,” she says, making her girlfriend laugh, completely unaffected by the comment.

“Dance with me,” Sam replies with a carefree grin on her face. She steps forward and pulls on Deena’s arms until she convinces her to dance with her.

As usual, Deena tries to put up a fight that she loses as soon as she stares into precious blue eyes. There’s not a thing she wouldn’t do for Sam. They already had to do the most extreme things for each other. How could she refuse her girlfriend a dance?

It’s a perfect evening to a perfect day. The two of them dance to their favorite songs, laugh wholeheartedly, kiss without holding back, jump and spin and fall in each other's arms again and again, as if falling in love all over with every new song.

As comfortable as it would be to stay home for the last few hours of the day, the perfect dinner to complete the day means getting cheeseburgers. Not even Deena complains about the idea. After all, she always loved driving around town with Sam in the passenger seat, humming along to the songs on her mixtape, her blonde hair glowing under the streetlights they passed, completely comfortable silence between them, without a destination in mind.

They park the car at a familiar spot. They eat their cheeseburgers, playfully feed fries to each other, and have a perfectly good time. Conversation flows easily between them, reminiscing of old memories or sharing dreams of a bright future that starts to feel more possible than ever before.

When Sam starts yawning, Deena is quick to point out, “You’re sleepy.”

“Am not,” Sam scoffs in that very particular way that tells Deena her girlfriend is blatantly lying.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Fraser. How rude,” Deena teases her.

Sam giggles happily in response. She can’t deny she’s looking forward to returning home to Deena’s bed, but she genuinely loves to put up a fight against her girlfriend, no matter how often she ends up losing.

“I’m very awake,” Sam insists, a knowing look on her face because she can easily predict Deena’s answer.

“Prove it,” Deena says.

Even before she’s done saying the words, Sam is leaning in to kiss her. They kiss, again and again, until Sam whispers against Deena’s lips, “Take me home.”

It’s well past midnight when Sam and Deena finally agree that even perfect days must come to an end. They lie in Deena’s bed, facing each other, legs tangled together, often exchanging kisses or sweet words that only exist in that vulnerable space between them.

“Thank you,” Sam whispers. She pushes a stray brown curl behind Deena’s ear, then her hand rests for a moment there on Deena’s cheek, her thumb lovingly caressing her skin.

“I told you,” Deena replies in an equally hushed tone even though they have the entire house for themselves. “You deserve it,” she adds, then she turns her head just enough to place a small kiss to the inside of Sam’s wrist, making the blonde smile timidly.

“I’m not talking about today,” Sam says. She considers explaining that she means she’s saying thank you for absolutely every moment they spent together since they met, but…

“I know,” Deena says. Her smile widens and she adds, “Just so you know, I also enjoyed today, a lot. So thank you too.”

Sam replies with a sweet kiss to Deena’s lips. Then the two of them cuddle closer and slowly, peacefully, happily drift off to a good and restful night of sleep.

#fluff without plot!!! i said fluf!! without! plot!#fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fs #fear street fanfiction #fear street trilogy #fear street movies #my fic

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zeldaelmo · 3 years ago

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Oooh! Okay! I knew some of these but I am really intrigued with fanfic reader!Link and fanfic writer!Zelda! May I request a snippet?

This story is alone @spicychestnut's fault. She had some tags about fanfiction reader!Link under a post of "All the trashy novels" and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It's just a very light-hearted little thing. No angst this time, just fluff and silliness, I promise.

The premise is that Mipha drags Link along to meet her new college friends Purah, Robbie, and Zelda. They go bowling. And Link claims he's good at bowling because...

"So, a Wii U, yes? Nobody has a Wii U."

Zelda drags her index over the bowling balls, deciding which one would suit her.

Link sighs in defeat when he admits the truth, "I have them all. I even play on my DS sometimes."

He waits for her smile to turn polite. Or for her eyes to roll, but they don't. Instead she quirks a brow and grins. "You are a nerd."

"I prefer the term gamer, but whatever." He is prepared to leave her alone, his turn is over for a while now and he doesn't want to be the creep who can't leave the pretty girl alone.

She picks up a pink ball that seams too heavy for her small fingers and looks back at him. She still grins. "Gamer is a bold word for a Nintendo-Nerd."

Effortlessly, she takes a measured step towards the lane, crouches down, and releases the bowling ball. The pins clatter. A strike, of course.

Her grin turns teasing when she catches him glancing at the score and at her. "So, Link... What do you play? Animal crossing?"

He wines inwardly. Why exactly did he tell her about his Nintendo collection? Ah, yes. Because her smile is too pretty to let him think straight. "Legend of Hilda, in case you are familiar."

"Oho, not only a nerd, but a sucker for the Princess/Knight dynamic, yes?" Her eyes twinkle with mirth and he has still no idea what to make out of this conversation. Is she mocking him? But she smiles the whole time and usually when someone catches wind of his antics, they are gone in seconds.

Time to come up with something smart. He likes the puzzles. Or, no, better, the dungeons. Legend of Hilda is famous for the tricky dungeons.

"Well, the Princess/Knight trope is a bon, but what really gets me is the soulmate thing." Link drives both hands through his hair. Something smart!

"Ah, yes, there is something about being cursed to be reborn together over and over again, I'll give you that."

Link nods absently, until his eyes widen. She's a little too well informed, isn't she? Could it be that she - no. Maybe she has watched her brother playing or something.

He guides her back to their places and quashes the urge to lay his hand on her smaller back for support. Well. He doesn't guide her. They just walk there. Maybe he really likes this knight in shining armor thing a little too much.

She sips on the straw of her coke, lips all rosy and lush, when she catches him staring again. Great goddess, she winks at him. She winks!

"What," he begins stuttering, throat dry, "what's your hobby?"

"Oh, I write."

Of course, she would have an intellectual, poetic hobby. Not smashing buttons.

It's easy to picture her, sitting cuddled in a plaid in the nook of a window, her laptop open and a tea mug hugged in her hands. She would gaze in a park-like garden and every now and then she would put down the most poetic words ever written.

"What do you write, if the question is allowed?"

"Short stories." Taking another sip, she leans forward to him so that the others can't hear her. "Well. And porn."

He has problems to keep his own beverage spraying only over his shirt and not on the table. Porn???

She clapps his back until he has mostly recovered, but doesn't give him the opportunity to pester her with questions about that.

"What about you? Are you a reader?"

"Yeah."

"Oh? What genre?" Her hand is still on his back for some reason. Unfortunately, she realizes, gives him a last tap, and withdraws.

Since she's still here, closer than ever with her knee touching his, he steels himself and goes 'all in'. "Fanfiction."

"Legend of...", she begins and he finishes for her, "... of Hilda, yes."

"Oh." That's all she gets out and Link wonders why this gets her more flustered than admitting that she writes porn.

"I know what you think. Fanfiction is only for twelve-year-olds, but there's some really good stuff out there. Look, my favorite author writes the best stories I've ever read. Better than most published writers." He grins and tips his head so that he can nearly whisper in her ear. "Including porn."

Another, "Oh." She shifts on her seat and for a moment he's worried that he has made her uncomfortable. But then she squeezes one eye close and asks, "What's their pen name?"

"Dark Knight of the soul."

She stills. The only thing that moves is the blood that raises from her neck to her face until she sports a flush.

"Zelda?" He touches her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she croakes before she points to the screen that shows the score without watching, "look, it's your turn again."

It isn't. He frowns, but stands up anyway. Where has he gone wrong?

This is a draft. Very obviously I need to include the other characters at least a little bit or it gets weird, but that's the general direction it will take.

Thanks for asking!

#zelink #modern au #wip tag game #fanfiction writer!Zelda #fanfiction reader!Link #zeldaelmo writes

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love-fireflysong · 3 years ago

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It be June 3rd now, and would you look at that, the second of my prompts is already up! Who’d a thunk it? Anyway, as successfully guessed by the lovely @torahime here is 5 + 1! And as by the nature of this trope in general, this one ended up long. Like crazy loooooooong. (Also I’m a moron who didn’t understand what the prompt meant for like a week. I kept trying to figure out what the hell the number six had to do with anything, and when I finally googled it out of desperation, all I saw were the words ‘five times’ in the first link and I immediately felt ashamed of myself. I should have known. Why didn’t I know?)

Anyways, you can read the long-ass fic in question at ao3 over here: Do You Ever Wonder What Could Have Been? You can also read this one under the cut, but considering the length I wouldn’t recommend it asdhaskdjh The next one should be much shorter due to the fact that like the first one, I blanked for ideas completely lol.

Do You Ever Wonder What Could Have Been?

Trope: 5 + 1 Fandom: Until Dawn Characters: Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley, Josh Washington (all the other kids also make an appearance but due to them only having like one scene and a single line each I’m not tagging them) Words: 12733 Rating: Teen (though I think I’m being pretty damn generous with that rating tbh) Authors Notes: Yes you’re reading that word count right. Almost thirteen thousand words. Don’t ask how I managed to write this in 5 days, I have no fucking idea. Just take this fic about two nerds being morons in love and mutually pining over each other for six. fucking. years.

Chris is fourteen and so goddamn tired of this stupid crush on his best friend. It's been a whole year now since he met her, and he hates that this stupid, silly, little, crush of his hasn't abated at all. He doesn't even know why he likes her in the first place! It's just Ashley after all, there is absolutely no reason to feel this tongue-tied around his best friend. It's Ash: with her braces, arms always full books (when her head wasn't buried in one that is), stringy red hair, wide green eyes, who sometimes snorts when he tells a joke, freckles that dot her nose and shoulders and—

Okay, he was maybe getting a little side-tracked here. The point was, there was 100% absolutely no reason to feel this way about her. In fact, he bets this was all Josh's fault in the first place! Yeah! That was it! None of this would be happening if Josh hadn't basically kidnapped Ashley from her true home in the library and forced him to meet her!

...But then he wouldn't have met her. And stupid crush aside, she is pretty much the only girl he knows who laughs at all his jokes and helps him with his English homework sometimes. He likes knowing her and likes being her friend even more, he just doesn't like liking her. And maybe that was it? Maybe he just likes Ashley cause she's the only girl who willingly hangs out with him and Josh, and isn't Josh's sisters.

And that's what he's going to prove today once and for all. He heard from Josh that Hannah was absolutely adamant that everyone was going to play spin-the-bottle at her and Beth's birthday party in a couple of days. And that everyone meant not only the people that the twins invited for said party, but also the people that Josh invited over (ie: Chris and Ash) so he would have some company during the twins big b-day bash. Chris was going to find Ashley and explain that losing their first kiss over a game like spin-the-bottle was just so not cool, and that maybe kissing each other first would just be a way better and smarter idea of doing things. And once he kissed her he would finally realize that yup, Ash was just one of the guys and that was so fucking gross and they were totally never ever going to do that again.

Perfect idea. Fool proof even. No way that this was totally going to backfire into his face. Absolutely none at all!

So when he finds Ashley sitting and reading under her usual tree just outside of the school, he is so sure of the success of his ingenious plan that he brings it up right away.

"I think we should kiss before Hannah and Beth's party."

See! Right away! Straight to the point. He has got this shit in the bag baby!

Ashley looks up at him, clearly a little startled from reading her book and squints at him. "Huh? Chris? Is that you?" For a second he's a little confused about how Ash doesn't even recognize him, but then he quickly realizes that he's probably got the sun directly at his back so she can't see him clearly and he awkwardly shuffles to the left a little so she can see him better. "Oh! Hey Chris, what was that you said earlier? I got so absorbed that I didn't really hear a thing you said, sorry." While she doesn't close her book, she does give an embarrassed little laugh that makes his stomach flip-flop just a little and starts to weaken at the cracks of his once fool-proof plan.

He finds himself messing with the strap on his bookbag as he tries to ignore the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. 'Um, I asked if you were going to the twins' birthday party this weekend." Okay, falling a little behind schedule now, but it's fine. No problem.

"I mean, I wasn't exactly invited, but yeah. A whole night of graphic horror movies to drown out the sounds of screaming pre-teens. I honestly can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday night." The absolute dryness of her tone has Chris smiling.

"Oh come on Ash, it's not gonna be that bad."

"Our choices are either to hang out with a bunch of kids who have basically never talked to us ever, or watch Josh's disgusting horror movies Chris."

"Well, I mean, when you put it that way...actually, no. The screaming pre-teens sound like a safer bet honestly." The little snort of laughter she lets out only has Chris pushing the butterflies down harder. God, he is going to be so glad when those stupid things finally leave him alone. "And well, from what Josh said, it sounds like horror isn't the only thing planned for that evening."

"It isn't? You mean he's actually opening up to other movie genre options? Shocking. I truly never thought I would see the day."

"Ha, I wish. Nah, I was, um, talking about what the girls—well, what Hannah wanted to play. Actually." Great. And now he's starting to blush. Really keeping with the rails of his plan there!

"What Hannah...? Oh! You're, uh, talking about the spin-the-bottle game." Ashley brings her lower lip into her mouth and pushes some hair behind her ear. "Yeah, Josh mentioned something about that."

Perfect, one less thing he had to explain. That would speed things up immensely. "Honestly, between you and me? I think it's a stupid idea."

Ashley nods her head vigorously in agreement. "I know right! I mean, who wants to kiss some stranger over a bottle of all things? Can you imagine losing your first kiss to some person who probably doesn't have a single idea who you are in the first place? God that would be awful." Oh man, things are lining up right for him! Ashley's even on the same page and this next part is going to be so easy— "That's why I asked Josh if I could kiss him first instead when he told me a couple of days ago."

Wait. Waitwaitwait wait . She already asked Josh?! "Oh, wow. You were, uh, really thinking ahead there huh?" God, he could feel every ounce of determination he had slowly deflating out of his body. There was no way he could ask her now, absolutely no way! Ashley was gonna think that Chris wanted to kiss her—or worse, liked her! And okay he kind of did, but this was supposed to prove the exact opposite. That this was just stupid hormones and puberty really messing with his life and not something else.

"Of course, there was absolutely no way I was gonna have my first kiss with some popular buttface who was just gonna make fun of me behind my back afterwards. Better to have it with Josh, who would also make fun of me, but at least it would be to my face." Ashley starts to return to her book, flipping a page but stops halfway through. "Wait. Were you going to ask me the same thing?" She sounds a little unsure and a little of something else he can't place right now because he's too busy trying not to panic.

"What? No! God no! Of-of course not!" Oh god, was his voice seriously choosing to crack now? He really, really hoped that the shade being cast from the tree was enough to hide how red his face was. He needed to get out of here and quick .

"I-I-I mean, it's not like it was good or anything—"

"Think I should probably go now anyway."

"It was, like, really wet and-and-and like so bad. Super awkward honestly."

"Lots of things to do. Lots and lots of things to do in fact!"

"I mean, we could still, uh, k-k-kiss? If you want to...?"

"Nope!" Chris was honestly looking everywhere except at Ashley right now, which was fine because she was currently in the middle of trying to hide behind her book. "There's absolutely no reason to do that. Because, because... I already kissed Josh too!"

"...you did?"

"Yup! Totally did. Just came over to see what you had planned to do about it actually. And because you're so much smarter than me, you had totally already done the same thing. So no reason for me to still bother you after all! None whatsoever! So I'll just let you get back to your book. And the battle between the uh, vampire and the, um, cowboy? Riveting stuff I bet."

"Um, yeah. But—"

"I'll just, uh, see you tomorrow then, I guess. Bye!"

Chris thinks he catches a wave of disappointment flash across her face when she returns his farewell, but he's already basically fled half away across the yard to find Josh so he doesn't think about it too much. And it turns out that Ashley is right, kissing Josh is wet and pretty fucking awful in the end. Which should only prove his idea that kissing her would have been just as bad and awkward.

So why does he feel like it would have actually been the complete opposite?

"I'm going to fail."

Ashley rolled her eyes as she struggled not to laugh. "Oh my god, you're not gonna fail Chris."

Chris didn't even deign to raise his head from where he had face-planted it into the open book only moments before, letting his words come out muffled and flat. "I am Ash. I am going to bomb this exam so hard that they're gonna make me repeat ninth grade."

Ashley groaned, but it was more of an attempt to hide her amusement than out of any exasperation, as she tried to lift Chris back into a sitting position and wasn't laid out prostrated over the table. "Okay first of all, get your dumb face out of that book. Ms. Norman is not gonna be happy with either of us if she discovers your drool all over the pages of the only half-decent copy of Lord of the Flies that the school library has." Once she finally has finally managed to prop Chris into a halfway decent sitting position, she moves the book closer to her in case he decides to try smashing his face into it again. "Second of all, I'm pretty sure that the school's not going to make you repeat the grade just because you failed English, your grades in everything else are high enough that they'll definitely pass you. That, and there is no way that the teachers would let Josh move on to high school of all things without supervision."

"...That is a scarily good point."

"And thirdly, there is absolutely no way I would be able to get through the next four years of school with you in my grade," she teases him with a poke in the arm. "I mean can you imagine? Having to go to class everyday knowing you're going to be there with me? I can't think of anything more terrifying honestly."

Chris gives a startled laugh. "Gee, thanks Ash. Really appreciate that vote of confidence. Making my self-esteem soar over here. And also, I for one can think of something way more terrifying."

"Really?" Ashley says as she crosses her arms across her chest and levels him with a disbelieving look. "Well go on then, try me. Cause I can promise you that there is absolutely nothing more terrifying—"

"Me and Josh in the same grade as you."

Ashley just blanches. "Oh god. You're right. That is so much worse and the idea of this even happening is now going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life."

"Oh please, it wouldn't be that bad."

"It would. It so would. And to prevent this we need to double down on you studying for your English final so that this cataclysmic event never occurs."

It's Chris's turn to roll his eyes as he slumps down even further into his seat. "That's what I was doing earlier until you stopped me."

"What? Planting your face into the middle of the book?"

"Exactly. Decided to try out a new method cause the other one wasn't certainly working. Learning by osmosis."

Ashley shoves her face into the palms of her hands to try and stop her giggles. It didn't work, not by a long shot, but it at least smothered them a bit. "You can't just read a book by trying to absorb it into your skin, that's not how things work at all!"

"And how would you know that Ash? Have you ever even tried?" Chris scoffs.

"Of course I haven't you dork! I haven't tried because that's not even possible!"

"Um, sounds to me like someone just isn't open to new ideas."

"Oh my god. Can we please get back to studying and making sure you don't fail. I for one would really like to get back to that." Ashley starts to put the copy of the book back between the middle of them where they can both read it easily. "Okay, so chapter eight is where the divide between the boys finally reaches a boiling point after seeing the 'monster' on the mountain in the last chapter. They argue over whether Ralph should still be left in charge and Jack leaves in a huff."

Chris groaned as he tossed his glasses onto the table so he could throw his arm over his eyes. "Starting to think that Jack has the right idea here." he grumbled.

Ashley ignored him. "Some of the other boys follow after him and form their own tribe with Jack as its chief further down the beach. As a group, the hunters then fall into a savage frenzy when they go hunting and kill a sow, with Roger dealing the killing blow."

"By driving his spear into the thing’s ass," Chris helpfully supplied.

Ashley sighed. "Yes, by doing that. Good to know you're at least remembering some things, but do you remember what happened next?"

Though she couldn't see with Chris's arm in the way, she knew that he was narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Ummm, they... eat the pig?"

Ashley groaned and fought very hard against the impulse to smack her forehead into the center of the table. " Chris . "

"What? Do they not eat the thing? I mean, why even hunt it if they're not gonna eat it?"

"Chris, what they do next is the lead up for what is often considered the most important scene in the entire book! How can you not remember?!"

"I don't know Ash! Kind of think I was distracted by the whole 'shoving a spear into a sow's anus' part!"

"They leave its head on a stake in the jungle as an offering to the beast! This is what creates the Lord of the Flies that Simon sees later that night!"

"Oh right, that. Yeah that sounds a little familiar now that you mention it."

"A little—" Ashley stops fighting against the earlier urge and places her heavy head into her hands in despair. "You literally had to read this book last month! How could you have forgotten so much already?"

Chris groans and drapes himself over the back of his chair. "This is hopeless Ash. I appreciate the help I really do, but I think it's time we face the inevitable and just take a page out of this book."

"What, I stick your head on a pike and be done with you?"

The snort that Chris makes in surprise is enough to bring a tired smile to Ashley's face. "Leaving you to deal with Josh alone? Ha, you wouldn't. Nah, I was talking about just making an offering to the exam gods out there. Think they'll be the best bet I have to pass this shitty ass final."

Ashley removes her head from her hands to give him a withering look. "If we're going that route, you want a kiss for good luck too? Probably work just as well as those gods of yours."

There's an awkward pause, and at first Ashley can't figure out why but then the words finally hit her. She feels her face start to burn and she places her head back into her hands so she doesn't have to look at Chris anymore. Oh god, she can't believe she just said that. Why would she even say that in the first place?! It's a damn good thing that Chris isn't wearing his glasses right now, the heat from her face alone is making her feel like she's about to combust as it is, and him seeing that would probably push her over that physical boundary.

"I-I mean, if you think it will help..." Chris sounds almost bashful when he says it and Ashley snaps her head to him in shock.

"I—" Ashley isn't quite sure what she's trying to say, and is interrupted when her phone buzzes with an incoming text message. She immediately jumps up from her chair and starts grabbing at her things. "Oh man, that's probably my mom here to pick me up. I should really get going."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah! No reason for me to stay if you aren't so I guess I should head out too." Chris starts picking up his stuff too, putting his glasses back onto his face as he shoves his books into his bag.

By nature of having brought less than Chris to help him study, Ashley finishes cleaning first but doesn't leave right away. Chris had said it was fine after all. And sure, maybe he was just desperate for anything that will help him pass his final, but he said it would be fine. So steeling herself, Ashley leans down and leaves a quick but chaste kiss on Chris's cheek.

"For luck!" She manages to squeak out as she all but runs out the doors of the library to the school's entrance where her mom will be waiting for her, too scared to even look back.

Chris should have known that something was up the moment Josh brought it up: 'Hey, how about you and Ash hang out at my house this weekend instead?' Innocent sounding sure, but he really, really should have known better. Josh never pushed for hang outs at his place, it had always been an agreed upon rule that Hannah and Beth got their place, while Josh preferred to host their get togethers and his and Ash's own houses. It was just the thing that was done and everyone had been more than happy with how it was. Had it been any other time, Chris would like to think that he would have totally seen right through Josh's plan and offered up his place instead.

But Josh's parents were almost never around either, and that meant staying up late and talking and goofing around without parents warning them to go to sleep. Which most importantly meant staying up late and talking to Ashley, because that hadn't been a thing that the three of them had been able to do a whole lot recently. It was still so weird not seeing Ash around in the school halls, not being able to hang out at lunch, and not meeting up after school all the time. It felt like there was something huge missing and it bothered him (just as much as it bothered Josh, not that he would ever say anything about it). The two of them wandering the hallowed halls of high school while she was still stuck back in their middle school just felt so wrong .

So when Josh had brought up a weekend hang out, Chris (and Ashley) had accepted right away. Which, judging from the fact that Josh had somehow managed to weasel the two of them into playing a game of Truth or Dare with him, had been a huge mistake.

"Well, well, well. It seems the time has come. So let's get on with it shall we?" Josh rubbed his hands gleefully together in the dim light of the bedroom (for atmosphere he had claimed) as the three of them sat in a circle. A seemingly innocuous plate of cookies sitting in the middle of them, and knowing better then to trust Josh, both Chris and Ash had been eyeing the cookies warily for the past few minutes. Not that Josh seemed to notice or care of course. "Seeing as I'm the one who set up elegant little ritual—"

"You forced us into playing a stupid game dude, there's nothing elegant or ritualistic about it."

Josh ignored him, unsurprisingly. "I'll go first of course. So Ash, truth or dare?"

"What are the cookies for Josh?" Ashley asked nervously as she continued to eye the plate instead of answering him.

"That's not important. And anyways, it's my turn Ash. So I'll ask again: truth or dare Ashley?"

Ashley raised her eyes from the plate to transfer her nervous and mistrustful stare to him. "...truth," she answered slowly.

"Oh ho ho! So truth it is! Well then Ash, tell me: have you got any secrets you've been dying to share with us?"

Chris could immediately tell that the question had hit a sore spot on some sort, shoulders locked and her body stiff. "You know I'm not gonna answer that one. Pass."

Josh shook his head, a devious smile on his lips. "Nope. Nuh uh Miss Brown. That's not how this game works. If you're gonna pass then I'm gonna have to ask that you take a cookie in return."

"...I'm sorry, what? "

He waved a hand down towards the plate of cookies. "These, my dearest chums, are the fabled Truth or Dare cookies. Anytime one of us refuses to act out what is asked of us, we must then take a cookie in penance."

At first, Ashley doesn't move. She continues to dart her eyes suspiciously between Josh and the plate of cookies, but eventually slowly does reach out and hesitantly grab a chocolate cookie from the plate. She holds it up closer to her face to investigate it further, and Chris watches as all the tension she had stored up just evaporates from her as she physically deflates. "Oh my god, are you actually being serious right now Josh? ‘Dare’ brand cookies? Really? Why in the world are you trying to be so ominous when you went with a pun as lame as using Dare cookies in a game of truth or dare?"

"Wait, really?" Chris reaches out to grab one for himself but Josh smacks his hand away with a grin.

"So sorry Cochise, but these are only for if you refuse. And trust me, you don't want to refuse." Josh turns back to Ashley. "Oh, and don't eat that just yet."

In response, she just shrugs and leans back, but keeps the chocolate crème filled cookie in her hand as she looks between Chris and Josh. "It's my turn now, right? Okay, so—"

Josh cuts her off. "Nope, still mine. Now, Chris—"

"What? That's not how this stupid game works Josh!"

Josh waves her off. "You didn't answer my question Ash, or eat the cookie, so it's still my turn."

"But you just told me not to eat the stupid thing!"

Josh ignores her as he keeps his attention squarely on Chris. Who, to his own shame, has begun squirming in his seat in dread of what's going to come. "Well, Chris: truth or dare?"

Chris tosses the options over in his head. Both are terrible obviously, but playing this game with Josh of all people never ends well, so he decides to go with his gut instead. "Dare."

"Ooooh, feeling a little gutsy are we? That's fine, I can work with that. I dare you to... return the favour and do one thing you've been thinking about alllllllll summer."

Personally, Chris is finding it a miracle that he hasn't reached over and tried to strangle Josh yet, but he has a feeling that has more to do with the fact that he's trying not to shrivel up on the floor and die than out of any mercy. Even though Josh for some reason worded it in a really convoluted way, he just literally dared him to kiss Ash. It was so obvious that he was frankly amazed that Ashley hadn't figured it out yet.

Because of course he still thought about that kiss for good luck that Ash had given him in the library. He thought about it nearly all the damn time! Hell, Chris was pretty sure that the reason he had even passed his final even a little bit was because of the kiss. Not because it was good luck or anything, but because whenever a question appeared on the exam that asked about the themes or some shit about Lord of the Flies, he kept getting sent back into that library where Ashley had been drilling the same stuff into him just before she had kissed his cheek.

And there is absolutely no way that he's gonna kiss Ash in Josh's bedroom. No way in hell. Especially not when it's gonna reveal that he had been thinking about what was more than likely a super innocent and helpful gesture on her part.

So glaring at Josh, Chris reaches forward and without a word grabs a vanilla cookie. And for some strange reason, this only causes Josh's smile to widen. "I see, so that's what you both went with huh? Anyways, I think it's about time you take your 'reward' and chow down!"

Exchanging a confused look with Ashley, Chris nonetheless shrugs and pops the entire thing into his mouth and bites down.

And realizes in a horrifying instant that this is not a vanilla cookie.

There's a flash of light that blinds him for a second, and when the spots clear he sees Josh holding a camera and laughing his ass off.

"What the—? Is this fucking mayo dude?!" And it must be, because this is not what a vanilla cookie should ever taste like. While the cookie portion itself is okay if not a little soft, the crème is way too oily and eggy to be anything but mayo. Josh doesn't answer his question right away, but that's from a combo of laughing way too hard and being distracted by Ash trying not to retch in the middle of the bedroom floor.

"Oh my god! You put soy sauce in a cookie?! What is wrong with you Josh?!" She's up in a second and rushing to the garbage can near Josh's desk, and Chris is quick to join her in trying to spit everything out. "I'm never going to get this salt out of my mouth! Why would you even do that?!"

"Cause it's fucking hilarious that's why!" Josh is still laughing as he takes a look at the picture he took on the camera, and starts laughing harder. "Oh fucking hell, this was glorious. Oh wasting those two questions just for this picture was so worth it. Best decision I could have made!

"Now you two get your asses back over here! I spent hours on these cookies after all, and I am not letting them go to waste. We've got hours my friends, and so many questions and dares to get through."

Chris shares a look with Ashley over the garbage bin, both of them now obviously wondering if keeping their own secret had been worth having to eat those cookies, and if they still would have passed their turn knowing what exactly laid in store for them. While he certainly couldn't say a thing about her, Chris wasn't so sure if not kissing Ash and enduring all the fallout that would have resulted in was worth the terrible combination of vanilla and mayo in his mouth. He supposed he would never know, it was too late to simply retract his pass after all.

And well, he really didn't want to kiss Ash when she had just been tricked into eating a bunch of soy sauce.

You know, Ashley kind of figured that once she entered high school all of these stupid games would be done with. Surely high schoolers were too mature and too old to be playing childish games like spin-the-bottle or seven minutes in heaven? And yeah, obviously Chris and Josh weren't, but that was them and they were in a class all their own. But Hannah? And Sam and Beth? She would have thought that they were way too cool to be playing spin-the-bottle of all things, especially Beth.

And yet, here Ashley was: squeezed in between Matt and Sam as Matt spun the bottle around on the now extremely sticky hardwood floor. She wasn't stupid, she knew the entire reason the game was even being played in the first place; Hannah had been making eyes at Mike all through the evening and well into the game after all. She just didn't think that anyone else would have been stupid enough to go along with the game when Hannah suggested it.

(Ashley knew very well why she had reluctantly agreed to play, she just didn't know why anyone else did.)

Though to be fair, it didn't seem like the game was gonna last much longer anyway. Emily and Jess had started scrolling through their phones ages ago, showing each other whatever was on the other's screen every few minutes and the two of them laughing. Mike had been tapping a really off-rhythm beat on his jeans with the straw from his can of soda and staring into space, while Hannah stared lovesick at him . Beth was starting to doze on Sam's shoulder, not that either seemed too concerned about it, and Sam was nervously eyeing all the spilt pop and chips around them that they were gonna have to clean up before they went to bed. Unsurprisingly, Chris was also scrolling through his phone, snickering every now and then as Ashley felt her phone buzz in the pocket of her hoodie whenever he sent whatever it was that he found funny to her and Josh. Josh meanwhile, had joined Matt in building a rather shaky—if not impressive—tower out of discarded plastic cups, straws, and paper plates.

Ashley yawned behind her hand as the bottle slowed it's spin. She had been ready to drop out of the game a round or two back, but hadn't yet because she didn't want to deal with the others teasing her on being a sore loser who backs down the moment the bottle didn't land on the person she wanted it to. Which would lead to Chris asking who it was even though everyone else already knew who because it was glaringly obvious to everyone except him. The sound of the bottle stopping its spin managed to get everyone's attention as they looked at the neck of the bottle pointed squarely at Mike.

Everyone made the expected ' oooooooh ' and wolf whistles that everyone always did in this game, though quieter than they might have usually. Bob and Melinda were sleeping upstairs after all, and the last thing any of them wanted to do was wake them up and have them discover that despite it being nearly three in the morning, that the ten of them were still awake as the snow storm raged outside the lodge. Nonetheless, Matt and Mike both rolled their eyes and leaned over Josh who sat in the middle of them with a groan. Mike also didn't hesitate to take Matt's face into his hands and just plant one firmly on his mouth with no fanfare, other than the continued wolf whistles of course, and the two of them settled back down to their previous antics.

With that done, Ashley stared down nervously at the bottle. Once again, she felt the words stick in her throat. It would just be so easy to say "Oh man you guys, it's really late, I should really just go to bed" but let them die without a fight as she swallowed nervously and gave the bottle a hard flick. She knew exactly why she let the words die, and it wasn't solely because of what the others would say, though that was certainly a large part of it. No, it was because of the same glimmer of hope that sparked in her everytime it was her turn at this stupid game. That maybe this would be the time that the bottle would land on Chris, that she would finally get that kiss she's wanted for three years now.

She watches the bottle spin around the group, slowing its motion every full spin, and she notices that Chris has turned his attention away from his phone to watch it almost as nervously as she is. Which should probably make her question just why Chris is as just as invested on who it's gonna land on as she is, but she's kind of distracted right now by the fact that her heart is rapidly picking up pace in direct contrast to how much slower the bottle is getting. And feels it stop almost entirely when the bottle begins its last revolution and she knows. She knows . It's finally gonna land on Chris. All these years of playing this stupid, stupid game and it's finally happening.

Ashley's eyes shoot up to meet Chris's over the bottle, but that's also when the lodge suddenly plunges into darkness just before the bottle stops on him.

Immediately, the others are screaming next to her and the tower of cups and plates fall with a soft clatter.

"Oh my god! What the fuck was that?!"

"Holy fuck! Can you guys see anything?"

"Of course we can't see anything Michael!"

"It's probably just the storm you guys. Settle down."

"Can you guys please quiet down? My parents are sleeping and they're gonna kill us if they find out we're still awake."

Ashley isn't yelling though, because she's too busy screaming internally. There is no way that this is actually happening right now. There is no goddamn way. The bottle finally lands on Chris and the power goes out? Because of some stupid storm? She wanted to scream. She has half a mind to reach out and hold the bottle in place so there's proof of this when the power comes on, or to just jump over the distance and kiss Chris anyway. She knows exactly where he is after all, and he must have seen it land on him. He must have, right? It's that little second of uncertainty that decides for her, there's a sound as someone gets up and the flat 'thunk' as they accidentally kick the bottle across the room.

"Shit. My bad. You guys stay here, I'll go and check out the back-up generator in the basement. You coming, Cochise?"

Ashley can hear Chris awkwardly and quickly getting to his feet. "Um, y-yeah. Right behind you, bro."

The two of them walk away leaving Ashley to sit on the floor about to scream from the frustration of it all. And she does scream that it is, though not from almost having the perfect excuse to kiss Chris, but from someone touching her shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry!" Sam apologizes. "You were so quiet Ashley that I got nervous. I know that you're scared of the dark and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Oh, yeah. That's right. She was so preoccupied with the dark ruining what was almost going to be the highlight of her entire year , that she kind of forgot that it was, well, dark now. And once that realization hits her, so too does the fear that she's sitting in absolute darkness and can't see a single thing other than the lights being cast from everyone’s phones. That she has no idea what else—or who else—is out there. She frantically reaches out and wraps up Sam's arm in her own for a physical reminder that there is someone else she trusts in the darkness with her.

"Wait, you're scared of the dark Ash? Shit. Here, just give me a second." From next to her, Matt rustles in his jacket pocket and brings out his phone, turning it on and casting light around the room, and reflecting off the plastic bottle that Josh had accidentally kicked to the other side of the room. "Hope this helps a bit."

Ashley lets out a breath and a small smile. "Yeah, it does. Thanks Matt."

"No problem. Hey, I think I may have a funny video saved on here somewhere. Pretty sure I downloaded it so just give me a moment." He finds the video quickly enough, and while Ashley doesn't find it particularly as funny as he clearly did, she does appreciate the effort anyway.

Thankfully for everyone, the lights come back on soon enough. Though whether from the power coming back or the back-up generator activating, she isn't sure. It is enough to convince everyone that maybe it's time for bed though, and no one asks about her spin and who it landed on, which Ashley is both insulted for and thankful of in equal measure. Sam unfortunately reminds everyone of the mess they've all made of the great room though, and that they should all clean it up before Bob and Melinda wake up and find it, which Hannah and Beth eagerly echo, and so does Josh when he makes his way back up from the basement with scowling Chris in tow.

Thankfully, between the ten of them, the clean up takes very little time and they're all on their way back to their own rooms in record time, even if Ashley was too embarrassed to even look at Chris now. God, she couldn't believe that she had seriously considered jumping him! And for what? Just because some bottle told her to? Oh man, she never would have been able to live that down. She still spends more time then needed to get ready in the bathroom, and then laying in bed with her lamp on in the hopes that maybe Chris will knock on her door to confront her about the spin and ask for that kiss.

While the fact that he doesn't make an appearance doesn't surprise her, it's still a little depressing.

Chris is going to kill Josh. He is going to kill him . And he means it this time. Years spent watching Josh's horror shit and listening to Ash go on and on about her mystery novels should have given him a real edge actually. He can murder Josh violently in the way that the weirdo would probably like to go and then Ash can help him get rid of the body so that no one will ever know it was him. Easy.

You know, assuming Ashley is still gonna want to even associate with him after this.

"You feeling okay, Chris? You're starting to look a little red... and surly."

"Yup, I'm fine. Just peachy in fact." Chris takes another swig of the punch that has somehow not been spiked yet, and tries to plaster a smile on his face for her only to once again start looking over her shoulder. Not that there's anything interesting over her shoulder of course, unless one finds a group of football seniors trying to play a game of chicken in the middle of the dance hall interesting, but it's easier than looking straight at her. Not because she looks terrible of course—good god is that not the reason—but because she is way too fucking gorgeous for him to handle right now.

When Chris had decided to invite her to his and Josh's grad thing, it had just been a way for all three of them to hang out and enjoy their last year of high school together. School rules dictated after all that for some stupid reason, graduates weren't allowed to invite anyone who wasn't in school anymore so Ash wasn't going to be able to ask them to hers next year. Which was complete and utter bullshit of course, but that was beside the point. It was supposed to be a fun night... and then Chris's parents found out. And being the complete pain in the asses they are, they insisted that if Ash was going to this party with them, and it was a formal party, then they needed to make this proper. So against his wishes and leaving Chris wanting to die, they went and found out what colour of dress Ash was going to be wearing and got him not only a matching tie but a fucking corsage to go with it! The only thing that had made all of that even a little better, was that they had forced Josh to go along with it so at least he wouldn't be alone.

But then Josh had showed up not wearing his stupid tie and without the fucking flowers. And despite Chris's repeated protests that he didn't want to do the whole matching thing, especially if Josh wasn't doing it, his parents still made him do it anyway, saying all the while that 'it would make Ashley happy, you do want to make Ashley happy don't you?' And now here he was, sitting with Ashley at their table while she wore his stupid flowers on her wrist and his tie matched her green dress.

He hated how fucking obvious his crush was s0 much.

"...It's because of what everyone's been saying isn't it?"

At the dejected tone of her voice, Chris immediately snaps his full attention to her, leaving his glass of punch forgotten as he flaps his hands around in an effort to not reach out and grab at her hand. "What? No! God no! That isn't it I swear!"

Ashley sighs sadly as she looks glumly down at her lap. "It's fine Chris. I can understand if it's making you uncomfortable."

Chris takes one of his ineffectually flapping hands and makes to run it through his hair, before remembering the amount of gel he had put in it before coming and rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses. "I'm serious Ash, that's not it. I was honestly just thinking about the different ways I'm going to murder Josh when he gets back."

She laughs a little at that, and turns to look out into the direction of the buffet table, as though she'll be able to see Josh coming back with their food through the literal sea of people. "He has been gone a while hasn't he? He left like twenty minutes ago and he still isn't back. Do you think he even went to the buffet table in the first place?"

"He better have. Him coming back with food is probably about the only thing that's going to stop me from murdering him honestly."

Ashley laughs a little louder, and when she pushes a stray strand of hair that had come undone from her simply styled updo, Chris catches the while flowers on her wrist and feels his stomach flip pleasantly. "Any particular reason you want to kill Josh this time?"

"I mean, I have plenty but let's just be honest with ourselves here: do either of us ever need a reason to wanna kill Josh, Ash?"

And there it is, the surprised snort he was waiting for and that just made this entire evening a little more bearable. "God, you're not wrong." She follows his eye line to the corsage on her wrist and just like that all levity to the situation is gone as she hides her hands back in her lap under the table. "...you're sure that you're okay with what everyone is saying though?" she asks a little nervously.

Honestly? No, he isn't. Ever since the three of them walked into the party, everyone they had talked to right away had noticed the matching colours and the corsage and all comments had been the same. 'Fucking knew that there was something going on between you two' and 'Hey, it's about fucking time' or 'Always knew that you two would be good together'. It had been bad enough realizing that apparently almost everyone he had ever spoken to even a little bit had known of his super obvious feelings for his best friend, but the absolute worst thing had been the pained but polite smile that Ash had forced onto her face every single time.

"Honestly, I'm never going to see most of these people ever again once I graduate." He's avoiding the question, and he knows that she knows that he's avoiding the question. "But you're probably gonna have to deal with people brining this stupid thing up for the entire next year. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's not like this is something I don't deal with already." She says it with a little shrug and smile, but Chris can feel his heart sink anyway. How long has she had to deal with the bullshit that his stupid crush has caused her, and why had she never told him? It's way too late to try and fix things, but he can at least hopefully try and stop any further comments from coming, so he lets his fingers fly to his tie and starts to frantically undo it. "...What are you doing Chris?"

"Wondering why on earth I let my parents talk me into this. This is obviously making you uncomfortable and I should have taken this stupid thing off ages ago." His fingers keep catching on the knot and he lets out a fairly explicit curse under his breath.

Ashley's eyes go wide with realization. "Oh!" She instantly flips over her wrist and starts fumbling at the clasp of the corsage with her other hand and Chris finds that his heart has somehow managed to travel all the way from the bottom of his stomach straight into his throat. Abandoning his only partially undone tie, he lays his hand on hers to stop her.

"You don't have to do that." She's staring at their hands in wide-eyed shock, and his breath catches. "Not if you don't want to, that is. It-it looks good on you."

"Okay," she whispers softly, eyes still wide as her fingers leave her wrist, "I can leave it on."

"Only if you want to though." When the hell did his mouth get so dry?!

"I do," she looks up to him when she says it, and the earnestness of her smile bowls him over. "I really, really do." In an effort to try and distract himself from her smile, he starts fumbling at his tie once again and he catches her eyes flickering to it. Ashley's smile somehow only brightens as she laughs at him. "Here. Let me give you a hand with that."

She scoots her chair closer to him and he removes his hands from his tie so she can take over. The two of them say nothing as she places all of her attention on continuing to loosen the knot, while Chris tries his absolute hardest not to swallow...or breathe...or do anything at all really, as he just stares down at her in awe.

Once the knot is finally undone, Ashley slowly pulls the entire length of fabric from his neck and places it on the table, before putting her hands back where they were so she can carefully smooth out his shirt collar. And when she looks back up at him with a smile, he can feel the entire world stop as they just stare at each other and Chris slowly starts to close the infinitesimally small distance between them. And he's probably just imagining things, but he thinks that she's doing the same thing as well.

"Jesus Christ, sorry it took so long you guys. Line for the fucking food was longer then you would believe!"

The two of them fly apart so fiercely, that Chris's entire chair manages to tip over backwards and send him to the ground with a loud clatter. He can feel everyone's eyes on them and the murmurs that follow, and he hopes that they're mistaking the redness of his face for the embarrassment of falling out of his chair. Yeah, that's a story that's going to make the rounds before he graduates for sure.

"Shit, you okay bro?" From his spot on the floor, Chris watches Josh place a couple of plates absolutely piled high in food on the table and reach down to help him up with a laugh. "Oh hey, I see you finally decided to take off that stupid tie too. Surprised it took you this long honestly."

Chris accepts Josh's hand up. "Yup, me too." He hopes and prays that Josh just thinks that the absolutely breathless and stunted quality to his words is that he's just a little winded from the fall. Once he gets his chair back up and sits back down, he grabs at the tie to shove it in his pocket. He notices that Ashley is refusing to look at him as she digs out a couple of sandwiches from the miscellaneous pile of food, even as she fiddles with the strap of flowers on her wrist for the rest of the meal.

He's exceptionally thrilled to note that she does keep the corsage on the rest of the night though.

Five times. That's how many times her phone has gone off in her pocket. Five. Times. And every single time Ashley lets out a sigh of relief when the buzzing finally stops, it goes off again only seconds later. And checking the caller id the first couple of times only showed that it was Josh calling her. Normally Ashley liked to think that she would have answered her phone if it was literally anyone else, but this was Josh. He called for every little thing after all; from letting her know that he saw a super big dog on the way home from classes to informing her that he was out of chips and if Ash could pick some up on her way to meet them from her job then that would really just be swell. And considering that he and Chris were supposed to meet her and grab a bite to eat together while she was on her lunch break, he was probably just calling to let her know that they had just left, and to make a milestone out of every block closer the two of them got so she could greet them with all the pomp and circumstance he likely thought he deserved.

Though to be fair she probably would have answered her phone after the third ring, if only to tell him off, but Jared had been giving her a stink eye from his office pretty much since she had arrived so she hadn't.

So she let it buzz...and buzz...and buzz. Until finally, her phone stopped yet again and she tensed her shoulders ready for the next round of vibrations to start. But there was nothing. Nothing but blissful silence coming from her pocket and she let out a huge sigh of relief as Ashley got back to work shelving some of the new stock, letting Kyrstin and Curtis deal with the short line of customers that had begun to form as they bought their books and whatever little trinkets littered the entire front of the store.

She hoped Chris and Josh got here soon, she was overdue for her lunch break and the smells coming out of the nearby food court were calling her name. Particularly the chinese place, she had been craving them for the last week at least . Plus, Jared had been raking her over coals about how her availability was going to drop dramatically once she started college in the next couple of weeks, and one of the creepy regulars had followed her around the store for-freaking- ever (she's pretty sure he had been staring at her ass the whole time too honestly) until Curtis had basically shoved her into the back room to let her escape while he covered for her. And surprise surprise, Jared hadn't been too thrilled about her 'abandoning her post' and yelled at her about that too.

Whoever said that working in a bookstore was a lazy job where she got to read books in her free time was a dirty, rotten liar. It was hell on earth and she was going to slowly tear the fingernails off whoever it was that said it (even though she had a sinking feeling it had probably be Ashley herself that said it back when she romanticized working in bookstores when she was, like, ten ). God, she really really needed that Chinese if she had any plans of surviving the last four hours of her shift.

The phone at the front desk behind her begins to ring, but a quick backwards glance has her realizing that with poor Curtis trying to deal with an older woman who is adamant that the book he's trying to sell her is the wrong one because she is 'positive that the book had a light purple cover and this one is lavender, that is two different colours and I want the right book now ' and Kyrstin being forced to deal with the rest of the line herself, that Ashley's the one who's going to have to answer the phone. With a groan of resignation (she hated answering the phone at work but Jared was in a horrendous enough mood as it was), she stood up and made her way over, repeating the greeting she was going to have to say over and over in her head so she (hopefully) wouldn't mess it up. And taking a deep breath, and repeating the greeting once more in her head, she forced a smile to her face as she picked up the handset.

"Hi! Thanks for calling—"

"Fucking finally Ash."

In an instant, Ashley could feel every ounce of nervous energy violently expel from her body as she nearly doubled over with another groan, this one entirely of exhaustion. She took quick glance over her shoulder, but Jared seemed to busy with another phone call in his office thankfully. "What are you doing Josh?!" she whispered angrily, "I'm at work right now you moron!"

"Uh yeah, I know. Why do you think I called you using this number?"

Ashley gave Kyrstin an apologetic and pained smile when she looked at her curiously, who responded with a good-natured shake of her head and a laugh under her breath as she turned to help the next customer. "Well, you didn't have to call here."

"Kinda did, Ash. You kept ignoring me."

"I was ignoring your calls you butt, you could have just texted me instead you know."

"Hmmm, no. Anyways I tried calling to tell you that Chris and I might not be able to meet up with you for lunch."

Ashley felt disappointment flood her entire being. "Oh. I see. But you really could have just—"

"We're at the hospital while Chris gets some x-rays done."

Immediately any disappointment fled her body as Ashley all but collapsed on the counter for support as her legs gave out on her. "Is he okay?! Oh god, is he okay Josh?!"

There's a pause on the phone and all Ashley can hear is her own blood pounding in her ears. He has to be okay. He has to be, he just has to be!

"I dunno, it was a pretty gnarly fall. Don't know if he'll ever truly recover, there was a lot of screaming after all."

Ashley doesn't even respond as she slams down the phone and turns to Kyrstin and Curtis who are looking at her in shock as her entire world falls to pieces around her. "I-I have to go. Chris is... Chris is..." she can't get anymore out with how it feels like someone is ripping her heart out of her chest. "Josh said he's in the hospital and...and..."

Curtis nods quickly as he runs to the staff room, and Kyrstin just starts shoving her towards the door as they all ignore the customers who are standing around awkwardly. "Go. We got this."

Ashley turns her head towards Jared's office. "But I gotta—and, and I need to grab my stuff—

"Nope. You go. Curtis and I will figure something out, and Becks arrives for her shift in another half hour. We can manage just fine until then. You just get out of here right now."

Ashley doesn't try to fight anymore than that, not with how hard she's fighting to hold back breaking down in the middle of the store after all. Curtis meets her at the entrance with her bag and shoves it into her arms. "Do you need me to call you a taxi, or give you a ride, or anything? Kyrstin can drag Jared out of his cave if she's gotta." Next to him, Kyrstin nods furiously in agreement.

Ashley has never loved anyone as much as she loves her coworkers in this instant. "No, my-my mom gave me the car for today."

With that little bit of approval, and a random customer shouting ‘I hope he's okay hun!’ at her, the two of them shove Ashley into the mall itself and the very instant she crosses that threshold she takes off running, shoving her way through people and nearly falling down the stairs in her effort to get to the parking lot as quickly as she can. She is so, so glad that her mom basically forced the car on her today instead of letting her take the bus as originally planned, she doesn't know how she would have lasted if she'd had to wait for a taxi to arrive and pick her up.

As it is, once she's finally (and somehow safely) managed to arrive at the hospital and found a spot to park, she's nonplussed about the fact that she didn't leave any imprints in the steering wheel from how hard she had been gripping it the whole drive over. She fumbles with the clasp on her seatbelt with shaking hands, almost bursting into tears about that fact alone, but she eventually manages to free herself and basically throws herself out of the car, only remembering to lock the door behind her when she's about halfway to the hospital doors.

The moment she bursts into the waiting room, Josh is sitting there waiting for her. He looks up at her in surprise as she hurries towards him, then down at his phone and back up at her again as he gives a low whistle. "Shit Ash, how many laws did you break to get here that fast?"

She ignores him. "What happened?! How is he?! Just tell me he's okay! Please, please tell me he's okay!"

"I mean, I suppose he's as fine as he could be considering the circumstances." He seems to sense that she's about ready to scream at him so he quickly follows up with "He's on the second floor, in room 272 if you want to see him."

Ashley doesn't even bother to thank him as she bolts to the nearby elevator, frantically pushing the 'Call Elevator' button nonstop until the door opens and then doing the same thing to the second floor button as it carries her up. Her eyes are burning in an effort to hold back her tears but she can tell that the dam is about to burst any second, especially with how long this elevator is taking to move. She doesn't even wait for the doors to open fully, squeezing through them the moment they're wide enough and accosting some poor nurse until he points her down the correct hall. She hurries the rest of the way, staring at every number on the wall until she finds room 272. And then she stops, her hand on the door knob as she braces herself for whatever she's going to find. Chris lying in bed, covered in blood and bandages with a heart monitor beeping next to him, just broken and shattered beyond all repair. With a choked back sob she opens the door—

and finds Chris sitting on the bed looking up at the ceiling bored to tears with a splint wrapped around his pinky and ring finger on his right hand.

"Finally! I thought you would never get here, so if we could just get this over with—" he looks over at her standing in the doorway shell shocked and still in her work uniform and jumps to his feet. "A-Ash?! What the hell are you doing here— Wait, did you just come here straight from work?! "

"You're okay?" Ashley hates how small her voice comes out, "You're really okay?"

"What? Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Who told you—"

Spell broken, Ashley’s bag falls from her shoulder to the ground with a small clatter and she dives towards Chris, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Oh thank god. Oh thank god. " Chris starts to return the hug, likely more than a little confused about what's going on, but she's already moved so her hands are on either side of his face as she tugs him down to her level so she can get a better look at him. Twisting and turning his head this way and that as she looks for any bruises or cuts. "Josh told me that there had been an accident and—"

"Ash!" Chris interrupts her by taking her wrists in his hands—though he winces at the pain that likely forms as a result of doing so—and speaks as calmly and reassuringly to her as he can. "Ash, it's okay. I'm fine . I promise. I just tripped earlier that's all."

Ashley takes in the sight of the scuffed up palms of his hands, and the holes in the knees of his jeans that certainly hadn't been there before, and knows that Chris is telling the truth. Though it doesn't explain the splint on his hand.

"Okay, and I might have broken my finger doing so."

Ashley just stands there so dumbfounded and relieved in equal measure, that she blurts out "Josh said that there had been screaming."

To her surprise, Chris only gives an embarrassed groan as he stares at an area just over her shoulder "God, Josh is never gonna let me live that down is he? Okay, so my finger may not have been the only thing that broke..." Confused, mainly because except for the bandaged finger and ripped jeans he seems perfectly okay, Ashley looks over her shoulder and follows his eyes to his phone laying on the counter just behind her. The screen completely shattered to hell and back with no promise of life anywhere on it. Just the dead, black screen reflecting the ceiling above on its cracked surface

"Wait," Ashley starts to feel the relieved giggles try to break free as her nerves finally settle, "are you telling me that you broke your finger but you were more worried about your phone? "

Chris sputters as he starts to wave his splinted finger infront of her face. "I mean obviously! This doesn't cost me any money to fix Ash; that's what health care's for! But my phone? Do you know how expensive that thing's going to be to replace? How many paychecks I'm going to have to put towards it? All the money I saved up this summer for school: gone! All because of a stupid little sidewalk curb!"

Ashley can't help it, she starts laughing uncontrollably as she collapses into a nearby chair with her head in her hands. "Oh, I am going to kill Josh when I see him, kill him! And then Jared's gonna kill me for bailing at work and not telling him! God, and I just left in the middle of a rush too! Remind me to buy Kyrstin and Curtis a cake or flowers or something as an apology. Oh my god ."

"You just ditched work? Ash!" Chris falls back onto the bed as he laughs with her. "Why would you even do that in the first place?!"

"Josh told me that you were in the hospital getting x-rays! What was I supposed to think?"

Chris rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses. "I asked him to let you know that we were probably gonna be a little late for lunch while I waited to get my cast! Fucking hell, I'm so sorry."

"Am I interrupting anything or..."

The two of them turn to see a doctor looking up at them with an upturned brow, and holding what Ashley assumes (and hopes) to be the materials needed for Chris's cast. "This is Chris Hartley's room correct?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. That's me."

The doctor nods, and walks towards Chris, but stops in front of the chair Ashley is sitting in. "I'm sorry, but I will be needing that chair sweetheart." With a squeak of apology, Ashley jumps out the chair and moves back by the door so fast that she's almost certain that she had managed to teleport over there, almost tripping over her forgotten bag in the process. Red-faced, she picks it back up and goes to leave (and possibly strangle Josh violently) but is stopped by the same doctor as she sits down in the chair with a chuckle, shaking her head. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. It'll only take a couple of minutes to get this cast on and then he'll be free to leave with you."

Now even more red-faced (if that was even possible), Ashley just slowly shuffles over to the table where Chris's (broken) phone and wallet is, nervously fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she waits for Chris to get the cast on. Taking Chris's hand in her own, the doctor—Dr. Klorens her name tag reads—scowls at the now slightly bent fingers in the splint, which Chris only gives a sheepish shrug and smile to, and sighs as she unwraps his fingers so she can reset the splint. And Ashley blanches at the deep, dark bruises that spread all the way from the middle of his pinky to nearly halfway down his palm that she had completely failed to notice earlier before those are once again lost.

And as promised, once the Dr. Klorens has put the cotton sleeve over his hand and trimmed it to the desired length, it only takes her another couple of minutes to wrap starting from the center of his forearm and all the way up to the center of his palm and then finally finishing with his splinted fingers. As the three of them wait for the fibreglass material to dry, Dr. Klorens goes over the do's and don'ts of cast care, which Ashley takes serious note of because she knows that Chris won't. Especially the 'do NOT get the cast wet' part, he's gonna forget about that one the moment Josh tries to bait him into another water gun fight.

"Alright, I think that's about it. Just come back in three weeks so we can do another x-ray to check and make sure that the bone's all healed up before we remove it. Just let someone know that you're done with the room when you leave, and remember to check out at the front desk." She gathers up her supplies and makes to leave, but stops to look over her shoulder at them with an amused smile on her face. "Oh, and if you two take the stairs, just make sure that you're careful. I know that we're in a hospital already, but I don't think any of us want to deal with any more tripping instances. Especially if they result in another broken bone." After waiting for Chris and Ashley to meekly agree to be careful, she finally leaves the two of them alone once again.

"Welp, that's it for my summer. 'Fraid I'm nothing but a cripple now."

Sighing, Ashley turns to Chris with a tired smile. "You are not a cripple, oh my god. You have a broken finger, you didn't lose the entire arm you dork."

Incensed, Chris waves his cast at her. "Um, do you not see this thing Ash? I may as well have. I've lost the use of two of my fingers now! Two! And on my right hand to boot. I can't hold a controller to play games with, I can't type, I can't text. What am I supposed to do Ash if I can't hold a single thing in my dominant hand anymore?"

"I'm sure you'll manage," she dryly responds. "Now come on, let's get out of here. I have to figure out how in the world I'm going to explain this to Jared so he doesn't fire me."

"Pretty sure that you should just let him if you ask me."

Ashley groans in agreement, but says "It's only another couple of weeks until college starts. Just hoping I can hold out until then, I need the money after all."

Chris lets out a resigned breath but then starts eyeing her work apron. "You got a sharpie in there?"

"Um, I think so. Why?"

"Uh, so you can sign my cast, duh. You missed out when I broke my arm when I was like nine, so you can be the first to get your name on this one."

"Trying to weasel my autograph out of me huh?" Ashley asks even as she digs through one of her pockets to pull out the sharpie in question, and joins Chris to sit next to him on the bed.

Chris laughs. "Damn, you figured out my devious plan. Thing’s gonna be worth a fortune when you make it onto the bestsellers list one day. Gonna be fighting off all sorts of crazed and fanatic fans."

Ashley shakes her head as she chuckles and writes her name on his arm, but pauses when she caps the pen. Seeing her name on his cast suddenly pulls everything back into vivid clarity, and she remembers the panic she had felt when she had thought—when she had believed —that she had nearly lost him. That this was it, that he was here one day and gone the next, and she hadn't even told him how much he meant to her. How important he was to her. She watches as a drop of water splashes down onto the cast and she finds herself wondering if there's a leak in a room upstairs.

"What the—Ash? Are you crying?"

"Huh?" She wipes her eyes, and a surprised but weak laugh escapes when her hand comes away wet. "Oh, I guess I am. Sorry about that, you're supposed to keep the cast dry and here I am crying—"

Chris places his left hand on her cheek to help wipe away some of her tears. "Oh fuck, I really freaked you out didn't I? Fucking hell. I'm—"

"Do you promise not to hate me?"

The look Chris gives her is nothing short of bamboozled. "Hate you? Ash, what's going on with you?"

"Do you promise not to hate me? Please Chris, I really, really need you to promise me this. Please . Do you promise not to hate me?" She’s fully aware that she’s practically begging right now, silent tears flowing down her cheeks, but if it gets Chris to promise then she’ll gladly throw away her pride for this one thing.

"Yeah, I-I promise. Will you just—"

Ashley doesn't give him anytime to finish his sentence before she's squeezing her eyes shut and she surges up to kiss him. She doesn't want to see his expression, not when all she wants is just to remember everything else that is happening. Remember the feel of his lips before he pulls away, and the warmth of his hand on her cheek. In fact, she spends so much time trying to memorize what she is sure is only going to be a single shared kiss, that it takes her a few seconds longer than she would like to admit to realize that Chris's hand isn't on her cheek anymore, it's moved to the back of her neck so he can kiss her back . The shock of which is enough for her to break the kiss and stare at him with wide eyes.

"Wh—" that's all she can get out before Chris is pulling her back in for a second kiss, and this time she lets her eyelids flutter close as she completely melts into, throwing her arms around his neck to hold him closer.

Ashley's not sure how long they stay like that—could have been an eternity, could have only been a couple of seconds—before they're both pulling back with their faces flushed and giggling like morons.

"Wow," Chris says after a moment, "I don't know what made you think I could hate you after that , but wow . If I had known that this would be the reaction I get, I would have broken my finger years ago."

There's something about the way he says it that has Ashley's heart beating even faster. "How long?" she demands breathlessly, "Tell how long ago?"

Somehow, Chris manages to flush even deeper. "I dunno, like... six? I guess?"

Six years. He'd had a crush on her for six years and she'd had no idea. The moment the realization hits her she starts laughing. "I knew you were trying to ask me for a kiss back in seventh grade! I should have just chased you down and given you one anyway!"

This time, it's Chris who starts laughing at the realization. "Wait, you liked me too?! Then that kiss, back in the library...?"

"You still remember that?!"

"Remember it? Ash, that stupid little cheek kiss is the only reason I passed that final I'm sure! Hell, why else do you think Josh dared me to kiss you in truth and dare?"

"What? No he didn't!"

Chris shakes his head as he moves his hand from her neck to around her waist. "He did! He told me to 'return the favour' and all I had been thinking about that summer was kissing you back. Fucking hell, I almost killed him when he pulled me away to get that generator working that winter in the lodge."

"Oh my god, I almost jumped across the floor to you that night when the power went out after the bottle landed on you."

"You didn't!"

Chris sounded so scandalized at the idea that Ashley presses her forehead to his as her smile widens, which only causes his own to widen in turn. "I did! But then Josh pulled you away and I just completely lost my nerve." She starts laughing at the next memory. "Oh god, I kept my lamp on in my room after that hoping you would stop by if you thought I was still awake."

The answering gape in shock was all she needed before she broke into more giggles. "I saw that! I don't know how long I hovered outside your door trying to work up the courage to knock before talking myself out of it. I think I just convinced myself that the outage had freaked you out badly enough that you needed the extra light to get to sleep."

Once the giggles started to lessen, the smiles on their faces did so as well, softening to something warmer and infinitely more cozy. "I almost kissed you, you know," Ashley confessed shyly. "Back at your grad party."

"Yeah, I-I almost kissed you too. And, just so you know, I wasn't lying then. The flowers looked really really good on you."

"That's good to hear," she admits as she leans in closer, her lips brushing his so lightly it's almost a caress, "I kept them, after all."

Nothing more is said as Chris closes the distance between them again to kiss her, and even though she knows that they really should get back downstairs, she doesn't try to stop it.

They have a long six years to make up for after all.

#my writing #pride month prompt challenge #until dawn #chris hartley #ashley brown #josh washington #chrashley #ignore the weirdly long and frankly unimaginative titles so far #i throw these into an ao3 and tumblr draft at like 2am to post the next morning #so my brain isn't exactly what i would call imaginative lol #or working in general asjkdhasdh #and yes it possible to break your finger in such a way that you need a full on arm cast for it to heal #i would know

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pomrania · 4 years ago

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I thought I might as well make a list of art tutorials I want to see. Very specific phrasing there; I don't know if they exist, or if there's lots of them, but I personally haven't come across any of these (or at least not recently enough for me to have learned anything from it). So if you have a link to one, it'd be great if you could share it; if you feel like MAKING one of these, that'd be awesome, and I'd also like it if you could share it with me.

placement of highlights on dark skin. I'm talking "highlights" in the visual-art sense here, like where light would catch on someone's face. I happen to be extremely pale, so "highlights" pretty much never show up on me (so I can't use myself for reference). Also, I'm not very good at figuring stuff out from just looking at pictures, unless there's words to guide me about what I'm actually seeing, so "look at pictures of people with dark skin under various lighting conditions" is more advanced than what I could make use of, at least at the moment.

how to draw armour. Like, the principles of armour, and what things look like. I don't mean SPECIFIC armour for a time and place, but like, things to help me if I'm just drawing a D&D character. The areas that need to be protected, the shapes that pieces can go in to protect those areas, how things might connect, what joints are like.... This isn't solely "art advice", I know, but if there's anyone who nerds out about the various types of armour throughout history, and wants to talk about how those look and general principles, I'd love to hear it.

ways to make a face and/or figure seem more or less masculine or feminine. A lot of the drawing books I've read, they're like "here's how to draw people, and here's how to draw women", and then they give a very exaggerated thing for the latter. That's a) stupid and b) binarist and c) not useful when you want to fiddle with individual elements of a character. For example, a cis woman who is muscular and doesn't wear makeup or have her tits out, but is still clearly a cis woman; or someone who is drawn as intentionally androgynous, as opposed to the "androgyny" I get when I barely draw the facial features. And again, I'd need actual guidance here, I can't just look at pictures of stuff, I'm not at that level yet.

what different face shapes actually look like. I don't mean "the polygons that form the face", I mean, what an "oval face" or a "square face" looks like, on actual people. When I've tried searching for this, at best I get "makeup tips for different face shapes", or "these are celebrities with these face shapes". I want to be able to look at some random person and IDENTIFY their face shape so I can name it, and ideally also use that knowledge to draw distinct faces (without going into cartoony stuff). Heck, I'd like to be able to understand what ALL those different facial descriptions actually look like, and be able to USE them. I've seen things with different kinds of lips, noses, etc, but only singular examples, and only in isolation. And that isn't very good for understanding something. (I also have a non-art reason for this. I am unusually bad at recognizing people, and individual facial features, across people, only vary by small angles or measurements. If I could look at someone and put a NAME to what I see, there’s a greater chance of me recognizing them, because I’m comparing “discrete tags of these variables” instead of “fuzzy concepts”.)

how that "woodcut" style of shading and all actually works. It looks really cool, and I want to learn it. It's not just woodcuts, but also in like the older D&D (and other gaming) books, where they were printed in black and white (not greyscale), so needed to convey everything with lines. Some of this stuff, I'd be able to figure out myself from copying it out, and practice; but it'd save me some of the trial-and-error stage if I could learn some of the "theory" of it first.

how to draw mess. Like, when I've tried drawing indoor scenes, the rooms (when I've actually drawn a ROOM, and not just lines to vaguely suggest the presence of walls) all seem empty, even once I started drawing actual furniture, and I've come to the conclusion it's because they're too "neat", unlived-in, like a showroom house. And where I live, there's PLENTY of mess I could use as reference to draw, but a) I'm not doing "portraits of my living quarters", and b) there's a whole lot of space between "hotel-level neat room" and "the den of clutter in which I reside", and c) there has to be some shortcuts in depicting this stuff.

#no fandom #not a reblog

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vasiktomis · 3 years ago

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Tagged by the always lovely folks @scungilliwoman, @adelaidedrubman, @honeysides, and @lilwritingraven.

Tagging: @shallow-gravy, @stacispratt, @amistrio, @chyrstis, @writerofblocks, @necro-hamster, and @johnnycranes (no obligation and only if you haven't gone already!)

Rules: assign mbtis to some of your clowns

(Leave me alone, this is my first attempt at a gif)

ASSERTIVE ARCHITECT

Introduction

WHO IS AN ARCHITECT (INTJ)?An Architect (INTJ) is a person with the Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Judging personality traits. These thoughtful tacticians love perfecting the details of life, applying creativity and rationality to everything they do. Their inner world is often a private, complex one.

“Thought constitutes the greatness of man. Man is a reed, the feeblest thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed.” - BLAISE PASCAL

It can be lonely at the top. As one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – Architects (INTJs) know this all too well. Rational and quick-witted, Architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them.

A Thirst for Knowledge

These personalities can be both the boldest of dreamers and the bitterest of pessimists. Architects believe that, through willpower and intelligence, they can achieve even the most challenging of goals. But they may be cynical about human nature more generally, assuming that most people are lazy, unimaginative, or simply doomed to mediocrity. Architects derive much of their self-esteem from their knowledge and mental acuity. In school, people with this personality type may have been called “bookworms” or “nerds.” But rather than taking these labels as insults, many Architects embrace them. They are confident in their ability to teach themselves about – and master – any topic that interests them, whether that’s coding or capoeira or classical music.

“You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.” - HARLAN ELLISON

Architects can be single-minded, with little patience for frivolity, distractions, or idle gossip. That said, it would be a mistake to stereotype these personalities as dull or humourless. Many Architects are known for their irreverent wit, and beneath their serious exteriors, they often have a sharp, delightfully sarcastic sense of humour.

Finding a Better Way

Architects question everything. Many personality types trust the status quo, relying on conventional wisdom and other people’s expertise as they go about their lives. But ever-sceptical Architects prefer to make their own discoveries. In their quest to find better ways of doing things, they aren’t afraid to break the rules or risk disapproval – in fact, they rather enjoy it. But as anyone with this personality type would tell you, a new idea isn’t worth anything unless it actually works. Architects want to be successful, not just inventive. They bring a single-minded drive to their passion projects, applying the full force of their insight, logic, and willpower. And heaven help anyone who tries to slow them down by enforcing pointless rules or offering poorly thought-out criticism.

Architects, independent to the core, want to shake off other people’s expectations and pursue their own ideas.

This personality type comes with a strong independent streak. Architects don’t mind acting alone, perhaps because they don’t like waiting around for others to catch up with them. They also generally feel comfortable making decisions without asking for anyone else’s input. At times, this lone-wolf behaviour can come across as insensitive, as it fails to take into consideration other people’s thoughts, desires, and plans.

Social Frustrations

Architects aren’t known for being warm and fuzzy. They tend to prioritize rationality and success over politeness and pleasantries – in other words, they’d rather be right than popular. This may explain why so many fictional villains are modeled on this personality type. Because Architects value truth and depth, many common social practices – from small talk to white lies – may seem pointless or downright stupid to them. As a result, they may inadvertently come across as rude or even offensive when they’re only trying to be honest. At times, Architects may wonder if dealing with other people is even worth the frustration. But like any personality type, Architects do crave social interaction – they’d just prefer to surround themselves with people who share their values and priorities. Often, they can achieve this just by being themselves. When Architects pursue their interests, their natural confidence can draw people to them – professionally, socially, and even romantically.

The Chess Game of Life

This personality type is full of contradictions. Architects are imaginative yet decisive, ambitious yet private, and curious yet focused. From the outside, these contradictions may seem baffling, but they make perfect sense once you understand the inner workings of the Architect mind. For Architects, life is like a giant game of chess. Relying on strategy rather than chance, they contemplate the strengths and weaknesses of each move before they make it. And they never lose faith that, with enough ingenuity and insight, they can find a way to win – no matter what challenges might arise along the way.

The Assertive Type

Assertive Architects are likely to approach the things they do with a greater degree of self-assurance. These Architects feel more confident about handling the stressors that are inevitably a part of life. They are less likely to experience regret if things go wrong. So, stressors and past failures are less likely to be motivators.

However, confidence isn’t everything and may not always guarantee success. For Turbulent Architects, many of their best efforts come from concerns about real or perceived shortcomings. This may push them to work harder and be more meticulous in an attempt to do better or make things better. These personalities are more thorough – not despite the fact that they worry, but because they do worry. Turbulent Architects are likely to carry their diligent desire for improvement into any of their personal or professional endeavours.

#cora says BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK #tag game

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monaownsmyass · 4 years ago

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It’s Complicated/Uncomplicated - Part 1/2

Requested fic by @ineedskyecrandall (if you have any fic ideas or requests you’d like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: My Two First Loves, (after) Chapter 38

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G, none

Word count: 1,896

A/N: This takes place after Ava dropped MC off at her house after homecoming. Later, Ava asks MC out on a date. It’s technically a continuation of my previous Ava x MC fic (read here) but you don’t have to read it, all you have to know is that they share a kiss. Also, this wasn’t meant to be a two-parter but as I was writing I noticed how long it was gonna be lol so I split it up.

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics.)

Part 2 here!

I watched as Ava's car drove away, sighing with a stupid grin on my face. God, I felt like I've been waiting for eternity for that to happen without even realising it. I quickly went to the bathroom to get changed and plopped myself onto the bed, sprawled out, that damn grin never leaving my face.

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, the fairy lights I had hung around my bedroom providing the only source of lustre. The soft glow dancing against my skin in a way that made me feel as if I were in another world. After that kiss, I'm pretty sure I was.

That kiss, it was all I was thinking about. How have I gone so long without kissing Ava? It felt as if I've always been craving to know the way her lips felt on mine. That made me think, have I always wanted this from her? Or was it a whim of the moment? So caught up in each other that kissing her was the only way I could express that intense feeling between us?

I thought back to all the times I've spent with Ava. I thought about how I accidentally tripped over myself while walking to class and Ava laughing at my clumsiness. Instead of scolding her, I was transfixed by the sound of her laugh, bright and dazzling. And that time she was comforting me as I cried into her shoulder, holding me and rubbing my back, reassuring me everything was going to be alright. I felt so safe and warm in her embrace.

Then there was that other time when we were at the beach together. I pushed her into the water and ran to shore as fast as possible while laughing. I remember my giggling stopped dead in it's track when I saw her resurfacing from the water, walking towards me like an avenging goddess. I felt nervous but at that time I thought it was because I was scared she was going to get her revenge on me. She did, by the way. Being much stronger than me, she dragged me towards the ocean and ultimately ended up lifting me and tossing me into the water.

I also thought back to the first time we had a sleepover. Both of us awkwardly trying to fit together on my single bed at that time. I've upgraded to a queen size since then because Ava started sleeping over a lot more frequently after that but at that time, we had to squeeze onto my bed that was definitely not made for two. I remember feeling anxious but excited and thinking it was because I've never been this close to anyone before, physically and emotionally.

Right before the kiss, I had recollections, moments with Ava flashing before me, passing by too quickly to process but long enough to know what I felt. However, looking deeper into them right now, I realised that that kiss wasn't because it felt right in that instance. It wasn't because we were caught up in the moment. No, it was because I have liked Ava for a while now.

My eyes widen in comprehension at my epiphany. I knew I liked her after kissing her but looking back now, it hit me that I've liked her for a long time, I just couldn't tell if it was just purely platonic or also romantic.

I’ve always liked Ava Lawrence, my best friend.

Just the thought alone made shivers run through my body. It all finally made sense now, all those unexplainable feelings I would just brush off as close friendship. I've never had a friend like her before. I mean sure, Mason and I had been friends since we were kids but I've never had this kind of connection with him or with anyone else. Except for Ava. So I'd just assume that's what inseparable friendships were like, but maybe not.

Okay, definitely not.

Still staring at my ceiling, I bit my lip as memories ran through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder how on earth I've never figured out sooner that I liked women in general. Subconsciously, my hand slapped down against my face at my oblivion.

"Ow!"

I probably shouldn't have done that.

I won't deny that Ava was the main girl that I always thought about but there were times where I would see a pretty girl and catch myself getting flustered or blushing or even acting shy. Well, I guess I know why now.

I rolled onto my side and looked at my phone. Noah and Mason had been blowing up my phone and I didn't even notice. I just continued to stare at the screen lighting up when a message would come in. I didn't feel like talking to either of them right now but that didn't stop my mind from spiraling once again.

Noah and Mason. My first two loves. I definitely had feelings for them, heck, I definitely loved both of them. But was I in love with either them? I cared for them both and I definitely found them incredibly attractive. But then there's also Ava, the girl that was always on my mind. Wow, this crap was confusing. But one thing wasn't, not anymore.

"I'm... bi?" I whispered into the dimly lit room.

As soon as I spoke it, it was like a flip switched in my brain. It felt right. This was who I am, this is me. I'm bisexual and it felt.. great. That dumb smile that I had as I watched Ava drive away found it's way back onto my face. Relief washed over me, incredibly comforted by the idea that I figured one part of the puzzle that was my life.

My phone lit up and buzzed again, the different ringtone catching my attention. It was Ava's personal ringtone. During our first sleepover, she insisted that we set special ringtones for ourselves on each other's phone. Reason being that even if we were near our phones but weren't on it, we could tell that the other was thinking of us, wanting to talk to us. The idea back then made me blush and it still worked it's wonders now. Years later, we still haven't changed it.

I immediately grabbed my phone off the nightstand and opened the message.

‘Hey, nerd, you still up?’ the message read.

Seeing the term of endearment made me let out an involuntary grin. I knew she meant it lovingly because I do the same to her.

‘Yeah, I was just thinking,’ I replied.

‘About?’

I paused. Should I admit that I was thinking about her? Screw it!

‘You.’

I saw her typing a reply and then stopping. I began worrying if I shouldn't have been so upfront before a message popped up.

‘I was thinking about you too. About that kiss.’

My heart leapt from my chest, the smile on my face grew wider as I read the message over and over again.

‘I miss you,’ I wrote back.

‘I just saw you, loser.’ I could almost hear and see her giggling at my text. The image caused butterflies to dance in my tummy. ‘But yeah, I miss you too...’

‘I wish you were here,’ I responded and I didn't realise how true that was until I typed it out. It suddenly felt much colder in my room, much too big despite having the smallest room in the house.

‘Me too,’ her text read back. I rested my phone against my chest and let out a deep exhale. I just wanted to hold onto her again like I did after our kiss. The idea made my heartbeat increase rapidly.

I lifted my phone and saw her typing again. ‘Not to ruin the mood or whatever, but I have to know, what do Mason and Noah mean to you? What do I mean to you?’

Funny how my heart went from pumping like crazy to almost stopping entirely. In fact, it sank down to my stomach. How was I gonna answer her when I didn't even know myself?

‘Ava... I care about them but I care about you too, and you know that. And I definitely see you as more than my best friend if that’s what you want to hear.’

‘More like what? Sisters?’

I scrunched up my nose. ‘Eww, that's so gross! I don't kiss my sister on the lips!’

Once again, I could hear her unadulterated laugh, a laugh that could brighten anyone's day. ‘Lol then be more specific.’

Of course she'd make me spell it out for her, she has always been so demanding and persistent. I admired that about her. ‘Fine, I see you as someone I could be with, romantically. As someone I could date. I can imagine us together in the long run. You by my side, as my other half. I can see you as my girlfriend.’ I hesitated before sending the next text. ‘But my feelings are complicated... ‘cuz I don't think you're the only one I feel that way about, and I don't know who's the right one for me.’

After I hit send, it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't have done that, that I may have blown my chance at being with Ava. But then it hit me. I knew Ava wasn't gonna stop being my friend and I had two great guys as alternatives. So why did I care so much if she takes it the wrong way and stops pursuing me?

I saw the screen of my phone light up with another notification from Ava.

‘Let me help you uncomplicate your feelings then. Can I take you out tomorrow evening? On a date?’

A sense of relief washed over me, thrilled by the prospect that she still wanted me. I knew what she meant, but I just wanted to make sure. ‘We've been on many dates before.’

‘I know but I mean it this time. A proper date, not a friend date.’

My heart started beating so fast I was sure I was going to go into cardiac arrest.

‘I'd love that!’ I quickly shot back. I was elated that she didn't back down from wanting something more out of our friendship.

‘Oh, thank god.’

I giggled to myself, happy to be reassured that she was just as nervous as I felt.

‘I really want to hear your voice,’ I confessed.

‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘But it's getting pretty late, you should sleep.’

‘Ava :(’

‘Haha, sorry beautiful, but we have a big day planned ahead of us tomorrow so you should rest.’

‘You’ve already planned what we’re gonna do tomorrow?’

‘Let’s just say I’ve thought about it. Now go to bed.’

‘Alright, fine, good night I guess :(’ I typed back sulkily even though I was smiling so hard.

‘Sweet dreams, Emma<3.’

I send her back a heart in reply and finally put my phone down on the nightstand again. Once more, I found myself staring at the ceiling, wondering how the heck I was supposed to go to sleep now when my heart felt like a roller coaster and when butterflies were invading my tummy.

Eventually, after hours or tossing and turning, I finally drifted off the sleep with a small smile on my lips and Ava on my mind.

(More fics!)

#next part is their first date :)#ava lawrence #ava x mc #mtfl: ava #ava mtfl #mtfl #my two first loves #noah harris #mason jennings #this is for my fellow starving wlw players #choices: mtfl #mtfl choices #choices #choices: stories you play #pb #pixelberry #mtfl fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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xlady-saya · 4 years ago

Text

an unconventional crossing [fic]

Relationships: andrew and aaron, andreil, kateaaron

Summary: Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

Tags: twin bonding, lots of references to how they’re whipped af, discussions of past abuse/addiction

Read on ao3!

Aaron is only a little bit ashamed that his first instinct is to run far away when he turns the corner and sees his brother standing there.

At first, he thinks he might be dreaming. It's past nine on a school night, and the brightness of the store burns his already tired eyes. The switch from the darkness outside to the stark white tile and fluorescent lights makes Aaron squint. His brother is more like a grainy, black smudge in front of him, and Aaron lingers on the double knots of Andrew's combat boots and the shiny item in his hand. Soup. A can of soup. That's also what Aaron needs.

For Katelyn.

And like that, Aaron remembers why he's here. In fact, he's pretty sure there's dried snot on his sleeve where Katelyn mistook him for a tissue. It's disgusting, but given the bookstore fiasco of last year—which Aaron has repressed and will take to the grave—it's not the grossest thing they've witnessed from one another.

In sickness and in health and all that...he guesses it still applies to boyfriend and girlfriend, too.

It's why he's here now, prepared to stock up their mediocre medical supplies. It does not explain why Andrew is here. He looks around a few times, then looks back, and expects to be alone in the aisle. But Andrew is still there. Holding soup.

The grocery store is practically empty apart from a few people picking up alcohol or extra junk food for studying binges, which only adds to the dream-like quality of it all. This is...not where he's used to seeing Andrew—this is not how he's used to seeing Andrew. Which is nonsensical, because everyone needs groceries.

He kinda just figured Andrew survived off chocolate.

He clamps down on the urge to leave; it's an old, pathetic need, and one he no longer wants to encourage. He freezes in place instead, and reflects. Classic, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Aaron hates how much he listens to Bee now, but with all the leaps and bounds he and Andrew have made, random things can still be hard to navigate.

Grocery store trips, he guesses, are included in that.

The habit of bolting whenever his brother is in the same room as him is not one he likes, but it's a knee jerk reaction he hasn't completely gotten rid of. A ghost, latched onto his back. But that's okay, because he's sure it's the same for Andrew too. The need to keep Aaron at a distance, when they've been doing the exact opposite.

He spends a lot of time with Andrew now, more than he'd probably admit if asked. They study together, silently—that hasn’t changed. But even now there's an occasional greeting or a mutual scoff when someone in the library is being annoying. Andrew will help Aaron review his exam flashcards, or Aaron will form a post with his hands so Andrew can flick paper goals. They play videogames with Neil and Katelyn, they have lunch together… Their sessions no longer feel like a chore.

Standing in this soup aisle, Aaron realizes he couldn't have asked for more, would've never asked for even a fraction of it a few years ago. Now he can't imagine his life without Andrew slotting into it somewhere, whether it be on miniature golf double dates or Nicky's failed family baking nights.

It's startling, but not unwelcome.

Still, it's odd to see his brother looking so...normal. Silly.

Aaron is aware now that Andrew is a regular person with fears and wants, just with unorthodox methods, different roots...but he can't help but always think of the cool, blank stare. He thinks of Andrew leaning against a wall, smoking, not giving anyone the time of day. Including Aaron.

Especially Aaron.

It takes him a second to remember the nerd who sulked after getting beaten in Mario Kart, or the one who apparently threw up after Disneyland from one too many churros.

(Neil told them that story).

He certainly doesn't think of the man who walked all the way back to the dorm because Neil sent him a crying emoji and a 'I cut my finger' text.

But that's the real Andrew, too. There’s always more underneath all the closed off, reserved portions laced with barbed wire. Andrew has finally allowed Aaron to see that.

This Andrew is, once again, a far cry from cool and collected. This Andrew looks tired, not as put together. He's wearing wrinkled jeans that clearly need a wash, Neil's hoodie (stained), and seems .2 seconds away from throwing the store's entire inventory into a dumpster fire.

The spell is only slightly broken, and Aaron catches himself smirking.

His brother glares at the can of soup like it offends him, reading the label before putting it back on the shelf and grabbing a different brand to see if it's anywhere closer to his standards. Whatever the hell those might be.

Unfortunately, dating Neil has made his brother even more perceptive than before. Probably because Neil can smell trouble from miles away, and then he goes and seeks out said trouble to jab at it with a metaphorical stick. The stick is just an endless stream of cuss words and insults.

Needless to say, Aaron isn't able to enjoy this comical sight for long.

Andrew's gaze darts over to where Aaron is standing at the end of the aisle, and Aaron can see the exact same reaction run through him. The tension seizes his brother like a snare, and there's that all too familiar step forward, like Andrew is ready to turn around and disappear.

But then he doesn't. Andrew remembers what Aaron does, and then it's gone.

What they didn't account for was the awkwardness. Again, they aren't trained for grocery store encounters.

Andrew doesn't exactly nod at Aaron, but he inclines his head just so and turns back to the soup, staring into some void Aaron can't see. He's not sure if it's an invitation, but it's as good as he's going to get.

Aaron's sneakers squeak on the tile and he stumbles, but ultimately ends up at the edge of his brother's bubble, staring at the soup right along with him.

Progress.

Aaron sighs and grabs Katelyn's preferred brand. It's the chicken soup with the extra big chunks of chicken and the flatter noodles. Katelyn likes them because they're 'chewier,' and Aaron just thinks it's weird. But what she wants, she gets, because how is he going to deny his sniffling girlfriend as she whines miserably in bed?

Come to think of it, they're probably here for the same reason. With how much Neil and Katelyn see each other outside of games and general Fox gatherings, it would be no surprise if they both came down with the same cold.

Which means they probably need the same things. Soup, cold medicine, tissues.

Aaron freezes as he glances at the soup, feeling his brother's imposing presence beside him. For someone so obsessed with not being noticed or talked to, Andrew doesn't do a good job of hiding. He's like a cliff or a mountain, steady and bulky. A road block.

Aaron should leave. He has what he needs, so he can move on. He doesn't have to wait for Andrew; they don't have to shop together.

But then why does it feel so weird to weakly wave goodbye?

Aaron raises his hand only to stop mid-motion, thwarted by his own thoughts. Andrew tracks the movement. God, this is even more awkward now. They aren't usually like this anymore.

Maybe it's because they've realized the same thing.

Here they are, both making sweetheart runs in the middle of the night. It should be mortifying, but part of it feels strangely natural.

Probably because there's always a comfort in knowing they're the same in this way.

They both have their suffering partners waiting for them, but despite that, Aaron doesn't know how to broach the subject.

Bee's words from some faraway session echo in his head: "It might help the both of you to try talking about your partners with one another under more casual circumstances."

Aaron nearly scoffs, just like he did then.

Yeah, sure. It's the one area they're not great at, and it’s easier said than done.

It's not that he hates Neil anymore, and he has his suspicions that Andrew's opinion of Katelyn is at least a calm respect, though he's not sure when or how it happened. They spend time together as a group, and, in some cases, separately.

Aaron will tutor Neil or help him through difficult game levels, or Katelyn will be the one to help Andrew with the snack runs when they go to the movies. It's...fine.

No, it's great.

Aaron just still has a hard time acknowledging it.

But this? This they don't do. They don't talk about Neil and Katelyn together unless it's for therapeutic purposes during their sessions, and even then it's caked in wariness.

Aaron wonders if they're afraid of ruining the progress they've made by unintentionally starting a fight, but he's never known Andrew to be that caring of those things.

Perhaps it's simply too vulnerable, too exposed, to show how much they care. Even when it's so obvious.

Aaron notices Andrew finally settles on one of the more premium soup brands, and yeah, alright. Painfully obvious.

Aaron has always pushed that piece of Bee's advice away, procrastinating, because surely it can't be that important. But it is.

Ugh. It probably is.

So this time, rather than avoiding it, Aaron figures he might as well show Andrew up by taking the first stride. Talking about Katelyn is easy. She's everything to him; he could wax poetic all day about her. He knows her class schedule, her favorite subjects, her dreams.

With that in mind, Aaron confidently spins the can around at the same time he opens his mouth in Andrew's direction, and smoothly says, "You know, Katelyn likes soup."

And what a stride he takes.

Fuck me.

“Uh. When she’s sick, I mean. And other times but—that’s why I’m here. Sick soup.” The can falls from his hands and he barely catches it in time. He doesn't think he could add that to his mortification without giving up and running out.

It wasn't a lie. She does like soup, even if it's the really disgusting kind, but it's not a fact that evokes any groundbreaking emotions. It certainly doesn't bridge the gap.

Andrew turns to squint at him in that way—the precursor to a full on dismissal. Aaron's not sure why he's even still here, but maybe now his respect for Aaron now extends to telling him off with words. Aaron braces for it.

He watches the exact moment Andrew opens his mouth to tell Aaron he doesn't care, but it never comes. It's rare to see Andrew hesitate; someone so methodical and cautious doesn't tend to question his thoughts when he's sure of them.

But Andrew stops, mouth hanging open for a beat too long before snapping shut.

And Aaron doesn't know what it is, doesn't feel like blaming it on the twin telepathy theory...

He just knows Andrew remembers, same as him. Probably better than him.

Andrew can hear Bee's advice too, far away and obnoxious, ringing in his head.

His brother turns back to the soup can, smoothly over the ridges under the bright blue label. Hm. No, can't be. His brother isn't that sappy.

A few moments pass where Aaron can't move, kept in place by some invisible orbit, waiting for...something. Just that alone makes it all so surreal; he never used to expect anything from Andrew.

Yet, Andrew keeps surprising him with how much more he's willing to do now. For Aaron. For both of them. His brother sighs eventually, staring at the shelf in front of him, and begrudgingly replies, "Neil won't even admit he's sick. He didn't want me to come."

It's stilted, clearly forced out, but Andrew did it. He returned the gesture. And if there's one thing Aaron knows about his brother, it's that it's the closest thing he's going to get to a chance. Excited for some inane reason, Aaron almost doesn't process the words. But oh, he gets it. Neil is so fucking ridiculous, Aaron can't stand him. It makes sense his 'I'm fine' routine would stretch to this, too. Aaron almost wants to see the state of him, fever high and unable to move without his sweat sticking to the blankets.

His face sours, and the instinctive insult creeps to the edges of his mouth. Andrew watches, waits for it, and Aaron nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. Being hostile to Neil is more playful nowadays, but it's still a reflex. If he does that here...part of him just knows whatever is happening will effectively be cut short.

He clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet and willing his glare to go away.

"That...sounds like him," Aaron forces out. It's the best he can do, but it probably still sounds judgmental.

God.

Why are they so bad at this?

"He's an idiot," Andrew replies with a nod, so softly it almost doesn't sound like him. Aaron almost scoffs. Here he is trying to be considerate, but Andrew scolds his own boyfriend anyways. Aaron should've known better than to bother.

He slides his gaze over to his brother again, and that train of thought effectively stops. There's a tightness in Andrew's jaw, and an antsy quality to his stance. Aaron replays the words, and realizes Andrew's voice is different from the usual monotone, the uncaring inflection. It would be neutral still, to most people, but Aaron can sense that it's laced with something strong, self-directed. His brother's hands tighten around the can with a vice grip, and Aaron should really be better at detecting Andrew's concern by now.

Suddenly, he gets it. "He didn't want me to come."

It must be grating for someone like Andrew, who despite the vibe he tries to give off, does nothing but look after his own. It's the worst with Neil, because his motivation is borne from an intense emotion Aaron can't even associate with their relationship. It's too much, too theirs. He feels uncomfortable trying to define it when he's never heard Andrew actually say the three words.

Still, it's all consuming. It's real.

Nauseatingly so.

And it must be particularly infuriating, because Andrew's need to protect Neil isn't the result of a deal at all. He wants to. Wow, he probably hates that he wants to.

It only gives Aaron some satisfaction; it is Neil they're talking about.

Andrew's frustrations bleed through the cracks a little more, and he harshly brushes a hand through his bedhead. "His cold is just going to get worse if he keeps it up."

Ah, so they're still sharing. Aaron can do that. It's a welcome distraction; he can only take so much of thinking about his brother's intimate relationship with the most infuriating person on the planet.

Aaron looks down at the tile, lining his feet up with the edge of the blocks as if he's walking a tightrope. "Katelyn tried to go to class this morning. She didn't want to miss her lecture," he says, and tries to act like it's no big deal. He sways a little, and swallows the lump in his throat, because these are not things he gives away to anyone. It's just as exposing; as soon as he'd found out, he'd walked her back to her dorm and helped her change into pajamas. She passed out almost instantly, her fever spiking. Too much care, too much worry. Aaron had paced the floor a good twenty minutes, debating an urgent care visit.

He's just as pathetic as Andrew, but he wouldn't dare stop if it means looking after Katelyn. He bites his lips and shrugs, as if it's not as emotionally revealing as it is. It probably doesn't work. "I was so mad. Uh, you know how it is."

No kidding—they both just accidentally revealed it. Aaron never thought 'hopelessly enamored' would ever be associated with his own feelings, much less Andrew's.

But there's really no other explanation with that one.

"Oh?" Andrew tilts his head, as if daring Aaron to continue. It's dangerous territory, but that's what they deserve for addressing an old therapy issue in the middle of a grocery store. They might know their feelings are the same, but verbally acknowledging how is a different matter.

So continue, Aaron does. Neither of them are getting out of this one.

Won't Bee be proud?

Petulantly, Aaron glares, and loses his balance on the wire. He promptly spirals down. "Yeah, well… You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

It's a dare, a provocation. It's also ill-advised, but he can't be more mature in every way. There's no way Andrew can refute it and have Aaron believe him. He's been trapped into the truth.

Andrew tenses and glares back, expressive for how much he tries not to be. Aaron is more used to that now too. On the subject of his striker, his brother can't keep up the expression. It melts back into a reluctant calm, and his sigh is relenting.

Right.

A store intercom rings above them, something about how they really need someone up on registers. It's grounding in a way; Aaron grabs a few more cans and stubbornly throws them into the basket by Andrew's feet.

They're in too deep at this point. This is now a joint trip, as painful as it may be. Andrew looks down at the basket, which as of now holds both their soup choices and a candy bar Andrew must've snagged along the way.

Andrew squints, looking back up at Aaron, and surprise, surprise...

"I need the extra strength cough syrup."

He avoids answering altogether.

Aaron sighs; he saw that coming, but Andrew's trapped himself unknowingly.

"That's more expensive, you know," Aaron says, a playful lilt to his tone.

Andrew glares, but he must admire Aaron somewhat for the payback, because he finally admits: "It's better for him, it's also the only one with the flavor he tolerates," Andrew grits out, and no amount of bravado can make that sound anything less than....oh, completely fucking whipped.

So, Andrew gives some more as a war prize. "I need the tissues with the lotion too."

Aaron suppresses his snort (also, for real, those can't be necessary), and dutifully leads them to the next aisle.

Andrew ends up convincing him that the lotion tissues are superior, so one point for him or whatever.

They still don't know how to do this, and they don't get a lot better at it over the course of the following forty-five minutes, but they continue dropping the most mundane facts in hopes it doesn't give too much away.

But it always does.

Andrew makes a sharp turn with the sole intention of making the basket stab Aaron in the knee, and Aaron kicks it in return. Then he realizes where they are, and the words pour like shots.

He wonders if it's a consequence of therapy, that he ends up flaying himself open for Andrew in the hopes that he'll be given honesty in return. He's learned that lately, it's more effective than he once thought.

"Katelyn...hasn't been drinking much lately," he starts slowly when they pass through the alcohol aisle. It's a far cry from the boring 'favorite color' facts he's been trading thus far, but it hits him like a blow. It's not that it hasn't been on his mind, he just hasn't had a chance to talk it out because...

Part of him kind of doesn't want to. The person he talks to is Katelyn, and he's not quite ready for this discussion.

But tonight's that kind of night.

The aisle is a shortcut, nothing more than a connector to the medicines on the far side, but Aaron falters. The brands and bottles all stir up confusing memories for him, some fun, some not so much. The colored glass warps his expression like liquor warps his mind, and his body is already swimming through molasses to keep up.

Mixing drinks with what he used to do was never smart, and Aaron's thankful he's where he is now. He's not so reckless, but he indulges from time to time. Katelyn used to also, but lately she's been finding more reasons not to. And that's okay. He's never pushed or questioned it, but he can't help but wonder. He pauses in front of the daiquiri mixes. Katelyn's favorite.

The action makes Andrew wait for him, regarding him from the end of the aisle for a long moment. Then, in another act that shouldn't surprise Aaron but does, Andrew comes back for him.

Aaron's closed throat feels less tight. What did he call Andrew earlier? A road block. No, maybe he's more like...a steel beam, every once in a while. Supportive, but it could crush him in an instant. It's not Andrew's intent, but he'll take it. "I know she's never been a drinker, but part of me thinks it's because she worries about me."

And there it is.

He's aware he should be angry, just a little. But he can't be, because the worry and judgment come from a place of honesty, commitment. Aaron won't say he hasn't had the same fear—the fear of falling back down a different hole of addiction. He's better now, more responsible. He couldn't imagine ruining their lives like that, but he and Katelyn are pragmatic people. He knows it's hard to keep control in those circumstances, to rise above once he's caught in the trap. It wouldn't be all his fault, but he's susceptible and they both know it. She would stand by him as much as she could, but Aaron's honestly not sure if he would want her to if it ever came down to that.

That's not fair, and that's why he's determined to not let it happen.

Katelyn's precaution, intentional or subconscious, is just her protecting him in return. It's what they need to work on, what they need to talk about, before it's twisted into a misunderstanding.

But revisiting old wounds is not what Aaron is good at. At least, not right away.

He's not expecting Andrew to say anything; it's not his business and his black and white worldview probably prevents him from seeing it that way. In his mind, Katelyn is in the wrong and that's all that matters.. If anything, Aaron expects that statement, but then—

"She shouldn't," Andrew says, nearly admonishing. Aaron's gaze snaps up, and Andrew glares at the bottles in front of him to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd usually grab that particular brand of whiskey, but today he doesn't. Then, after a moment: "Knowing her obnoxious levels of optimism, she's probably trying not to. But that's her problem."

Andrew’s words are strained, but no less meaningful. He doesn't do comfort, and that's not what this is. Aaron knows a few things in that moment; the first is that Andrew definitely does not agree with Katelyn. That's fine. He never asks his brother to understand everything about his relationship anymore. Aaron certainly doesn't understand parts of Andrew's. The second thing, arguably the aspect he cares about more, is that Andrew clearly knows something Aaron does not.

Andrew isn’t offering a pat on the back, only what he knows to be factual.

He feels involuntarily exposed this time, and forgets that sometimes it's simply the way it has to be to move forward. Aaron nearly growls. "How—"

But Andrew simply sends him a look that reads don't ask. Aaron should know the answer.

Neil.

It's been a while since Aaron has felt a sharp slap of disdain for the redhead, but it shoots through him in the moment before fizzling out. Of course. Why wouldn't Neil know? Why wouldn’t Neil confide in Andrew about it?

Aaron always liked to think it was a shared strength, that he and Andrew could trust their partners so completely, give or take some setbacks. But it seems this time he's the one lagging behind.

He glares at the floor. He doesn't know how to feel. Why Neil possibly knows about this issue before he gets to address it himself is something he wants to feel rage over, but he just can't. It's not like confronting Neil at the cabin or in the dorm hall. He doesn't have the energy, and he knows he doesn't want to.

It's not...like that anymore.

Just knowing Katelyn has someone to talk to is enough, because that only means eventually, she'll talk to him too. And can he blame her? Here he is, telling Andrew.

Andrew, who feels as much sympathy as a log on most days, is still trying his best to give Aaron the truth.

Leave it to Andrew to rip off the bandaid, and Aaron feels the sting. But he needed it. It's the only thing that reminds him it'll eventually be okay.

It's quiet for a few moments as Andrew looks back at the bottles, tracing the curvy scripts. There's a steadily building tension in his frame; at first, Aaron thinks it's repressed hostility towards Katelyn, but far from it.

Andrew's struggle to give in the same way is all too apparent in his words.

"Neil and I drink sometimes, just when we're together," Andrew forces out evenly. He reaches out to spin one of the security tags on a particularly large bottle of vodka, tracing the ears of the rabbit logo afterwards. Aaron flinches a little; he didn't know that. His brain catches up just enough, letting him know that Andrew is giving this to him in return for his own vulnerability, so he should at least listen. Flexing his jaw, Andrew's tone loses some of the smoothness. "Last time...something happened. With me. He's been hesitant ever since."

It sounds like Andrew is chewing glass, and Aaron knows better than to ask for an elaboration on the ‘what’ that happened. Hell, Andrew exposing the reason for his and Neil's weekend getaways is most likely more than Andrew wanted to share in the first place.

Andrew won't answer anything Aaron asks, but he reads into it enough. "You miss it," he says, and again it feels like they're on a level playing field.

Andrew glares his usual 'I don't miss anything' glare, but doesn't actually say the words. Instead, he turns back in the direction of the medicine aisle, and throws the words over his shoulder.

"I hate losing control," he states. "Neil is a reason I hate it less."

Translation: Yes, I miss it. But Neil is just as stupidly worried as Katelyn.

It goes unsaid that they ended up with worry warts for partners. Aaron gives up trying to analyze anymore; there are things about his brother and Neil that are impossible to grasp. But Aaron is learning more and more that their relationship has similar flaws to his own, that they have their own challenges to wade through.

And if one of them can manage, so can the other.

Aaron walks away from the aisle feeling less stuck—the quicksand around his ankles turns to water, easy to wade through.

He's not sure how many more of those confessions he's going to get, but he won't take them for granted.

Later, when they're passing through the candy section for Andrew's stockpile, the facts turn lighter. "Katelyn only eats the red starbursts, it's cute," he says, unable to hide his dreamy smile as he throws the red starbursts pack into the basket. She won't be able to taste them yet, but whatever, it'll be a welcome reward in a few days when her sniffles are gone.

Instead of the apathy and dismissiveness, Andrew holds the gummy bears in his hand at arm's length. Like they offend him. Aaron was wondering why he's even considering them. They're not even close to Andrew's usual brand of cavity inducers.

"Neil never finishes his gummy bears," Andrew says, and seethes a little over the word 'his.' Of course, it's Neil's fault that Andrew has to spend money on the bland treats Neil doesn’t even love. But Andrew puts them in the basket anyways. "Last time he was bored, so we built a fake set for them."

Aaron blinks, following after Andrew towards the registers. "Like...for a play?"

"It helped him study for his lit exam."

Somehow, it's impossible for his brain to conjure up an image of Andrew building a gummy bear Shakespeare set, but he supposes weirder things have happened. He wonders if Andrew indulges Neil by doing voices, or if he recites the lines in his normal dull monotone.

Aaron hides a smirk at the thought. "Nerds."

He takes them back to the medicine aisle last minute due to the guilt tripping from Andrew for buying the cheaper brand of cough syrup, and figures he might as well stock up on bandages too. Exy is a violent sport, and he's not quite sure why he plays it.

"Bandages are over there," Andrew says, pointing deliberately at where Aaron is clearly already looking. Dick. "Don't buy the cheap brand, they gave Neil a rash."

Aaron scoffs. "Guess you would know best, with how much your boy gets scraped up," he says, but he still listens. Once more, he notes that Andrew's suggestion is several dollars more. He really does spare no expense on anything, especially for his boy toy—boyfriend. Boyfriend.

"He's never as bad as the other person," Andrew remarks offhandedly, but Aaron gets stuck on the comment. Before, he used to not pay attention to anything Andrew said that didn't make sense to him, writing it off as unimportant. It's amazing what he can pick out now that he actually processes the words. In this case, it's thinly veiled praise for his violence-prone boyfriend.

Aaron's no idiot; Neil has to at least be somewhat capable at throwing a punch, and who knows what else.

It's appealing, watching someone you love trade blows. Aaron himself never fails to feel a rush of adrenaline and adoration when Katelyn rushes to his defense.

It would make sense for Andrew to enjoy watching Neil be his typical chaotic self. But for whatever reason, that logic doesn't compute with what he knows about Andrew's protective streak—especially where Neil is concerned.

And since he doesn't know how to put that all into words, he says: "I don't know how you don't kill anything that tries to touch him."

That's how he thought it worked, how he's seen it work. So why all the fuss about letting Neil fight his own battles, when it's clear it eats at Andrew like a vulture picking at his intestines?

Andrew regards him slowly, looking at him like he's grown two heads. Right, because Aaron is supposed to be able to parse through all their weird layers. He rolls his eyes.

"I will when he asks," Andrew responds calmly, and before Aaron can open his mouth he holds up a hand. "And he does."

Again, a warning laces his tone: don't ask.

Aaron huffs. Fine. He guesses he'll believe it for now. Come to think of it, he's been seeing less and less of Neil's insistence to handle shit on his own. Just the other week, he seemed to give up too easily when arguing with a jock from another team, and Andrew had stepped in a moment later.

He had thought Neil looked a little too happy about that.

Tracking him still, Andrew shrugs in such a careless way that he'd think Neil had taken over his body. "I know he doesn't need it. And yes, it's annoying."

Aaron's not so sure. It's scary how Andrew can read his mind sometimes, can connect the dots of the intricate roadmap between them. He sees things from a distance, sees it all, while Aaron is the one who forces them to actually zoom in and take in the landscape. Piece by piece, he forces them to explore.

"So why do it?" he asks, frustrated, but Andrew only picks up the blue can of chicken noodle and waves it in Aaron's face.

"Soup."

Fine, don't tell me.

He figures this is just Andrew's way of saying he's done with the abnormal sharing for the night, but then he realizes. Soup. Motherfucking soup? Aaron had said—

"You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

Son of a bitch. Does Andrew always have to be so cryptic and non-linear?

That's the explanation. It's the obvious one, the one Aaron could already infer. But the confirmation is staggering. Andrew wants to protect Neil; more than that, he likes to. That's the difference. He never would've admitted that before. It doesn't matter how capable Neil is or how appealing it is to see him fight. At the end of the day, they both have some weird thing about it.

Aaron feels nauseated. He’s learned too much. Again.

"Is that really so hard to say, Andrew?" Aaron huffs the next moment though, so he guesses he must be more upset than he thought. "You know, I'm trying here."

He only has so much tolerance for his brother's ways. He can detect them better now; he can see the ins and outs. But sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes he wants to be given things in the same straightforward way he gives them. It's childish, it's selfish, but fucking hell, Aaron isn't perfect. He knows it won't happen, but if they're still being truthful, then Aaron can at least let Andrew know that it's hard sometimes.

It's hard to do this, but it's worth it. So he won't stop. Andrew just has to put up with his bitching every now and again.

At 10 p.m., he's reached his limit.

Andrew beats him to it, throwing up a barrier for Aaron's rage to smash into and fizzle out into nothing. "Are you going to scream your undying love for Mrs. Minyard to me, then?" he asks, and Aaron jumps back. Andrew's anger simmers, barely, but his words are cutting. "I am trying too."

They've both been trying so damn hard the past year. And for what?

Well—for a lot, actually. They've certainly gained more than they've lost.

And like that, Aaron's made Andrew give more than he was maybe willing to tonight. The guilt sits somewhere in his gut, but he can't regret it. Because Andrew still confessed. Andrew still held out his hand, just a little. Like he's been doing for months.

Aaron can't begin to imagine how horrible it must be, for someone like his twin to acknowledge the effort he's putting in. It sounds ridiculous, but Aaron should get it better than anyone right? That it's hard to admit you have faith in something when not much in your life ever lasted before.

Taming his own outburst, Aaron clenches his fists at his sides. Slow, measured. "I know, but—"

"You're suddenly so hung up on listening to Bee, what happened to her affinity for patience?" Andrew says, nearly mocking, but Aaron knows it's not some flippant comment. He means it. He's telling Aaron to back off, and while he respects it most days, he feels too close to a revelation to listen.

This is never easy, and it shouldn't be. Not for them. They always knew that, even before they were fully convinced they could get any farther than silent videogame marathons and nods from across the room. Before they thought they would ever keep in touch past college.

Now, Aaron knows there's no way they won't. They're just...fighting. They're having a typical, moronic squabble. It's not a setback, it's not a threat. Aaron has to repeat that over and over in his head, and it somehow makes snapping back less menacing.

"Asshole," he bites out. "You just want to get out of it. You know it's...it's fine to just say those things, it's—"

"Normal?" Andrew asks, and yup, that's definitely mocking. Aaron's not sure what that means, what's in Andrew's head about the word or Aaron's connection to it, but it doesn't matter.

"Yes," Aaron says with a laugh, disbelieving. He paces to the end of the aisle and back. He knows he's just as thick headed, and that's what hurts the most. Embarrassing. "It's normal to just admit you think your dumb boyfriend is cute, and talk about him because to be honest, it's obvious already how much you want to!"

It's potentially unfair; he never expects normalcy from Andrew. He doesn't want it anymore, apart from getting to act like brothers and argue without the fear of exploding and fucking up everything. Aaron wouldn't dare ask Andrew to be normal in any situation, but this is different. He's not saying it's normal or necessary for society's standards, or because other people do it. He's saying it's fucking normal because Andrew wants it to be. Hell; Aaron's been watching his twin bite his tongue and keep back details from Aaron all night. No shit, Andrew will never share the private feelings—the ones he keeps close, just between himself and Neil. But goddamn, if he wants to tell Aaron about Neil's weird gummy bear Macbeth monologue, he should just go for it.

For a while, Andrew stands there, tight lipped, until finally: "I don't care what's normal." For a brief moment, Aaron thinks he's lost this round, that the point escaped Andrew completely. But his twin is smart. Stubborn, and infuriating too. But smart. With a sigh, Andrew relents, though not without resistance in his voice. "I care...that it's us."

Aaron holds his breath, waiting for Andrew to refute it or storm away. But he doesn't, and Aaron can exhale.

Yes, duh. Neil and Andrew...no one will ever mistake them for anything remotely close to normal. They've built their own version of it though, and Aaron only hopes that in time Andrew can expand the definition to include this. That he'll be able to indulge himself however he wants, like Aaron does with Katelyn. That he'll be able to talk about Neil without worrying about how it reveals his feelings. Because Andrew hates sharing Neil, but he wants to trust Aaron enough to offer bits and pieces.

And Aaron wants to do the same. It's been a rough first attempt, but an attempt regardless.

And anyways, Aaron won't tell him tonight, but one day he's really going to have to let his twin know...

Andrew's feelings haven't been well hidden for a long time.

Until then, they have to deal with the awkwardness they created, standing in silence as an old lady walks through the aisle and regards them warily.

They should've saved this for their session. Whoops.

Pathetically, for the sake of doing something, Aaron grabs a thermometer (he needs one of those, right?) and throws it into the basket. Awesome.

In return, since that's the glorious theme of the night, Andrew tosses in some bandaids. The patterned ones. They're pink and cutesy, and make him think of Katelyn, wrapped in her fluffy pink towel after yet another hot shower to clear her sinuses.

He doubts Neil is faring better. They should get back.

At the thought of Katelyn, Aaron smiles. It brings him back to something softer Andrew said, though just as peculiar. He never fails at that.

"Why do you call her that?" Aaron asks, breaking the silence. It's gentler this time, less of a shatter and more of a push. When Andrew blinks, Aaron waves his hand. "Mrs. Minyard."

It gives Aaron a funny feeling in his chest, not necessarily good but also not bad, and he pushes it away to deal with another time.

Andrew's expression gives nothing away. That’s always the case, but even more so this time. It's blank, but he blinks slowly, chewing on his words in the way Aaron hates. Well, he supposes no one can quit cold turkey.

"A feeling," Andrew answers, and doesn't elaborate. He looks down at his own hand for a moment too long, flexing his fingers, then turns away like it's nothing. Aaron doesn't have enough braincells left to figure out what the fuck it's all about.

"Come on, let's go," Andrew says. Aaron feels like after all that, he has to put himself out there at least once. He has to prove to Andrew it's okay. It's okay to do this and trust him with this, so he'll believe in Andrew too.

"I do. Love her, I mean," Aaron says, mumbling the statement petulantly. He's a natural grump. It’s unavoidable. However, when Andrew turns back, he clears his throat. He can't say this without enthusiasm, without conviction. It's just not possible. He thinks of Katelyn's sugary sweet smiles, the croak of her voice after she cheers him on too hard. He thinks of it all—of tears staining his sweater, of being held while shedding his own. He thinks of calloused hands, rife with paper cuts from too many study guides, and the way she whispers each goodbye, because she secretly hates them. All of that and more, too much to contain in the word, but he tries. "I love her so much, it feels like saying it cheapens it somehow. I...don't usually, unless we're alone. But I do."

And it's humiliating to say to this person—his brother, someone who he's always held at an emotional distance. But he can't hope to bridge this gap any other way; he can't hope for more of Andrew's steps forward if he doesn't take his own.

It's a formula they're familiar with now. It's one he hopes they never stop using.

And just when he thinks it's for nothing, Andrew nods. Once, subtly, but he does.

"I understand," he offers, and there's a heaviness to the statement Aaron doesn't get. But it's enough. He wants to tell Andrew it's enough, but Andrew meets him halfway. "Neil told me people don't have to say it, if they know it's true. He's infuriating like that, but he's right about people's idiocy."

Aaron has a feeling 'people' is being used as a stand in there, but he doesn't comment. He's well aware he doesn't have to say it, that saying it changes nothing about how he feels. But—

"I guess he's right for once," Aaron comments lazily, and throws Andrew a smug smile. "But I still want to."

He likes to. And that's all there is to it, sometimes.

So if you one day want to, I'm all ears.

Even if it's not the three words, if it's just some offhand comment about Neil's fighting skills, or where he and Andrew went on a date...he'll listen.

It'll be gross, but he's got plenty more anecdotes to throw back. He despises admitting when Bee is right, but he'll give her credit this time.

They have their people, and they should be able to talk about them.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed forward. "Don't give him that much credit," he mutters, and no, Aaron wouldn't dream of it.

They don't mean to sync up their steps as they walk. It just happens.

"Oh, hang on," Aaron says out of the blue as they stand in line. He's thankful he has some control of his reflexes, as he almost smacked Andrew in the arm. They aren't there yet.

But nevermind that. Priorities. Next to them is a toy stand, one of those three tier ones grocery stores always put near the registers because little kids can't resist hounding their parents for one. This one in particular has a good selection of tiny stuffed toys, and Aaron spies his jackpot almost immediately.

It's a spotted, light pink kitten with giant eyes. It's soft, and so absurd looking. Whoever designed it probably tried to think of everything cutesy they could before sewing it onto the plush. In short, it's the kind of sappy, adorable thing Katelyn will love.

Proudly, he picks it up and holds it in front of him like he's a genius. He sort of is.

He's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so disgusted in his life, which is saying quite a lot. Aaron's smugness increases.

God, it's minuscule. It fits in his hand perfectly. If he's lucky, Katelyn will squeal even through all the snot.

He's not sure why Andrew decides to humor him. He must be in a better mood than Aaron thought, since he eventually asks: "Why?"

Aaron is all too happy to explain. He holds the kitten up to Andrew's face as if tempting a rabid rottweiler.

"Ah—what? It's cute. Katelyn loves stuff like this," he explains, but his next words have a softer edge. It happens against his will, and he blames it on Katelyn entirely. Knowing this ridiculous thing will bring her some joy is more than worth the twelve dollar price tag. "It'll make her feel better. Like a gift, ever heard of one? I've seen Neil's growing wardrobe. He's not buying his own clothes."

Andrew's expression sours further, but he doesn't fight the statement right away. He should know he can't. The clothes are only one example; Aaron's also seen the jewelry and various fox-themed knick knacks Neil has lying around. Idiot.

Instead, Andrew bats the kitten away. “Clothes are required, especially when you live out of one bag your whole life," he comments, but it doesn't expose him any less. From the smug grin on Aaron's face, Andrew must sense it. He points at the kitten harshly. "That, however, is pointless."

Aaron's grin falls, but he's unwilling to give up. Andrew obviously doesn't see the full picture in this case. He holds the kitten close to his chest. While he normally hates these things too, it's been designated as a gift for Katelyn.

Therefore, it's sacred.

"It's adorable. Katelyn will go nuts over it, and I'll take sick kisses over no kisses," Aaron points out, and delights in the moment Andrew tenses. Haha. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear that in this context," Andrew mutters, but turns back to the stand with significantly less annoyance.

Aaron is having too much fun.

"I'm just saying, Neil would probably hate this shit on its own..." he adds, and leaves the rest unsaid. The implication is clear. Neil could give a rat's ass about gifts and stuffed toys. But coming from Andrew?

He'd probably burst, like a loser. And whether or not Andrew likes to admit it, it's a weakness. He can't resist evoking that reaction from his jock boyfriend.

Still, he tries. "Neil would never be interested in this," Andrew says, and reaches out to grab one of the toys roughly. It's a little stuffed lamb with snow white wool, and it’s even smaller than the kitten. In Andrew's large, murderous hands, it almost seems to be crying out to Aaron for help.

Andrew stares at it for an impossibly long time, and then it's their turn. Aaron takes the basket from Andrew's stalled hands and tries not to make any wheezing sounds from how heavy it is. Andrew was carrying that shit for an hour?

"Well, how would you know?" Aaron throws over his shoulder as he dumps the contents onto the conveyor belt. He looks at the lamb, at how stupid it looks, and wonders when he himself got so soft. He's not sure what it's a consequence of, but it doesn't feel bad.

No reason to question it.

Andrew turns to him and arches a brow, and Aaron delivers his final punch.

"Neil's probably never had a stuffed animal before," he remarks, doing his best to impersonate Neil's shrug. The ones Allison has tried to force on Neil in the past don’t exactly count. Then, because they share the asshole trait, Aaron adds: "I mean, living out of a bag and all."

And oh, Andrew's glare could send their world as they know it straight to the depths of hell. He squeezes the lamb in a death grip, but notably doesn't let go.

Aaron's spine tingles from Andrew's intense, vengeful stare on the back of his neck as the cashier rings them up, but whatever revenge he gets will be worth it. He figures it can't be too bad when Andrew offers him a ride home, and the silence is more peaceful than anything else.

They walk to the dorms with the stuffed animals pressed under their elbows. If they both end up sick a few days later, neither of them choose to bring up the cause.

#all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil #kateaaron

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dalamjisung · 5 years ago

Text

what you want, part two ❋ bambam

word count: 3735

genre: angst with a fluffy ending

pairing: reader x bambam

description: you finally get the whole truth. is it what you were expecting?

[tag: @thelaptopmarkthrewatbambam @letowolfie @thecozywhaleshark @thicthighsenpai @silentiona @sydnikkishields @hope-ji ]

You wake up with your head pounding– once again. It’s been weeks of this, now; you go to parties to find BamBam, and when he refuses to talk to you, again, you drink to forget, and you never do. You remember everything; from the frown in his face, to the tone of his voice. Go away, Y/N, enough is enough. You remember Jackson’s disappointed face as he pulled you away once again, and Yugyeom frustrated whines as he runs after his friend. It’s been almost three weeks of this; you chase parties to chase BamBam, but in the end you chase red solo cups with tiny shot glasses, to wake up the next day feeling completely useless and shattered. In these three weeks, you’ve failed your first test. You skipped your first class and you’ve gotten your first hangover. It felt like you were living your teenage years in days– and it felt fucking awful.

His jacket still hangs on the back of your door, the sequins and golden details sometimes catching the light seeping in from the outside and shinning the room with a sad glow. It makes you think of him every time it happens– how you wished he was there, laying next to you, and pointing at the random shapes of the reflections; this one looks like a duck, you wish he’d say. And that one like a dog. Ah! That one looks like my cat, Latte!

A tear is what brings you back to reality, eyes moving away from that forsaken jacket. You are back into your routine; wake up, cry, attempt homework, give up, go back to sleep until someone texts you about a party. You are halfway through last week’s work when your doorbell rings, but you ignore it. The terror of late work and decreasing grades looms over you, wighting your shoulders down, and fogging your mind; it is a problem that bothers you, but you can’t find it within yourself to do anything about it.

This should be easy– at least for you. You received a letter from the dean’s office about the risk of loosing your scholarship and you cried that day, but you still did absolutely nothing about it– nothing besides call Youngjae and cry while listening to him sing soft lullabies. You fell asleep to your friend’s voice that night, promising a better future; you are tired of those promises.

BamBam hates you and that’s a fact. He won’t even talk to you, and you wonder if that’s what he felt when things were the other way around. Did he hurt like this, too? Did he cry? If he did, you won’t be able to live with yourself.

Your eyes dart to the clock on your wall and you see that it is almost time for your class… the one you’ve been skipping for three weeks. You emailed the professor about a different fake sickness each time, and being class rep. and all, he doesn’t argue with you because you still do your duties towards the class even though it is from your living room. This position means a lot to you, and if you are being honest, it is the only thing that you are hanging onto.

“Y/N!”

That position and Jackson.

“Y/N, I know you are in there,” And Jinyoung. “Open up!”

You shuffle to the door, opening it slightly, before sighing and giving the boys space to walk inside.

“Hey, guys,” You mumble, voice weak and embarrassed. Your apartment looks generally clean, but that is because you have been barely eating anything. “What’s up?”

“Get dressed,” Jackson says and his voice booms in the empty room. “You have class in 20 minutes and you are not skipping again. You’ve missed three classes already…”

“I’m not feeling well, Jacks,” You sigh, looking at your feet. “I think I might hang back–“

“Stop that!” Jinyoung shouts, and you recoil. During the entirety of your friendship with Jinyoung, you’ve never heard him shout before, specially not at you. “Just fucking stop, oh my god, Y/N… We get it, you are hurt, but this is ridiculous! You are putting BamBam in front of your studies– you are not this girl! This is seriously affecting your grades; what the fuck are you doing, huh?”

“I-“

“Don’t even try to come up with an excuse,” He continues, looking at you through angry eyes. “This whole partying and getting drunk thing is not you. This whole skipping class and missing work is not you. What are you doing?”

“Maybe ‘me’ sucks,” You snap. “Have you thought about that? ‘Me’ is a judgmental bitch that hurts people and only thinks about herself, and honestly, fuck that. I don’t want to be ‘me’ if being ‘me’ means not giving a shit about anyone else!”

Your breathing is harsh and shallow, and Jackson takes a step towards you.

“I’m done with that shit, Jinyoung,” You whisper, shoulders falling in defeat.

“Okay, you need to listen to me,” Jackson grabs you by the shoulders gently. “Y/N, we all make mistakes, and it’s not going to be that one mistake that will define you– we won’t allow that. Your Y/N is not a judgmental bitch or a selfish person… she is so selfless it is actually annoying. She is stubborn as a mule and she doesn’t back down from a challenge, even if she might get hurt. And that is the only reason why you are still trying to make things right with BamBam. So don’t say that; don’t say ‘you’ are not enough, because you are so much more.”

You sit down on the couch, allowing Jinyoung to embrace you.

“Things are hard right now,” Jackson continues. “Not just for you, but life goes on, love. So let’s go on, too. We’re here to help you with whatever you need… we can start slow, yeah? Get dressed. After that, get out. After that, make it to class in time; and so on and so forth. Do you think we can do it?”

You nod.

“Great,” Jinyoung smiles. “Go get dressed. We’re taking you to class.”

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

Jackson’s method works until you get to the classroom. Jinyoung is whispering encouraging things as you walk past the doors and sit in your usual seat. People look and smile at you, and everything is fine and well until you see him.

BamBam looks better than ever. His hair is slicked back and it shows his cheekbones. His lips, stretched in a smile, are plump and inviting and you have to hold yourself back to not run to him. You notice you are staring and you shake your head, forcing yourself to focus in the professor walking into the room. The class starts and you are back to it, taking notes and nodding along as you understand the information being relayed. When the class ends, you have a smile on your face, the first in weeks– you’ve missed this. You are in your environment and you feel as if a flame had been reignited inside of you. This was your passion and you were stupid to even try to let it pass by you.

“How was it?” Youngjae asks as he walks with you to the cafeteria. “Was it hard?”

“It was… amazing,” You smile, wide, and his eyes follow. “I missed this, Youngjae. A lot. And I already talked to my professor and she said I could make up my absence with some extra work…”

“That’s great, Y/N!” He hugs you, laughing as you squeal in happiness. “Our little nerd is back!”

“Not completely,” You smile brightly. “And I think that’s good. It’s time for change.” He nods with you and you two mindlessly talk about your extra work.

“I understand most of the topics I missed because I studied them beforehand,” You chuckle a little embarrassed about admitting it out loud. “But there is this one topic I’m struggling with a little bit.”

“Is there anyone you can ask for help?” Youngjae asks, frowning. You are always the first one to help everyone out, there must be someone that can help you too.

You look at him and you know what you have to do.

“Actually,” You wonder. “Yes, there is.”

You find Yugyeom at the same cafe you met him before, and thankfully, he’s alone. He has his head down, reading from some book you don’t recognize, and you try your best not to scare him.

“Hi,” You call softly and he slowly looks at you, before his eyes go wide in recognition. You point at the chair in front of his. “Do you mind?”

He shakes his head. “Go ahed, class rep.”

“Uh, I know this might be awkward for you and please feel free to say no, but… do you think you could help me?”

Yugyeom sighs. “I already told you, Y/N, BamBam is my best friend and you–“

“No no no,” You blush, desperately shaking your hands in a futile attempt to stop this conversation from happening. “Not about that. I wouldn’t want to put you in the middle of that… complication.”

“With what then?”

“I was away for a bit,” You cough, uncomfortable with your words. “And I missed a lot, but fortunately I got most of the subject pretty quickly– except for this one topic.”

You offer him your notebook with some random notes and he nods, humming as he flipped the pages.

“As I said, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or to put you in the middle of something like this,” You sigh. “But I was wondering if you could help me out? I’m really struggling and–“

“Sure.”

You look at him again, mouth agape in surprise. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” He nods. “I can help you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much Yugyeom, you have no idea what this means to me.”

“On one condition,” He says, eyes in slits, as if measuring you up.

“Anything!” You squeal, happy to be finally feeling like yourself again. With changes, you think. Good changes.

“Stop doing whatever you are doing.”

“What do you mean?” You speak slowly and carefully, because you know what’s coming.

“With BamBam,” He sighs. “Just stop. Things are not… good, right now. And BamBam deserves ‘good.’ He really does. So please, stop.”

You smile. “He really does,” You agree. “And you are really good Yugyeom. I can’t promise to give up on BamBam– that’s no how it works, Yugy. But I do promise that I’ll never hurt him again… I think I can keep that promise, don’t you?”

Yugyeom smiles, enough so that he doesn’t look intimidating anymore, but back to his baby face. “I think you can, class rep. I’m counting on you.”

“And I’m,” You start, pushing the material towards the tall boy. “Counting on you.”

He laughs and you two get to it. Within the hour, you feel better. You are understanding the topic and therefore, understanding the whole class. Yugyeom makes jokes as you two study and you feel like things are finally going back to normal. A new normal, at least.

“Y/N, I have to go,” He pouts. “I have class soon, but why don’t we meet tomorrow? I can test you on the topic then.”

“Perfect,” You say, yawning a little. “Same place, same time?”

He nods and runs out of the cafe.

On your way home, you can’t help but think back to Yugyeom’s words. He deserves ‘good.’ You close your eyes and deep down you know; it’s time to let go.

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

The next morning, you wake up with a renewed purpose. You clean the small mess in your room and vacuum the empty floors of your apartment. You take a shower and get ready, even though your class is four hours; it was time to get back to yourself.

You spend the day at the library finishing the homework you forgot about. After that, you finish the homework for the week, and you attempt the homework due next week. You get into a rhythm so good you barely notice the clock ticking, and soon, you are on your way to class. People are glad to see you back in the classroom– they make a point of telling you that,– and you smile, realizing that you’ve made friends without noticing. Sure, the drinking and partying weren’t the best way to deal with everything, but you have to admit that it was fun when it wasn’t sad. You talked to more people in your classes then you did the whole semester and you’ve realized that all you had to do was reach out and be open for those who are reaching out, too.

You text Yugyeom once you are out of class telling him you’ll be a couple of minutes late, having to run to your place to grab something before meeting up. It’s still in the back of your door, shinning in the way you like it, and you offer it a peaceful smile– you’ll miss this jacket. With careful hands, you carry it all the way to the cafe, a bounce on your step indicating nothing short of relief.

“Hey, Y/N!” Yugyeom shouts and waves as if you could miss his 6 foot ass. “Over here!”

You laugh a little at his excitement and you make your way over, smiling when he hugs you hello.

“Are you ready for the final test, Miss Y/L/N?” He asks in all seriousness.

“I am, Professor Kim.”

You finish the whole worksheet in about thirty minutes, and you ace it. But you don’t leave just yet; you stay and chat and laugh with Kim Yugyeom, just like he once wanted. Friends, you think, chuckling at a funny face he pulls. I’m sorry Yugy.

“Yugy,” You say once he quiets down. “I want to give you something.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side, like a curious puppy.

“Here,” You give him the jacket that has been sitting next to you all this time. He seems to recognize it instantly, grabbing it and looking at you with incredulous eyes. “You were right. BamBam deserves good. And I think I do, too. And I know I promised you we’d be friends once this whole mess got resolved, but I don’t think this is happening… I’m sorry Yugyeom.”

“Ya,” He begs, brows furrowed in agony. “You said you weren’t giving up on him. You promised!”

“I’m not,” You smile, putting your things inside your bag. “I’m just… moving on.”

“Is that what you want, Y/N?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” You say and it feels as poisonous in your tongue as you thought it would. “This is about what he wants. And I would still love to be your friend but–“

“You are my friend, Y/N,” He smiles and it feels oddly like a goodbye. “You always were my friend. You are a good person, class rep., don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“Harder said than done,” You wink. “Bye Yugy. See you when I see you.”

You are almost at the door when he shouts again.

“He told Jackson.”

You turn around. “What?”

“Jackson only knew about you skipping class because he told him,” Yugyeom looks nervous. “BamBam.”

“What are you talking about?” This is supposed to be done. You gave him the jacket back, you were supposed to be done.

“BamBam might’ve not wanted to talk to you, but that’s because he is a proud idiot,” Yugyeom confesses. “He’s been having a really hard time. He regrets letting you go, Y/N, but he thinks it was what you wanted.”

“What?!” You shriek.

“He asked Jackson to go check up on you because you were missing class. He talked to the professors about extra credit work before you even had the chance to,” Yugyeom laughs at your face. “And he asked me to help you with studying. You might think he doesn’t care, but he does. That’s just how BamBam is.”

Your mouth hangs open.

“Ask me,” Yugyeom challenges you, stepping closer. “Come on, ask me.”

“Where is he?” You breath out, heart racing wildly.

“At our place,” He scribbles something on your arm– an address. “Go talk to him. You are good.”

“Thank you!” You hug him and sprint.

You never even think about the jacket you left with Yugyeom.

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

You knock on the door so desperately that you are afraid of waking up neighbors, but it’s a necessary evil. You have to talk to him.

“Coming!”

Oh my, how you missed his voice. You hear some stumbling inside the apartment and soon the door is wide open, and you suddenly don’t miss him that much anymore. Not when he has puffy eyes and a tired voice.

“Bam,” You sigh, surprised he even opened the door. “What happened?”

“What are you doing here?” He sniffles, looking down as a way to hide your face. “I thought I made it very clear that–“

“Yeah, yeah,” You wave him off, waling inside and facing him again. “Whatever. What happened?”

“Uh,” He frowns and swallows, and you know he is emotional. “Nothing. You should go, Y/N, I have stuff to do.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You shrug, sitting down on the couch. “Until you talk to me.”

He gasps. “I can call the cops. This is technically breaking and entering…”

“Then do it,” You said, eyes set in slits, measuring him, challenging him. “If you want to.”

“What are you talking about?” He blushes, mumbling his words out. “Have you gone insane?”

“I must have,” You say, and you start to feel it; the anger, the hurt, the sadness– everything comes back to you. “Because let time we talked, you couldn’t even look me in the face. You refused to listen to me, talk to me, anything related to me– and suddenly, there I am, giving your jacket back to Yugyeom because I was finally fucking ready and he tells me the most interesting thing.”

“You gave him my jacket back?” He whispers, seemingly shocked. You ignore him and keep going.

“He proceeds to tell me this very elaborate story about how you were the one responsible for Jackson getting me to class yesterday ,” You are on a roll, taking steps closer to him with each word. “And how you were the one responsible for me getting that extra credit work; and even how you asked him to help me. What the hell BamBam? What is your game here? Because I was ready to do what you wanted and leave you the hell alone, but suddenly this happens and I–“

“You think that’s what I want?!” He screeches, arms flapping around. “I don’t want you gone, Y/N!”

“Well, there you go– I’m confused,” You groan. You are just a few centimeters away from him and there are so many emotions that you can just see in his eyes– the most present one was despair. “You kept pushing me away, BamBam. I tried– I tried so many fucking times!”

“I thought that was what you wanted!” He shouts. “After that first party I regretted it… so badly. But you were hurt and the hyungs were angry and I just didn’t want to hurt you anymore. You were partying like crazy, and you were drinking insane amounts and I was worried!”

“I was worried, too,” You say, covering your mouth with your hand, as if that wasn’t supposed to slip past your lips. “I was so worried about you, BamBam. About us.”

“Us?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Yes, you idiot,” Grabbing his hands, you sit with him on the couch, facing each other. “Us. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have judged you like that and I am so, so sorry. But I see you now; I see you, BamBam– and yes, it took me a while and I was dumb and stupid and I didn’t really know what you wanted and–“

His mouth finds yours before you can stop talking and his lips are exactly how you thought they’d be– soft and plump. His mouth moves quickly over yours; it demands things from you– adoration, love, lust. His hands, one on your waist and the other on your hair, lead you, because right now, he is not willing to give doubt any space. No more misunderstanding. No more cross-wired thoughts. No more wasting time. He would always have you close, too close, even, just to be sure. His heart beats with yours– out of rhythm and too fast. BamBam leans over you, making you lay down on the couch, and laying over you. This is not lust anymore, it’s not love, either. It is hunger. He’s waited long enough, so now it is time to take it.

“We still… ah, Bam, we have–“

“Talk later,” He groans. “This now.”

“No,” You laugh. “Talk now. This later.”

“Y/N,” He whines and hides his face on your neck. “Please…”

“Not until we’re 100%,” You say giving him a peck on the lips.

“We are!”

“No, we aren’t,” You place a piece of his hair back in place and push him off of you. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me anymore. Is that what you want?”

“… yes. No. Yes– not just that, but that included, yes.”

“Bam,” His name sounded like the most beautiful song coming out of your mouth. “I’m going to ask you for the last time.”

He nods.

“What do you want, BamBam?”

His eyes shine with tears and you have to hold yourself back. This time, this would be on him– the way he wanted.

“I want people to take me seriously,” He gasps, finally allowing himself to say it. “I want people to stop looking at me as if I have it easy because they don’t know half of it. I want to be recognized for what I am– a man with big dreams and high ambition. And I want you. I want you to take yourself seriously; I want you to recognize your potential and see that you are much more than class rep. You are much more than what you limit yourself to be! I want you, Y/N. I want you, and I want it all.”

You smile, relived that now, it was over. But it also just started.

“Then come and get it.”

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

well. hello. this was intense. I have to say, I love this sequel! What do you wall think? This has been my most awaited fic ever, so I really hope you all liked it :P Let me know! Your comments and support mean the world ❤️

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brain-rott · 5 years ago

Text

A Crushed Crush pt.3

Pairing: Midoriya x Reader/Bakugo x Reader

Description: It seems that things have finally come to a head as you are finally confronted by Midoriya who has come to ask you about what it was that tore you both apart.

Tag list: @jirouisbestgirl @honestlyimace @chounakami @Galacticrosee @http-bakugo @crybbysol @dragon-lark @odddaze @httpgiiio @karlitabi-rrito @chiefinvestigatorheidi @deneuves

Word count: 3654

Rating: PG

Part 1 Part 2

You woke with a yawn and grumble as you rolled over to see that it was still early in the morning. You were sure that not even the birds outside were awake yet. You realized that it was your phone that woke you up, the screen glowing brightly at you from its place on the bed next to you. Pulling it closer to you, you see that you have ten new messages from Bakugo from all hours of the night. Confused you sit up blinking sleep from your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Bakugo 1:58

You asleep?

Bakugo 2:05

I take your lack of response as a yes.

This is the worst time and way to say this I know I have already gotten chewed out by Kirishima about it

But I won’t be able to sleep until I get this off my mind

Bakugo 2:11

Earlier when I told you I cared about you I meant it

Not like as friends though

I want to be more than just friends

I know that your still getting over that shitty nerd but I just want you to know that there's someone out there other than him who can see just how amazing you are and don't take it for granted.

Okay I think I got my point across well enough I’m sure you’re gonna wanna talk in the morning anyways so you can assault me with questions then

Call me when you wake up

You thought you were delirious for a time as you read the texts over and again just to ensure you weren’t misunderstanding anything. You had to catch yourself as you went to call Bakugo but seeing as the sun wasn’t even up yet you’re sure he may not be too pleased to hear from you. Instead you made a compromise with yourself sending him a large text of just heart and crying face emojis.

Dropping back down into bed. You smiled into your pillow as you let yourself daydream back into a lull before sleep fully retook you. Though rather than dreams of cute dates with the angry blonde you were confronted with some rather troubling images.

You found your dream self in a dark room sat at the same kind of tables they had in the cafeteria. On one side of the table was Midoriya and all of them. A fond memory of the time when Todoroki had accidentally mispronounced the name of an English soda had you all laughing and near choking on your food. You chuckled to yourself turning away for a moment. When you look back they’re gone initially startling you until you felt a hand on your knee under the table.

Turning to look over your other shoulder you found yourself sat next to Bakugo he had bumped you to get your attention before pointing to Kaminari who was across the Cafeteria flirting with some girls from general studies. You couldn’t help the laugh that left you as the shortest of the three girls rose from her seat dumping her smoothie on Kaminari’s head before they all sauntered off leaving the blonde deflated and defeated. Kirishima had offered to go over and save him though it seemed it was unnecessary as a familiar purple haired weirdo from General studies came to his aid laughing as the two walked out of the cafeteria.

Your eyes locked onto Bakugo’s red ones and you felt your self shudder in a slight terror as he just seemed to blur and suddenly you were alone once again in the dark cafeteria. A sudden wave of coldness overtook you making you shudder. Now sat across from you were the silhouettes of Midoriya and Bakugo they seemed to be facing you though the longer you stare the harder it became to tell. The longer you sat there the colder it seemed to get as well, your breath appearing like mist in the chilled air. When you reached out towards them you seemed to lose your balance toppling backwards out of your chair, the sensation of falling seemed to over take you and your heart raced as you heard a pounding in your ears.

You jerked awake your leg kicking out hard against your bed smashing your toes against your wooden bed frame. Hissing in pain, you grabbed your foot cradling it towards you as you rubbed attempting to soothe the discomfort. You blinked again when you heard someone knock against your door. Looking up you noticed that the sun was fully out and light trickled into your room from between your curtains. Standing slowly you yanked open your curtains before shuffling over to the door.

Too busy trying to recall the details of your dream. You walked to your door where the person once again knocked. You clearly hadn’t learned your lesson since the last time someone came knocking at an odd hour of the day as you simply threw the door open. You stood there a moment, blinking in surprise as you simply stared at the person who stood before you.

Midoriya truly didn’t know what he was doing. He had made you bawl your eyes out how many times now? Now he thought he was going to somehow patch everything over by returning your belongings to you? He couldn’t help the tremors of anxiety and fear that trickled through him as he made the walk from his room to yours.

Your books were clutched to his chest much like how they had been moments before you turned and ran from him, tears streaming down your cheeks. That moment had been burned into his mind. He couldn’t sleep at all that night as his thoughts of you never quieted enough to allow him to rest.

Midoriya couldn’t help the huff that escaped him making him freeze in embarrassment as he remembered he was in public. He had racked his brain all night but couldn’t think of a single thing he may have done to hurt you. At one point he had even called Iida asking if he may have any insight into this situation though the Class rep was unfortunately unhelpful.

You hadn’t even be able to look at him and it destroyed him.

‘Maybe Todoroki was right. Maybe I am the problem.’ Midoriya thought feeling his heart pang painfully at the thought that maybe you just didn’t like him. Stepping into the elevator he pressed the button to take him to your floor.

‘It could be that simple’ he continued ‘You might just not be able to stand being around him anymore.’ The thought made a lump form in his throat. In the privacy of the elevator he let himself take a shaky breath before shaking himself. He really did not want to show up to your door already crying when he is trying to prevent crying at all costs.

Things just seemed to be falling down around him and he hadn’t a cue as to how to stop it. It started with Uraraka turning him down after he confessed his feelings for her and now it is culminating with him losing you forever. It seemed the two events happened within the same time frame of each other. That following day you up and vanished from his life without so much as a warning as to why.

Just having to recall those days of sitting at the table staring at your empty seat made him so uncomfortable. He almost felt like he was missing a part of himself without you at his side. That first week had been hell for him and after your first run in he didn’t even begin to know how horrible it must have been for you.

The elevator doors slid open and Midoriya shook himself needing his full attention for what was to come. He was going to talk to you, he was going to make things right again. Even if you didn’t want to see or talk to him anymore. He at least wanted to hear it from your own mouth before he gave up.

The last thing he wanted to do was make you cry again. So in preparation he had been rehearsing what to say since that morning when you ran from him. He was determined to make things right between the two of you. Even if it was gonna break his heart. Anything to make you happy again.

Your dorm room door now stood before him it being the only thing between him and what could possibly the hardest news of his short life. As he knocked on your door, he felt his body go stiff in sudden apprehension. While his plan in theory worked out great. In reality all of his practice went out the door as he stood there practically shaking. His shirt felt too tight and his hoodie was too hot. His heart was racing as he heard the door unlock and slowly open. You stood before him in fluffy bed pants and an oversized t-shirt clearly having just gotten out of bed despite it being half past noon.

“H-Hey [y/n]. I-I wanted to bring back your books.” Midoriya stuttered noting how you immediately tensed in his presence.

You nodded slowly, reaching out to take your items from his arms. He didn’t resist as you took your things beginning to back away into the safety of your dorm. Suddenly remembering the real reason to why he was there, Midoriya stepped forward into the doorway blocking you from shutting it.

“I’m sorry [y/n] but can we please talk...” Midoriya said all shakiness gone from his voice instead it was replaced with a deep sadness you had never heard come from him. In all your time of knowing him you had never once heard him this depressed. He studied your eyes as you stared back into his green ones almost unsure as to what to say.

Your grip on the door handle tightened as you felt a wave of indecisiveness descend upon you. Were you even entirely ready for this conversation? It felt like it had been ages since that morning when you walked in on him and Uraraka. Yet it still hurt like it had been mere moments ago. You knew you would never be able to go on if you didn’t do something about it. You studied Midoriya’s face looking for some kind of sign as to what he was feeling. Something you could use to steady your own shaking emotions. Your gaze lingered on each of his freckles before you finally relented.

“Come in.” You mumbled your voice coming out as a meek whisper as you stepped aside and allowed him in.

He nodded with a small ‘thank you’ as he stepped inside, slowly looking around before taking a seat at your desk. Shutting the door behind you, you made sure to leave it unlocked in case your worst fear came true and you needed a friend to bail you out at the last minute. Your heart already felt as if it were about to burst from your chest and escape. Even as you sat down on your bed, tucking your legs under you as you did so, the unease wouldn’t leave you. In an attempt to gather some form of comfort you pulled your blankets towards you laying them over your lap.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you as you both looked around your room. This was not the first time Midoriya had been here with you, though it was the first time in quite some time. His gaze went from your desk which held a variety of figurines and office supplies to your bed which was covered in a tapestry of colors from your many, many blankets.

Finally Midoriya took the initiative taking a deep breath steadying himself before turning to face you fully eyes looking deep into yours as he began.

“[y/n]... What did I do?” Midoriya asked softly, knowing he was starting out strong.

“You didn’t do anything. I just needed some space.” You responded knowing this was not the whole truth. You were still warming up to this whole idea of talking things out. Midoriya clearly knew this as well as he fixed you with a concerned look making you flinch from his gaze. He scooted closer to you.

“Would you mind telling me why you needed space then?” His voice was soft and comforting. Even though you weren’t looking at him you knew he was staring at you with that worried look of his. You couldn’t help but cringe. While he looked to you with concern all you could see was his lips pressed to Uraraka’s cheek. Shaking yourself you forced yourself to fixate on the spot where the walls met the floor hoping it would keep your emotions at bay. Midoriya again moved closer to you.

“I was just going through some stuff emotionally and what not...” You said honestly. You didn’t want to go into detail the embarrassment would haunt you much longer than the heartbreak could ever you were sure of this.

Midoriya could see how you tense your shoulders, refused to look at him. It seemed that every time he got even remotely close to finding out what was wrong, you would shut him out raising every defense you had.

He was there in the same room as you yet he felt a million miles away. He could feel his emotions starting to get the best of him as the last few days events came to him. He could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“[y/n] Please…” He whispered out his hands hovering in the space between you. He didn’t want to touch you if you didn’t want him to but he so desperately wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close to him.

It killed him knowing he was the reason you were no longer your former happy self. Though what really hurt him was the fact that he didn’t have a damn clue as to what had caused this. He didn’t even try to hold back his tears as you turned to look at him in surprise as he openly cried to you.

“Whatever the reason may be. I promise to try to understand. I miss you so, so much. I know I never said it but you mean so much to me.” Midoriya confessed moving so he was now fully in front of you. His hands held out before him and offered to you trembled ever so slightly.

“I love you...” Midoriya finally said voice cracking as he choked back a sob his hair falling forward to cover his eyes.

You felt your world tilt at his words. You didn’t know what to say at first. So you took his hands into your own squeezing them reassuringly in your grip as you thought to yourself. You had never been good at handling your emotions so having to suddenly be the level headed person was a turn you hadn’t been expecting.

“I-I…” You had to pause to take a breath before continuing. The way he was watching with his eyes so heavy with emotion it made your chest ache. “Midoriya, I was so madly in love with you when we first met.” At your words Midoriya’s eyes widened in surprise then settled as suddenly things seemed to make so much sense to him.

“ I had never loved anyone before you, not truly at least. I was so happy to finally have someone to love that I let it wrap me up in my own little world.” You admitted with a small laugh as you thought back to all the times you did something goofy in an attempt to make him smile or gain his attention.

“ I was so caught up in it all that I was absolutely blind sided when I saw you with Uraraka. It destroyed me. Since you were my first crush I had never been through a heartbreak before. Finding out in such a way that you didn’t like me back. It was a new kind of pain that I just wasn’t prepared for…” You admitted feeling as though all the weight that had once been on your shoulders had suddenly been lifted. You blinked slightly surprised as you felt warm tears rolling down your cheeks. You hadn’t even noticed you had started crying.

Midoriya didn’t say anything as he brushed the tears from your eyes watching you with his own watery gaze.

“I’m sorry but I just couldn’t bring myself to face you. It just hurt too much. It still hurts.” You explained as Midoriya’s hands returned to your lap where he interlaced his fingers with yours giving you a comforting squeeze.

“I know it was selfish of me to avoid you all. I just wanted the hurting to stop. So I did what I thought was best for me at the time.” You continued feeling yourself getting a bit breathless.

“You may think I’m terrible for doing that but-but…” You couldn’t bring yourself to keep talking as you felt the urge to cry become too strong. If you kept going you would end up a bawling mess. The tightness in your throat and the pressure on your chest tell tale signs of what was to come. You honestly really hated crying, though lately it felt like it had been your only relief.

You didn’t notice that Midoriya had risen from his seat until he had joined you on the bed. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest as he hugged you tightly against him.

“I’m so sorry [y/n]. I’m so sorry I was too dense to notice your feelings. I may not have been able to say it then but I do truly care about you. So, so much. Every time I made you cry I thought I was going to lose you forever and it broke me.” Midoriya paused taking a hard breath as he pressed his cheek against the top of your head as he hugged you even closer to him for a moment. He never wanted to let you go.

“I can’t see my life without you in it anymore.” Midoriya confessed speaking into the top of your head “I would do anything to try and make it up to you. All the pain I caused you all the suffering...”

You sniffled wiping at your eyes as you just revealed in his embrace for a moment longer.

“What about Uraraka?” You finally asked dreading the answer. You were so afraid he was about to undo everything he had just said to you.

“I may have convinced myself I liked her at one time but… Now I know it wasn’t real. Your who I love [y/n]. I know it took me too long to realize it but when I say it I am being honest.” Midoriya explained hoping he got his point across. At the time he had spoken to Uraraka he had convinced himself that he cared about her. Though the pain of you leaving vastly outweighed whatever he had felt from her.

The two of your sat there a moment. Simply enjoying being in one another's arms as you seemed to ponder what each of you had said. Your head was practically swimming. Hearing all the things you have been wanting to hear all this time, having his arms around you, having him hold you so tightly against him. It was almost too good to be true.

Though despite having everything you had wanted for since the start of your highschool career. Something deep in your chest suddenly ached. Your eyes snap open as you remember your conversation from early this morning. You had still been half asleep when you read them so Bakugo’s words had faded to the back of your mind at the sudden appearance of Midoriya.

You felt a cold sweat creep up your limbs as you realized you would have to choose. The two hated each other there would be no way to exist in both Midorya’s world and Bakugo’s. So lost in your own thoughts and mild panic you almost jumped out of Midoriya’s arms when he moved.

“[y/n] I know I should’ve asked you this long ago but, will you go out with me?” He said suddenly making your heart stutter. You hesitated to answer him. Did you want to go out with Midoriya? How were you supposed to choose between the two in all honesty?

“I-I’m gonna have to think on that Midoriya. I don’t think I’m emotionally ready yet.” You finally answered smiling at him sweetly as you slowly sat up out of his arms.

He nodded happily smiling brightly as he squeezed your hands reassuringly.

“It’s okay take all the time you need [y/n]! I promise I will be waiting for you when your ready.” He said assuredly thought when he opened his mouth to speak again a loud buzzing startled the both of you. You watched in surprise as he pulled his phone out of his pocket it buzzed loudly in his hand. His face immediately flushed upon seeing who the caller was.

“I-I’m sorry my mother is calling.” He admitted rubbing at the back of his neck in mild embarrassment.

“Oh it’s alright you go ahead. I can catch up with you later.” He gave you a thankful look before giving you a final hug and rushing out the door hurriedly answering his phone before closing the door behind him.

Once you were sure he was gone you flopped face down into your bed burying your face into your pillow before you let out a scream you didn’t know you were holding in.

You didn’t even want to think of what you were going to do now…

A/N: Howdy! Thanks for all the feed back on the last part but now is the real time to cast your votes for who yall want especially now that Midoriya has been able to have his time in the lime light.

This takes about two seconds so if you could follow this link to cast your vote

VOTE HERE <3

A/N**: Also sorry for any errors as of right now its 1 am and I cant bring myself to edit this after having already re written it like three times lmao

#Noumu-Writes #A Crushed Crush #BNHA #MHA #boko no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya x reader #Fanfic

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

A Stake of Holly in Her Heart Pt. 6

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Back inside the house for the night, Max avoids her nightly routine, going straight to her room to hopefully avoid any punishment until the morning comes.

There’s something she really needs to do, so she waits and waits, watching the minutes tick by on her digital clock until the house quiets down and she can be sure Susan and Neil are asleep.

She perches on the end of her bed and just listens for the TV to shut off in the living room, for her mother to pad up the steps toward her room in her fuzzy slippers, and for every light switch in the house to click off. Once she’s sat in complete silence, she presses her ear to the door so she can decide if she’s in the clear.

There’s a writing desk in Billy’s room, along with the last of his furniture they haven’t put out to the curb yet, put there because, well, he wouldn’t be using the room anymore, and Susan thought the space should be utilized instead of just being a memoir to a dead boy, so it became an office of sorts. And that was where Max needed to be right now.

Making as little noise as possible, she tiptoes from room to room, gently shutting each door behind herself, her heart stopping when the lock clicks into place.

Before she takes another step into the room, she listens for a floorboard to creak, or a voice to shout at her to go back to sleep, but there’s nothing but the sound of thick snow gently hitting against the window pane.

The lamp clicks on on the desk so she can see what she’s doing as she carefully fishes through the drawers of the bureau until she’s found a sheet of paper, the only one she could reach without making too much noise is printed with a border of holly branches, a red ballpoint pen, an envelope, and a stamp.

Max sets it all out in front of herself and thinks long and hard. What she’s about to do leaves no room for making mistakes, because she’s going to write a response to Maria.

It takes a lot of workshopping, cutting out bits of information she would rather share in person and trying to make it as blunt as possible, but eventually she decides on this,

“Dear Ms. Hargrove,

I’m not sure if Billy ever told you about me, but I’m his stepsister, Max.

I got your card in the mail Christmas morning, and I’m sorry to tell you, but he didn’t get to read it.

Your son Billy died on the 4th of July.

Please, if you get this letter, come and see him. He’s in the cemetery on 101 Cedar Street, Hawkins, IN, plot 206 B under the ginkgo tree.

I’m sorry, Maxine Mayfield”

Max folds the paper as neatly as she can manage and seals it into the envelope, copying Maria’s address from the first letter onto the outside, and sticking the little stamp, a picture of a Christmas tree, to the corner.

Putting everything back and pulling the chain on the lamp, it’s like she was never even there.

But she must’ve gotten careless, must’ve been too caught up in the moment to remember to listen for footfalls because, when she opens the door again, she’s face to face with a disgruntled Susan.

Arms behind her back, Max slowly slides the envelope into her pocket before her mother can see it. “What are you doing in here?”

“I-I was just, uh, thinking about Billy again.” She lies through her teeth, bringing her arms up to hold the door frame so Susan wouldn’t notice she had something hidden behind her back. “Wanted to be in here for a while, I guess.”

Susan frowns and rubs her eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to be up this late.”

“Yeah, I know, I just, couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs and offers a tired smile, hoping that’ll help her case.

“Well next time, just try to stay in bed.” Susan’s tired, a little tipsy, and generally unhappy with Max, and it shows in her tone, but she’s too tired for reprimanding, so she makes an attempt at advice, saying, “It doesn’t do you any good to dwell on it.”

“Won’t happen again.” The answer must be acceptable because, shaking her head at her daughter, Susan finally retreats. For extra points, Max calls after her, “Goodnight, mom.”

Max stands in the doorway waiting for Susan to start climbing the steps again, then, once she’s absolutely positive her mother’s no longer paying her any mind, she returns to her own bedroom.

The envelope finds itself in a hiding place under her mattress until she can mail it in the morning, just in case of snooping parents, and for the first time in a long while, Max gets a good night's sleep, the events of that day easing her off to dream.

It’s the feeling of hope, of having found a friend and having done the right thing that sends her off into a restful sleep like she hasn’t had in forever, her guilt no longer plaguing her in reality or in dreamland, and her grief soothed.

By sunrise the next day, she’s already up on her feet, dressed and ready to go before her parents are even awake.

She leaves a note taped to the refrigerator door explaining her absence, lying about going to help Mrs. Byers with something she had mentioned at last night’s party, and hurries out the door, letter in her pocket, before anyone can stop her.

But, as the hinges on the front door squeak, she steps out onto the front porch, hearing Neil’s gruff voice behind her before she can close it. “Where’re you going?”

“Mrs Byers. She, um, w-wanted me to come over and help El with uh, packing.” It sounded great on paper, but out loud it sounds exactly like a lie if she’s ever heard one. Neil doesn’t look upset though, so she decides to keep going. “They leave for Chicago soon.”

Neil nods, a look of complete disinterest on his face, and says “Tell her she can keep you if she wants to keep having you over there all the damn time.”

Then he turns away grumbling, and slams and locks the door in his step-daughters face.

Her first winter around snow and ice, something that never lasted long enough back in Cali to be a problem, she’d learned the hard way that her board didn’t work so well on the salt covered sidewalks, so she has to get to the post office without wheels.

She realizes though, that the walking route, unless she wanted to add an extra half hour or so to the trip, meant going right past the Sinclair’s house. Halfway down the sidewalk, when she sees Lucas' little sister outside, she knows that, after the luck she’s been having, she’s not getting off easy.

Erica is all bundled up in layers of coats and sweatpants, sitting in a pile of snow in the front yard, and rolling out a collection of very tightly packed snowballs when she looks up and meets Max’s eyes. Turning her head back towards the window, Erica shouts to her brother, “Hey nerd, your girlfriend is here!”

Before Max can even correct her or try to explain to her that she was just passing through the neighborhood and it was no big deal, the front door is being yanked open, and Lucas comes skidding down the sidewalk towards her.

He’s out of breath when he gets to her on the sidewalk, having run from somewhere in his house, and his voice is laden with concern. “Max! Where were you?”

“I was just busy. My parents said I couldn’t come.” She explains.

“We assumed the worst when you and Steve didn’t show.” He's bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Why weren’t you on the line all night?”

Max shrugs, “Like I said, busy.”

He eyes her suspiciously, obviously trying to find some secret meaning to her words. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, they just took me out for Christmas dinner.” She appreciates the concern, she really does, but she gives him a look anyhow. “You know not everything has to be the end of the world, right?”

“Yeah, right, ‘course.” He agrees, still sounding unsure, then doubles back on it. “You’re positive you’re alright?”

Giggling at how excessive he is, Max rolls her eyes, though not really out of annoyance, and affirms, “Yes, Lucas.”

“Okay.” There’s still more he wants to ask about yesterday, she can tell, but he gives it up, choosing instead to ask, “Where are you headed, then?”

“The post office. I have a thank you card for my grandma I'm supposed to send.” She lies again, but it doesn’t feel the same as when she lied to Neil and Susan or Aunt Nicole, where she was trying to hide how she felt, trying to be someone she wasn’t. This is more like she’s just trying to protect her personal life, and she thinks that’s fair enough.

Lucas flashes her his most charming smile. “Mind if I join you?”

There’s no way she’s going to actually turn down the offer, but she pretends, turning her nose up and saying, “I don’t know. Don’t think I really want you slowing me down.”

“You just don’t want all of this,” Lucas motions to himself with a goofy grin, “to make you look bad.”

She puts a mock sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and says, “Keep telling yourself that, dweeb.” but there’s a wide smile on her face as she says it, even after Erica tells them to get a room and throws a handful of her snowballs at them.

The rest of the walk into town is only a few minutes from that point if they take the shortcut behind the neighborhood, so Max isn’t all that worried about Lucas tagging along.

Mostly though, it’s because, unless he miraculously overcame his hangover and decided to search the treeline with a pair of binoculars, there was pretty much no way Neil was going to see them together, and they were out early enough that any of the nib-nose neighbors who might’ve snitched on them weren’t even awake yet.

Besides, even if Neil was one hundred percent guaranteed to catch her, she feels in a good enough mood that she doesn’t know that she’d care.

Outside of the post office, as she opens the mail slot and lets the letter fall into the collection box, she can tell Lucas catches a glimpse of the name on the envelope just by the sudden frown on his face, the worry in his eyes as he looks over to again her.

But Max, she isn’t bothered by it. She’ll tell him later what’s going on with her and Maria, once the whole thing is over. She thinks she owes it to herself to be a little more abrasive, to not just let everyone in on every last detail of her life so they can make her decisions for her.

So she doesn’t bring it up, just smiles at him and takes his hand, and lets him walk her back home.

After that morning she checks the mailbox constantly to make sure nobody else would find any letters from Maria before she did. Lord only knows what Neil would do if he found out she’d been in contact with his ex-wife.

Day one, all she finds is an issue of the beauty magazine Susan has a subscribed to, a notice for a late water bill, and a day old Christmas card from Uncle Don down in Texas.

The next day is more disappointing, nothing inside the mailbox but spam and a grocery store catalog.

There’s no mail service on Sundays, so she spends the whole of the third day fretting, wondering if her letter her made it, and if she should try to send another.

On the fourth day, there’s finally a letter in the mailbox addressed to Maxine Mayfield. Her heart stutters as she slides the stark white envelope out and gently tears it open.

It simply reads,

“To Billy’s sister, I’m on my way.”