#confusion over the choice of words they give to explain why anything but french is a waste of resources

[guiltyblogging]

I live in England. I think we should learn bsl and English at the same time.

French isn't needed. I have never used it. [But Rue, we must learn and immerse ourselves in other cultures and languages to be able to communicate] Okay then, explain why we don't learn Welsh or Scottish or Irish? We actually travel to those places often. What about the many Asian languages and dialects used around us, then? So we can communicate with our peers, and Papin can be called his actual name rather than a nickname given so the teachers have something to call them?

Oh, I don't know! what about our national sign language so we don't have kids segregated and put into "special" classes so they have the ability to communicate with one or two others? Would help those with hearing difficulties, autism, mutism, and you know, deafness?

idk man. i just think itd be really cool if sign language classes were mandatory throughout primary school. yeah because it would make communication with deaf kids and autistic/nonverbal kids much easier. and those kids would be accessible to the others so they could make friends and have healthy relationships. yeah. and kids would eat that shit up man. like their own little secret language? they love that.

[halfdead-halfskeleton]

Notes:

Summary: You and Rook hang out(study) together on rainy evening.

You/MC likes rain.

Maybe OOC, maybe melancholic, no clue. Not 100% good English and Google-translated French for sure, though.

Is it really just hcs?? More like short fic(?) or something?? I'm confused, sorry.

I wrote this when it was raining outside and I wasn't feeling well.

[Rainy evening]

You and Rook were practicing archery for a while as the raindrops began to fall from the sky. You sighed quietly with disappointment. Rook was looking forward to teach you and when you finally found the day and time when both of you were completely free it began to rain. Moreover, it was such a heavy rain, you had no choice but to run back to your rooms immediately.

He made sure you won't get wet by placing his jacket on your shoulders and his hat and your head.

You didn't want him to soak either and tried to give the jacket back, yet he quickly refused.

"Worry not! I won't get sick so easily, unlike you. So keep it for now, alright?", Rook smiled softly, reassuring you he'll be fine.

After you entered your respective rooms and changed clothes, you stayed inside and stared at the window. It was raining for almost half an hour already and probably will rain until the end of the day. You heaved a heavy sigh as it seems like you'll have to reschedule your archery practice, after all.

A sudden knock on the door caught your attention. It sounded familiar, you knew who it was. "Come in," you said and looked back at the window. Now, the sound of rain wasn't the only one filling your room.

Rook noticed your mood going down the moment first raindrops fell on your head.

"The day was going so well..." You signed as he sat on a chair near you. Rook's eyes focused on your saddened face, analyzing your expression, so it took him a minute to say anything.

"...Don't you find rain magnifique? You liked to dance under rain, even though you always ended up catching a cold and sneezing for a couple of days afterwards. While you not caring about getting sick was and still is worrisome to me... You looked genuinely happy dancing under rain."

"We had plans for today and they didn't include «running back inside because of a sudden rain and having to put the practice aside». I would be happy if only it happened after we finished with archery, you know?"

"Well, we still can study here!" he enthusiastically placed an archery handbook in front of you on the table. "I will be more than glad to help you if you have any issues!"

Rook's eyes shined when a surprised smile appeared on your face. It was a slight, barely visible smile. You were still a bit sad, but also happy to be able to simply spend time with him. And so he was happy too.

You were carefully taking notes while Rook was (over)explaining every detail. At one point, you had to ask him to slow down as your wrist began to hurt from writing so much.

You spent hours together, occasionally having 15-minutes breaks for snacks and drinks. The only reason why you stopped is because Vil called Rook to come back and go get his beauty sleep. It was almost midnight, after all! Neither of you wanted to stop, although you had to.

"We can continue later, I guess... Thank you for teaching me."

"Of course! I'm sure we'll be blessed with a bright sunny day tomorrow! I can't wait to see you put all the learned theory into practice. So rest well, mon étudiant."

You wished each other goodnight and Rook left the room. The rain went quieter some time ago, you couldn't remember when exactly. It didn't matter. You were lying in bed, smiling gently while staring at the ceiling and holding the notes you wrote this day. Tired, still a bit bitter, but so happy anyway. It was a fine evening. Before falling asleep, you made a simple wish, "Let it be sunny tomorrow..."

Rook stayed outside of your room until he heard your words from behind the door. He silently repeated them a couple of times, as if in hope it'll come true, and hurried back to his room.

Eventually, the rain stopped completely.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 3: Happy Little Accidents (Identities)

Prev

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

Marinette stared at the man in front of her, trying not to let her jaw drop. Sure she’d seen pictures of Bruce Wayne last night, Adrien made sure she was well educated on the man’s less than ideal fashion choices. But his choice of a sharp suit or his eyes that too closely matched hers weren’t why her jaw dropped. No, her jaw dropped because-

“Batman!” She says, in a wonderful moment of word association added to the man’s height and build. Mr. Wayne’s eyebrow quirks up and Marinette’s face instantly turns bright red as she hears the snickers of her classmates around her. Marinette immediately wishes that they would have left her and gone back to the bus without her, but no such luck. Instead they got to see her embarrass herself in front of her bio dad for the first time. Not that they knew that, but still. It was the principle of the thing. 

“I-” Mr. Wayne starts, but she cuts him off. 

“Oh, no, oh my god, I’m- no, I’m so, so sorry. I just, you’re- and you- and well yesterday, um, so I just, you seemed really familiar and I saw Batman yesterday so I said it and I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry I'm just freaking out cause my bi- ohhhhh….I mean-” Marinette rambles on, her blush darkening as she tries and fails to let out a coherent sentence in front of the man. She’s mercifully saved by the sharp blare of an akuma alert, the phones of every one of her classmates blaring at the same time. Mr. Wayne and the other employees in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises look confused, but Marinette is relieved. 

“What-” Mr. Wayne tries to ask, but is cut off yet again. 

“Oh well that’s not good gotta go call Paris-bye!” She yells, rushing away from the group and towards the bathrooms. She groans at the look Kaalki give her when she opens her purse. 

“That was a disaster.” They say simply with an unamused face. Marinette groans again. 

“Please don’t remind me. Tikki, spots on! Tikki, Kaalki, unify!” Marinette yells before calling a portal and falling into Paris, the awkward situation pushed to the back of her mind while she pours her focus into her Ladybug duties. 

---

Bruce Wayne was confused. And worried. But mostly confused. Or, the confusion overweighed the worry until he asked about the alarm on the French class’ phones. That’s when the worry began to take center stage. A supervillian? In Paris? For almost two years? Why was the League not informed? 

“Um, would you like to watch the battle, Monsieur Wayne?” A blonde boy asks, holding his phone out and rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous fashion. Bruce studies the boy for a moment and recognizes him as the one who hugged Miss Dupain Cheng the day prior. His daughter. Who is currently living in a city with a supervillain and no League intervention. Nodding, Bruce takes the phone and watches the battle, his horror growing. There was one hero, rushing around the scene, one of her pigtails singed and soot covering her face. What the hell kind of villain was this? And why did the hero look so small? Bruce flinches as the hero, Ladybug the comments called her, is thrown against a building roughly. He waits with baited breath until she stands back up, her face set in a grimace before she went on the offense with a vengenace. 

“Who is this villain? I’ve never heard of them?” Bruce asks Adrien, not bothering to look away from the fight. 

“I don’t know this one’s name, Akumas all have different names and powers.” Adrien replies. Bruce’ gaze snaps up to meet Adrien’s as his blood runs cold. All. As in, multiple. 

“How many villains?” He asks, thankful that his newly discovered daughter is currently in Gotham instead of Paris, a sentiment he never expected with the crime rates of his beloved city. 

“Oh, there’s only one villain. Hawkmoth. Akumas are just people who’ve had a bad day.” Adrien explains as if it’s a simple concept. 

“And what does that mean?” Bruce asks, feeling frustration creep into his neutral posture. 

“It means that what you’re seeing right now is a normal citizen who’s being controlled. Hawkmoth…. He has the power to control anyone who shows an extreme negative emotion. Heartbreak, anger, sadness, lonelines, anything negative can be used against you. We, Paris that is, don’t blame those who were akumatized. They can’t even remember what they did when they were under his control. It wouldn’t be fair to hold them accountable.” Adrien explains, and Bruce can’t help the feeling of complete and total helplessness that rushes over him. If he went to Paris, even with the intention of helping the hero in order to protect his daughter, he could become an even bigger obstacle. He could hurt her. He could hurt others. 

“Is that why the Justice League isn’t there?” Bruce asks, slightly amused at Adrien’s face rapidly changing from understanding to shocked. 

“I-um, probably? If you want more information, miraculousparis.org or the Ladyblog would be your best places for information.” Adrien offers. Bruce nods, mentally making a note to check out those sites later. 

“Very well. Thank you. I hope the rest of your trip to Gotham is enjoyable.” Bruce says, careful not to slip into a threatening tone. The boy hadn’t done anything to him, and while he might want to play the protective father, he knew it wasn’t his right. Not yet, anyways. Now he had a supervillain to destroy from behind the scenes. 

---

Opening a portal into her hotel room, Marinette sighs tiredly. The battle had been tiring, especially since she was on her own. Chat Noir had some kind of trip that he couldn’t get out of and had aplogized endlessly for it. She had reassured him that she could do it, but now… she knew she could do it but she really missed her partner. Letting both transformations drop, she sighs, relieved that the odd number of girls in their class allowed her to have her own room. Until a gasp filled her ears. She instantly shifts into a fighting position, shoulders tense as she stares at-

“Adrien?!” She yells in shock and confusion. What was he doing? In her hotel room? Without her? How did he even get a key? How was she supposed to explain this? Well, he did know the basics from his time as Aspik but-

“But you’re Multimouse!” Adrien yells before clapping his hand over his mouth, his cheeks instantly turning red. Marinette’s eyes widen. 

“How do you know about that?” She asks, panic rushing through her system. 

“Oh my god.” Adrien says, his eyes widening as he glances from Marinette to Tikki and back again. “Oh my god.”

“Please don’t tell anyone! I know you don’t owe me anything, but I just really don’t know if I can handle being the center of attention and then my family would be in danger and I know they wouldn’t approve because it’s dangerous and I-”

“THE TWO GIRLS I HAVE A CRUSH ON ARE THE SAME GIRL?” Adrien says, his eyes wide as he cuts off her rambling. 

“I- wait what?” Marinette sputters, completely shocked at this turn of events. 

“Well I’ve had a crush on Ladybug for forever and then like a month ago, I was talking to Plagg about how mad it made me that people weren’t listening to you and how hurt you were by the whole high road advice which was, honestly, not my best moment. And somehow, I started ranting about how pretty your eyes are and how kind and amazing you are and so then Plagg told me that that’s a crush, and I thought he was wrong. Until I saw you the next day and realized that he was right but then I felt bad because I felt like I was betraying Ladybug by having a crush on you instead, but Ladybug is you. Which makes sense, now that I think about it and-” Adrien’s cut off by Marinette covering his mouth with her hand, desperate to get him to stop talking. 

“Plagg?” She asks, jumping back from him as the Kwami flies out from Adrien’s pocket. 

“Good job kid, you broke pigtails.” He says, gesturing at Marinette who suddenly felt like the human version of the windows error screen. Could this trip get any weirder?

Next

Tag List: @vixen-uchiha @liquid-luck-00 @stainedglassm @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks 

[ptergwen]

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

-

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team. 

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

-

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

[arty-chase]

A Failed Betrothal (6)

Here is a new chapter for you guys. I am terrible at writing feelings and this is my best shot.😅 Tell me what you think.

[Masterlist]

(PART 1)(PART 5)

-------

(Words in bold is French)

“Tch, Drake is going to be busy trying to find Hawkmoth. He can’t go around Paris, being Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. Besides, he can’t be a proper boyfriend even in his most lucid moments. I will be her boyfriend instead.”

Tim was glad he didn’t take a sip of his coffee when Damian volunteered to be Marinette’s boyfriend. But he still choked on air. Jason with his limited knowledge of french was confused. Damian didn’t do what he heard, right?

“No, you can’t. Chloe already told them about Tim. If I come in with a different boyfriend, they would get suspicious. We can work on Hawkmoth while we go on those dates. Besides, I thought you don’t like me. That’s not going to sell the image of a loving couple.” Marinette pointed out. (She also doesn’t want to do this fake-date thing. Not because she likes Damian and she had always been a goner for green eyes and totally would be date him if it weren’t for some stupid curse dictating her feelings for him and fake-dating him might get her catch feelings for him and she would get her heart broken when this is all over and she would stay single forever and be a lonely old lady with hamsters and cats for company.)

“Actually, Mari-bug, I only told the class how romantic your boyfriend is. I never told them what he looked like. Just in case, Timothy couldn’t make it. I have back-up favors to cash in.” Chloe explained.

Marinette didn’t even know why she was surprised at that, this was Chloe after all.

“You have more than one American boy around our age in your debt who you intend to be my boyfriend? Sounds like you, Queenie. So that also means that Damian doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.”

“My offer still stands. I will be your ‘boyfriend’ before I have to go back. I will be more understanding than those other American boys when you have to rush out for an attack. That is to assume that they can come here or agree. In our initial meeting, I didn’t like that weak girl act you put up. Recent events have made me realize that you are a much stronger person. (Careful Damian, that sounds like a compliment.) You are a decent partner to date.(Shit. Shit. Shit. That wasn’t a compliment, right?)”

Damian couldn’t see why Dupain-Cheng would refuse such a good deal. He supposed her feelings might be still hurt from his first impression of her. He would give her an apology when they are alone and away from his brothers who would make a big deal of it.

“Fine. At least, the curse will at least make this fake couple thing more believable.” grumbled Marinette. The light pink blush on her face is not because he said she was someone he would date.

Oh right, the curse. He swore internally, it had possessed him to be Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. He now would have to endure the hand-holding, kissing and staring into each other’s eyes, and try to resist the curse which will be much harder now. Somehow, he didn’t regret it a little bit. It sounds more bearable with him doing those things with her than her with Drake. This was just a mutual agreement to ward off her suitors and prove to her classmates that she was off the market.

Chloe clapped her hands,“If we have everything sorted out, you can start being a good boyfriend by walking Marinette to school today. We want to be on time now.”

The others started packing up their stuff or finished what they were eating. Marinette was dragged out of the bakery by an impatient Damian. Chloe and Alix picked up what Marinette left behind and followed out. The rest soon left right after, leaving the two boys in the bakery.

“Hey, Replacement, tell me if I am wrong but did Demon Spawn willingly ask a girl out?” Jason asked, stealing a croissant from Tim.

“Try making himself the perfect candidate to be her fake boyfriend out of many choices, including me, and get her to agree to it. Now he has to go on a few romantic dates with Marinette in order to ward off this really pushy guy in her class. Demon Spawn also has a crush on her and he’s in denial of it. We are not hallucinating either. I’ve checked.” Tim replied, sipping his coffee.

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“Damian. Let go. Hey, Wayne, are you listening to me? Let me go. This is not how you treat your significant other. And you are not even going in the right direction.” Marinette all but yelled at him.

He released his grip on her. “My apologies for manhandling you but I wanted to tell you this away from everybody else.”

“What?” She asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

I- This is a little difficult to say for me,” Damian started. (Why were his palms sweaty? It’s just an apology. He had done it before although it was mostly because Grayson told him what he did wrong and made him do it.) “But I am sorry for calling you weak, pathetic and every other bad thing I have said about you when you have shown that you are anything but those. I was mad at myself for being caught and took it out on you.”

Her glare softened.

“Apologies accepted. The school is this way.” She said with a smile and went towards the school. Damian walked by her side, his hands in his pockets.

Marinette looked at where his hands were, “If we are going to do this fake dating thing, I suggest we hold hands.”

Damian grabbed her hand and continued walking in silence. Her hands were so small and fitted perfectly in his. Oh God, it’s the curse again. Turning him into a sap. Do not think about her hands. And the fact that she took down a man twice her size with them which was an amazing sight to watch.

“Why are you so stiff? Loosen up a little. You are with the love of your life. Smile a little.”

Damian plastered on a fake smile, “Happy?”

“It looks fake. Being a model he will be able to tell.” Marinette remarked, “Are you sure you want to do this? We can still go get Tim to be my boyfriend.”

“I can do this. Drake wouldn’t be a better choice. It doesn’t help that you are relentlessly nit-picking me. Or are you that bad of a girlfriend?” Damian couldn’t help but sniped back. “Maybe that’s why Chat Noir left you.”

He found himself back against the world and her elbow at his neck. (He would forever deny that he liked it.)

“Look here, Wayne. You know nothing about me and you shouldn’t assume that you do. Chat Noir was revoked of his status as a hero for his behaviour. If you don’t act the part properly, I am going to have my former partner, who has absolutely no sense of boundaries, harassing me in my civilian life and I have already dealt enough of his advances to last a lifetime. I have given you so many chances to get out of this which you refused and yet, you are half-assing it. So are you in this 100 percent or not? Because I am at the end of my patience right now.”

“The boy who is obsessed with you is the former Chat Noir?”

“Yes, I will explain about that later but what’s your answer?”

“I will give it my best shot but I have never pretended to be in love.”

“Were you not taught in the League?”

“There were seduction tactics shown to members when they were old enough and I left them when I was 10 but I am not sure if those skills can be applied here.”(Slamming your opponent against the wall wasn’t one of them but she was doing a great job of it so far. No. No. No. He is not his father. This is different from whatever he has with Kyle.)

She released her hold on him and grabbed his hand, leading him towards her school.

“Well then, here are the basics. Everytime you look at me, just think of your favourite things to make your smile a little more genuine. Maybe call me by a pet name if you want. Keep your touch on me like you can’t keep your hands off of me and act really reluctant when you have to let go. You will only keep them my shoulders, arms, hands and waist or I will break your hand. I will do the same. If you are going to have to kiss me, give me a warning.” He looked into her blue eyes and nodded.

“Alright.”

“Oh. I almost forgot. In case they try to question our relationship. My favourite colour is red. My favourite song is ‘Fearless’ by Jagged Stone.(I love Taylor. Sue me) And we met online a few months ago. You came all the way to Paris to see me a month ago and asked me out. We will talk more that later. Oh, I also love designing and have dreams of being a famous fashion designer.-”

Marinette rambled on which Damian found a little endearing. He looked forward to knowing more about her. He added a few comments here or there about himself (because it was only fair.) and ways to improve their cover story about their relationship.

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

“We are nearly at school. Let’s start the act, Romeo.” Marinette whispered at him and looked at him with a bright smile that brought a tiny smile to his face. Okay, maybe he liked Marinette a little bit but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with her.

He moved her hand holding his to the crook of his elbow.

“Is this acceptable, my lady?”

She wrinkled her nose, (Adorable. No. Don’t go there) “This is fine. But can you not call me that? And princess too? I may have erased his memories as Chat Noir but it could be a trigger to bring them back.”

“Understandable. What about Malak?”

She blushed. Marinette had learned Arabic a while back and was very fluent in the language.

“It’s okay.” She said in a soft voice. She put her other hand on his bicep and leaned on his shoulder.

“You don’t look like a touchy-feely person so is this fine?”

“Yes.”

“Cool, let me tell you more about the atrocious lies that had passed her mouth.”

They walked into the school courtyard, arm-in-arm, for the entire school, especially Marinette’s class, to see. The perfect picture of a loving couple. Marinette’s blush from earlier was evident on her face, leaving no room for doubt about her new relationship status. (Many guys, gals and pals were upset over it.) As they both walked up the stairs, whispering and laughing about who knows what (gulliable and idiotic classmates they have to suffer learning with), two pairs of green eyes followed them.

In this case, the saying ‘green-eyed monsters’ was true. One was envious of the boy who held the girl he wanted in his arms and the other was envious of the attention the couple was receiving.

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

Damian escorted Marinette to her class. He gave her a kiss on her cheek and said, loud enough for the class to hear, “Bye, Malak. I will pick you up after school for our date.”

“B-bye, Damian.”

He took her hand, gave a kiss to the back of it and departed, leaving a very red-faced Marinette behind. The rest of the class parted the way as Damian walked past.

She rushed into her seat where Chloe sat beside it, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“Sooooo, Mari-bug, how was your date? You two rushed out of there so quickly and left your stuff behind. So eager to spend time with your boyfriend, eh? You enjoyed it very much by the looks of it.”

“Sorry about that, Chloe. Did you bring my bag and the cheese danishes?” Marinette tried to change the topic. And she also wanted to make sure a god of destruction doesn’t go hungry and angsty during school. “Yep, here you go,” Chloe said, handing Marinette her bag and a box of cheese-flavoured snacks for Plagg, “Your mom packed some for you.”

“Marinette. Where have you been the last two days? And you came back with a boy. I am honestly worried about your behaviour.” Lila played the concerned classmate wonderfully.

“Yeah, Marinette. This is a new low, even for you.” Alya added.

Marinette readied herself to tell the cover story Damian and her worked out on the way here.

“Lila, I appreciate your ‘concern’. But the last four days have been a little hard on me so excuse me if I am a little snappy today. You see, Damian disappeared and didn’t return home after school on Friday. So when he didn’t pick up for our weekly video call, I panicked and called his family and they told me what happened. They sent me a plane to get out of Paris so I can’t get akumatized.”

“Was that why you were gone on Saturday?” Chloe asked, playing along although she already knew why Marinette wasn’t in Paris the last four days.

“Yeah. Sorry for not telling you guys. It was sorta last minute. Thankfully, he wasn’t kidnapped actually. His biological mother picked him up but never told his father that she was taking him. I just came back last night. Dami followed me to make sure I am okay.”

“What a bunch of bullcrap.” Alya said, “I don’t believe you.”

Oh. The irony... “Alya, I don’t care if you do. My life is my own business. So keep your nosy nose out of it. Your opinions don’t matter to me anymore, stranger.” Marinette internally was tired of this silly routine and wanted this to end already.

Alya wanted to pick a fight with her over the smallest things she did for the past months. She wondered why her former best friend hated her this much.

“Lila told me that you were skipping school and you paid an actor to be your pretend boyfriend.”

Pretending to not hear what Alya said, Marinette turned towards Chloe, “Hey, you never told me about how you met Tim. I can’t believe that you two are friends.”

“We met at one of those charity galas-”

“Hey, we were talking to you.” Alya cut her off. To which Chloe glared at the ombre-haired girl.

“I thought our conversation was done. What else am I supposed to say?”

Marinette was frustrated and hid that fact well, showing any reaction would give the game away. If she had reacted, it would further fuel the fire of Alya’s self-righteousness, making her believe that Marinette was somehow guilty of what Lila told her about. Lila managed to turn nearly the entire class against her by appealing to their ‘hero’ side and outbursts from Marinette and the others made them more sure of themselves of being in the right. It was so deep-rooted that nothing would sway them to logical reasoning. Maybe except Phase 2. Phase 1 was made a little easier when Talia kidnapped her and made her miss a few days of school.

Phase 2 was to not acknowledge the lies or just appear uninterested. It would illustrate the point that people don’t have to listen to them if they don’t want to. If possible, sow little seeds of doubt to the ones Lila had a looser grip on. The more people they can slowly get on their side, the better.

Alya was confused, usually Marinette would throw a ‘temper tantrum’ about how she didn’t do that and Lila lied.“I-, you should-, You should apologize to Lila.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, “For what this time?”

“For saying that she was lying.”

“Pray tell, when did in any of our conversations so far did I do that? I mean I don’t like the fact that she just accused me with little evidence of paying my someone to be my boyfriend but I am not going to fight with anyone over it. Maybe I did do that, Maybe I didn’t. Maybe there is a good reason I did those things. The thing is Lila should keep to her own business and I will keep to mine. And as should you. I know you are a reporter at heart but you should at the very least respect my privacy.”

Alya stayed silent, fuming. Everyone was looking at them now. She realized that the designer was right and if she pushed further, she would be the bad guy.

“I thought so. Now, go away. I have nothing else to say to you. Let Chloe finish her story of how she met Tim which you so rudely interrupted.”

“Who’s Tim?” Lila asked, wanting to know more about Marinette’s boyfriend to work on an angle to get him away from the ravenette.

“Mari-Bug’s boyfriend’s older brother. Now, shoo peasants, we are talking. Anyways, Mommy took me to when I was younger so I could mingle with all the other rich kids and get connections. Timothy was there and back then, he was still with the Drakes...”

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

Lila and Alya returned to their seats, both were visibly upset although Lila was seething inside. When Marinette was not at school for the last two days, the Italian thought that it was the last she had seen of her. Today, she showed up with a handsome boy on her arm and by the looks of his clothes, rich too. If she manages to get ‘Damian’ to break up with that pest and date her instead, then she would have a rich, handsome boyfriend devoted to her and that brat would be so heart-broken that an akuma so powerful would be made that even Ladybug won’t be able to defeat. A two for one deal. Lila started planning (scheming) to take her boyfriend away.

------

(Part 7)

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Edit: I am so sorry. I forget to add the taglist.

Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl, @henie04, @blueblossombliss, @khneltea, @mochegato, @itsmeevie01, @roguishredaxion, @alyssadeliv, @steph-hearthlight, @adrestar, @eliza-bich, @abrx2002, @hikari55ttva, @doglover82, @daminette5074, @moon5608,@justafanwarrior, @allis-sun, @animegirlweeb, @aespades, @corporeal-terrestrial, @mildlydeadly, @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl,

[cuddles-and-kisses]

So The Cat's Out Of The Bag,,,

Another fanfic for Agapito (an OC that belongs to @yandereaffections) The story starts under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,908 Trigger Warnings: Subtle yandereness, I can't think of any others

It’s 11 pm. I’ve been avoiding schoolwork all day and I’m in no rush to fix it. I've been writing fanfiction, of sorts, for the past 3 hours. On the bright side, the first draft is done! My back hurts from sitting so long while my butt hurts because I’ve sat on a wooden stool this long. I need to take a break but what to do? Oh, what to do? My weekly planner is wide open on a bookstand to my right. I could be productive, or I could keep avoiding them... So the planner is closed now. I’ve reorganized pens in a pen cup for the seventh time. Is there a limit to how many times a person can adjust a desk lamp before going insane? There has to be something else to do but what? As if on cue, my phone lights up with a text from my Baby. We’ve been official for 6 months so our dates are a lot more casual nowadays.

“Angel, I want attention. Unlock the back door” I’m aware it doesn’t seem like it but this is how he asks to come over. He won’t come over until I respond giving the green light. “Bold of you to assume I’m home and not partying at a random frat house” We both know I’m not doing jack at 11 pm on a Friday. Nonetheless, it’s fun to pretend I have a flourishing social life. “That’s cute. Back door please” Alright, now to get up and- ow, fuck, ouchie, ok, hold on. *POP* There we go!

I should probably pick my room up real quick. I made my bed earlier today so that’s not a problem. The svallerup rug from Ikea collects dirt a lot faster than I expected. Although would he really notice? It’s not bright in here. My dresser by the door looks fine. The futon is in couch mode, so there’s not much left I don’t have to clean up for him. In reality, I’m not cleaning for him, I just like having a clean room. The last thing I do is turn on the fairy lights above my head then light a vanilla candle. I know he’s coming over to cuddle or really do anything involving him getting affection. I might as well make my bedroom reflect that, right?

I half-jog upstairs to unlock our back door. Why the back door? It’s not because I love Jesus. Let me explain. The living room floor creaks way too loud. Also, my parent’s bedroom is right next to that door. The side door alerts our dogs to start pitching a fit. How can they hear it from the opposite side of our house? I may never be able to understand. Moonlight drifts halfway across the backroom. Sparse nightlights cover the remaining needed light. I flick on the backdoor lights followed by opening a few blinds to let more light in. Their orange glow overpowers the moonlight near the backdoor.

For whatever reason, the moon is far brighter tonight. Or my pupils are hella dilated because I’m thinking about my Baby. Either way, moonlight dusts over parts of the backroom and kitchen ahead of me. One last light to turn on. An LED light above our kitchen sink smashes through most surrounding darkness, making it almost impossible to see into the living room. White cabinets outline our kitchen. None of the cabinets match each other in this house. It’s as if this house was built in parts instead of planned out from the start. The counter is occupied with things you’d expect; a bread box, knife set, fruit basket, coffee pot, and an air fryer. Yet, there's evidence real people live here. Crumbs from a snack, mail by the fruit basket, half-empty coffee pot, as well as children’s toys forgotten all about

Everyone else is snuggled up in warm beds, sleeping. I can pick out each person’s snoring pattern when they poke through tonight’s ambiance. There are moments where quiet feels like serenity, others where it feels like emptiness. I can’t decide which one I’m feeling because I realize I’m about to have a visitor. A cup of coffee sounds like the perfect way to waste a few minutes while waiting for my lover.

Coffee cup out of the overhead cabinet. A coffee spoon from beside the coffee pot. Fake sugar off the shelves. Room temperature coffee in the pot from this morning. French vanilla coffee creamer out of the fridge. And just like that, a proper cup of coffee is served. Light reflects off the glossy coating painted over our pale coffee cups. Mom considers it a priority to have everything match or look cohesive. Appearing put together is a source of pride for her. A cup is a cup however matching cups make her happy. My ears perk up at hearing his tires pulling into the driveway. My coffee creamer swirls in the cup as he walks up the driveway. The coffee spoon clings against the inside of my coffee cup simultaneously with the creak of our back gate. All that’s left is to wash off this week’s coffee spoon then put it back. I have only a few more seconds until my Love is with me again. I’m a sappy and hopeful romantic for him, get off my back. He’s learned how to silently open the back door and if I didn’t have good peripheral vision, I would’ve yelped.

Intimate hands snake around my hips as a tender kiss is pressed against my neck. I can feel the tender smile tugging at his lips after the kiss, he had a really good day? His body is pressed against mine as he murmurs “Honey, I’m home~” behind my ear; earning a soft chuckle from me. I turn to face him, wrap my arms around his neck, and greet him with a deep kiss. This time on the lips. “Welcome home, my Love.” He’s so close to me, I can smell the cigarette he had on his way over here. The absence of alcohol or weed stench affirms he didn’t have a bad day at work. I can’t wait until these interactions become a daily occurrence. This man is breathtaking under normal circumstances; but, under the glimmer of moonlight,,, I can’t form a single thought while looking at him. The raw admiration and love this man holds in his eyes? Who could stand a chance against him? Not me. Wrong choice.

His hands linger along the sides of my hips. I hold his arms in an attempt to keep him close to me, just a little longer. “I brought you a few things. I’ll go set them on your desk.” He knows gifts aren’t my thing in spite of that he claims I deserve the entire universe. I breathed out, “Ok, I’ll be down in a minute,” then started moving to get my coffee cup, as well as a few snacks to bring downstairs. He starts heading downstairs content with how flustered I am. WAIT A FLUFFING MINUTE THE FANFICTION IS ABOUT HIM!! I whisper yell ‘Baby’ until his head pops back around the corner. I threaten him to not touch or look at my laptop. It was a pathetic attempt considering what he does for a living. In my defense, I tried. I forgot he’s in essence an overgrown teenager who will do the exact opposite of what he’s told. Wanna know what he does? Grin. I’m so fucked.

Agapito dashes downstairs and leaves me in unadulterated fear. I’m frozen in place, trying to come to terms with my fate as his footsteps fade. It’s not smut or anything, just a simple night and morning routine imagining that we lived together. This is going to be so embarrassing. Please spare me this treacherous fate and undying embarrassment. Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Get your coffee then snacks then, simply, accept what’s just happened.

With arms full of snacks, I shut my bedroom door as gingerly as I can. Setting the cup on the dresser right by the door to make this a little easier. He’s standing at my computer, reading through the last page. Oh hey, he brought me Rolo’s as well as 3 Musketeers. Nice! Oh wait, he’s done reading. His shoulders aren’t tense; his breathing hasn’t changed; all the same, he’s just standing there. “Why did you write this out instead of doing it?” That’s a good question tbh. My Baby’s voice sounds hurt, despite that, he’s trying to hide it. Ok, he needs a hug. Now to throw the snack on the bed. He needs a rib-crushing hug and you bet your butt I’ll be the one to deliver. I tug at his elbow so he’ll face me then pull him into me. His shoulders are right under my chin when we’re facing each other. I bury my face in his neck while my arms hug him as tight as I can. Except why is he upset about this?

His love for me is nothing to scoff at. He loves me the same way he wanted to be loved when he was younger. We’ve figured out he’s catching up from his pre-teen years and onward. So about 13 years without a stable romantic relationship. When he was trying to court me I had to call him out all the time for manipulation. I know he’s terrified I’ll think he’s not good enough. He has episodes of frantic attempts to meet all of my needs, even if it’s not asked for or needed. What is going through his head? Does he feel like he’s not good enough? That he’s not loving me enough so I have to turn to a fictional version of him? Does he think he’s not good enough for me to do this stuff with him? None of those are true, obviously. I explicitly stated that in the story he just read. It doesn’t mean he won’t get stuck inside his head. I need to tell him the truth. Even if I wanted to lie, I couldn’t, he’s a finely-tuned human lie detector. One more deep breath. Squeeze him a little tighter. Look him in his eyes and come clean.

“The reason I didn’t just act these out is because, I didn’t know how to ask for it.” His expression shifts from confused hurt to understanding. I start rambling, “I want to have these experiences with you. I’d give anything to have that life with you but we've only been dating for 6 months and I just, wasn’t sure, how to phrase it.” I’m choking on my own pulse from emotions. I realize I was shifting my weight left to right when he pulls me in for another hug and kisses my forehead. We stand there in each other’s embrace for a few moments before he suggests I come to his house tomorrow night. We both know what he’s suggesting. I can’t help but adamantly agree. Excitement zips through my body thinking about tomorrow night. A smile pulls at my lips as I ask, “Do you mind if I wear this shirt tomorrow night?”

Tonight is about Netflix, snacks, and rediscovering the curves and contours of each other’s bodies. Though, not before I mess up his hair while calling him a butthead. It’s evident his insecurities are still tugging at him. Funny enough, his insecurities forgot they’re fighting against me for his attention.

[tanzaniiite]

ROAD TRIP • SEIJOH THIRD YEARS

requests: OPEN

warnings: cursing & stupid high school antics

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this idea has been on my noggin for so long omg, enjoy!

please reblog and reply, engagement is both fun & important ✨

[not edited]

this was fun, should i do more fics like this?

“Ugh, are we there yet?”

Oikawa whined looking out the window with a forlorn look as if he was in a music video. You glanced at Iwaizumi, who was at the wheel, snickering slightly as you saw his eye twitch in annoyance. The five of you decided to take a road trip, sort of like a last hurrah, for your last year of high school.

This originally started as a small trip that was planned on senior ditch day but Matsun and Makki wanted to do a road trip. And so, senior ditch day morphed into senior ditch weekend. Of course, none of your parents approved this, so you guys were in for an earful when you returned. But as Hanamaki stated, when you got a screaming voicemail from your guardian, “Live in the moment, worry about that later”. And despite that being terrible advice, you listened anyway.

The destination of your little road trip is Tokyo which was a five to six hour drive. Some might say that’s not too long but traveling with Oikawa it feels like an eternity. He was already complaining. That was mainly because he was upset that you got shotgun and he didn’t. Originally you planned on sitting in the back with the disaster duo but Hajime insisted you sit in the front with him. Something about you being the most tolerable. Iwaizumi was obviously the driver because he’s the most responsible out of you five. It’s weird to think you guys just planned this trip just a week prior.

“So what are we doing for senior ditch day?”

You asked setting your tray down and sitting in between Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Issei just scoffed lightly, “I dunno what you’re doing but I’m sleeping” He answered. Takahiro laughed in agreement. “Probably practicing” Tooru replied. You pouted at their lame responses, “Hajime please tell me you have better plans than these losers” You pleaded. Iwaizumi looked up from his notes, “Uh, I don’t know, I’m probably going to come to school” He shrugged ignoring your disgusted face.

“I know y’all are not serious. This is the last year we’re going to be together like this, we should do something memorable”

You declared crossing your arms over your chest glaring at your friends. “Ew, you sound like Oikawa, getting all sentimental and shit” Makki quipped popping a french fry in his mouth. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully. Oikawa hummed, “I mean they do have a point, let’s do something we’ll remember for years to come”. “Whatever, I guess I’m down” Matsukawa added rolling his eyes. The four of you looked at Iwaizumi, who mentally checked out of the conservation a while ago, waiting for his answer. “Count me out, my parents will kill me if I skipped school” He responded, causing the lot of you to groan. “Ugh, can you not be an upstanding student for like two seconds” You huffed leaning your head in your hand. Now the brunette looked up, “You guys know how my parents are, especially you Shittykawa” He stated, pointing his pencil at the setter. “Yeah yeah, we know how your parents are. Y/n’s parents are just as bad” Issei voiced.

You couldn’t help but internally groan, you remember how your guardians reacted when you brought the four boys to your house. “Don’t remind me. Senior Ditch Day is on a Friday, we barely do anything as is since it’s the end of the year” You said, “plus, you’re the only one of us that drives decently” You stated mustering up your best puppy dog eyes. Hajime looked at you before answering, “Fine, but if I get in trouble. You guys will be the ones talking to my parents”. And from there, the planning commenced.

Currently, you guys were only an hour out of Miyagi. Issei was already knocked out, Hanamaki was on his phone and Oikawa was sulking as per usual. “If you ask me if we’re there yet, one more time, I’ll have Makki push you out the car” He threatened his eyes never leaving the road. “Makki wouldn’t do that to me” Tooru claimed which caused ‘Hiro to snort. “Shut up, you know I will” He stated not even bothering to look up from his phone. Oikawa let out a dramatic gasp, “But we’re going 85 miles an hour on a highway!” He exclaimed. “Did I stutter?” Takahiro mumbled, still not paying any attention to his captain’s dramatics.

This was going to be a long four hours.

You woke up leaning against something super warm, you opened your eyes taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in the front anymore, from what you could see, it looked like Oikawa got his wish of riding shotgun. You sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “Oh, good morning sleeping beauty” Oikawa teased. You were too sleepy and disoriented to come up with a witty comeback.

“Why.. why is Issei driving?”

That’s when you noticed Iwaizumi was the warm surface you were leaning against moments before. “I got tired of driving, we stopped at a gas station and switched places” Hajime explained noticing your confused face, “and you were sleeping so we moved you to the back”. You realized that not only were you leaning against Iwa but your legs were propped up on Makki’s lap. You nodded slightly, still tired despite waking up from a nap. “We spoil them rotten, don’t we?” ‘Hiro commented pinching your thigh causing you to whine slightly. “Shut up” You mumbled leaning into Iwaizumi’s side once again making him chuckle. Matsukawa looked at you through the rearview mirror,

“That’s right, Y/n gets all grumpy when they’re tired”

“Issei… focus on not crashing the car, not on me”

Oikawa let out a low whistle, “Woah, catty much?” He asked rhetorically laughing slightly. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, how much farther?” You asked closing your eyes. Hajime glanced at his phone, “Two more hours” He replied. Tooru made a choked noise before turning around to face his childhood best friend. “Uh! They ask you if we’re there and get an answer, but when I ask, I get threatened?!” The brunette cried his eyebrows furrowing. The ace rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause they’re not fucking annoying about it” He retorted. You pointed at Oikawa while laughing at his shocked face causing him to pout and crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Uh oh, I think it’s Oikawa’s turn for a nap” Makki joked. Matsun hummed in agreement, “Yup, Y/n gets grumpy and Oikawa gets bratty” He laughed.

“Ugh whatever, at least I don’t snore like a chainsaw”

“Says the man who can’t sleep in any other position besides fetal”

“Dude shut up! It’s comfortable!”

Iwaizumi sighed, already knowing this petty argument wouldn’t end anytime soon. He looked down at you, “Who are you messaging?” Hajime inquired, peering at your phone. “No one, just some first years in my DMs” You hummed noncommittally. “You still leading those poor kids on?” Hanamaki asked. Glancing at Makki you pursed your lips, “I’m not leading them on… I’m just entertaining the antics” You replied smiling innocently and batting your eyelashes. “Yo, remember when that one first year confessed to you in the middle of lunch?” Issei asked slowing at a red light. You sat up suddenly, “Oh my god yes! That was so embarrassing!” You exclaimed. “You were embarrassed? Imagine the kid when you rejected him” Iwaizumi countered raising an eyebrow. “The second-hand embarrassment was strong on that one” Takahiro agreed, “Y/n’s a heartbreaker,” He said shaking his head.

You gasped, “I’m not! I’m just not interested in people like three years younger than me” You explained defending yourself. “Well, your choices are limited, since all the people in our grade are scared of us for whatever reason” Tooru stated with his eyes closed and head leaning on the window, looking like he would clonk out soon. “Yeah cause y’all are intimidating as fuck” You claimed. Issei chuckled, “Mm, yeah we kinda are” He admitted. “If they really liked you, they wouldn’t be scared to confess” Hajime shrugged. You smiled widely, “Ok king! My fault” You laughed giving him a high five. “Wait but if we’re so intimidating how come girls are always throwing their panties at Oikawa” Hanamaki questioned.

“Cause he’s not the intimidating one, it’s mainly Iwa and Matsun”

“Matsun is not intimidating, he looks out of it half of the time”

“Not out of it, more like zooted”

You quipped, laughing when Issei playfully glared at you through the rearview mirror. “Bro, remember when Kindaichi found out we were going on this trip and asked to come?” Takahiro laughed. “Stop! Y’all are so mean to him” You said kicking Makki slightly with your foot. Matsukawa snorted, “No cause what did he expect us to say, “Sure buddy you can come!” Like dude nooo,” He mocked laughing loudly. You bit your lip in an effort to not laugh, “Stop this Kindaichi slander at once” You demanded holding back your own giggles. “Okay Y/n, are you saying that you would’ve said yes if he asked you?” The wing spiker inquired giving you a look. “Well.. no—” You started. “Exactly! You’re just as bad as us” Issei interjected.

“No, I am not! You two literally looked at each other and busted out laughing, you didn’t even answer the poor boy”

“Sorry… it was funny”

“That shit was hilarious”

Hajime cleared his throat, “Is Trashykawa sleeping? Haven’t heard him talk in a while” He asked drawing shapes into your shoulder absentmindedly. Matsun glanced at his friend who was definitely passed out against the window. “Yeah, he’s gone” The middle blocker responded.

“Should we draw on his face?”

…

“Oh absolutely”

The car was fairly silent now, you guys were nearing the end of your road trip and it was later in the day. The sky was littered with reds and oranges as the sun started its daily routine. The sunset was bold, radiant, and just plain mesmerizing, you couldn’t help but stare in awe. You sighed inwardly, “I’m gonna miss you guys” You uttered looking out the window. Your four guy friends looked at each other before looking at you. Iwaizumi spoke up first, “What’s there to miss? We’re not going anywhere” He asked. “I know that but who knows when the next time we’ll do something like this?” You whispered refusing to look at them because you knew you would start crying if you did. Hanamaki nudged your foot with his hand, “Y/n stop being such a baby, we’ll still see each other—” He started before you interrupted.

“That’s not the point stupid. We’re all going our own separate ways. Iwaizumi’s going to school in America, Oikawa’s going to fucking Argentina, and we’re all going to different colleges. This sucks ass, I finally have a group of friends I love and now I have to leave them—”

“Hey, what did we just say? We’re not going anywhere. So what if we’re going down different paths? Holidays exist Y/n, you think Iwaizumi and Oikawa are gonna stay in America and Argentina all year round? Plus me and Makki’s colleges are not that far from yours, I could probably walk if I wanted to. Now stop sulking, you’re bringing down the mood”

Issei stated his eyes never once drifting from the road. You sniffed and leaned into Hajime’s side more, “Jeez, sorry” You mumbled playing with your fingers. If the car wasn’t quiet before, it sure was now. No one knew what to say, it seemed too early to make a joke about it and it was a conversation none of you were ready to have. But despite not being ready, Oikawa still voiced his opinion nevertheless,

“Well would you look at that, Y/n really does love us. And I thought you hated me”

You snorted, “I do hate you” You teased making a face at him which he gladly returned. But his demeanor suddenly became serious,

“Adding on to what Mattsun said, we’re not leaving forever Y/n. Graduation is like three months away, we still have time to hang out plus we have the summer so there’s that. I know you love us and can’t possibly live without us but I think you’ll manage”

You blinked in response to Oikawa’s little spiel, “You are so corny” You huffed looking down so he wouldn’t notice the small tears in your eyes.

“Ah! So when I do it it’s corny, what about that whole pitch Matsun did?!”

“Hey, I wasn’t corny. I was being real”

“Please, as if, you were just being mean”

“It’s called tough love, it isn’t made for softies”

Watching the two of them go back and forth once again was entertaining. And when Makki and Iwaizumi joined in, it was just one hundred times better. But seeing your best friends interact with one another just made you realize how much you love them. And although this may be your guy’s last high school adventure, it wasn’t going to your last endeavor with this crazy bunch. You smiled slightly to yourself,

“Man, I really do love you guys”

tanzaniiite © 2021 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[dilly-oh]

Haircare no Jutsu

He’s wearing the red hair-tie today, Kakashi noted with satisfaction, walking down the hallway behind Iruka. An excellent choice. It perfectly accentuated the subtle reddish tones in his hair, highlighting them to perfection. His ponytail bounced with every step, the strands gleaming in the sun-rays cast through the nearby window.

Kakashi had been obsessed with Iruka’s hair for longer than he cared to admit. But hey, everyone had their quirks, especially Jounin. At least his didn’t involve green spandex and dazzling teeth. He was practically normal compared to the others.

He daydreamed about Iruka’s hair constantly, imagining running his fingers through the silken strands, pressing his face against them to smell their subtle scent. He imagined pulling Iruka's hair free from that cruel hair tie, brushing it till it gleamed, then separating it into three portions and twisting them into a thick braid. No, wait, a French one? He couldn’t decide. Still lost in internal debate, he walked closely behind Iruka, eyes glued to his hair.

Which is why he failed to see the loose tile jutting out of the floor in front of him.

Now, the Copy-nin of Konoha, feared by countless enemies and Missing-Nin alike, did not trip.

He merely attacked the loose tile with his toe, lurched forward for a better stance, wind-milled his arms about wildly to ward off any incoming attacks from enemies, and face-planted into the nearest object.

Which happened to be Iruka’s ponytail.

One time, while on an A-rank mission to Suna, Kakashi, half-dead from chakra exhaustion, had accidentally fallen into a patch of prickly cactuses.

This was worse than that.

Iruka’s ponytail was not soft and silky, fragrant and luxurious as he’d dared to dream. It was like a briar patch, bristly as hell, the strands broken and split and dry as a bone. Kakashi counted himself lucky his hitai-ate was covering one eye already so he only had to worry about losing the other one. This close, he could see the horrible split ends and flakes of dandruff with awful detail.

“Yeeeoooowch!!”

The cry echoed through the hallway, reverberating off the walls. Several heads poked out of doors to stare curiously, caught sight of Iruka’s face, and retreated.

“That’s my line,” Iruka grumbled, turning to confront him while rubbing the back of his head gingerly. “What the hell was that about?” Kakashi just gaped at him for a long moment, aghast, his hopes and dreams crumbling before him.

“Good God! Is my face bleeding?!” he blurted aloud.

“It’s about to be if you don’t start explaining yourself,” Iruka snapped back irritably, crossing his arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“It felt like I fell on a wad of steel wool!” Kakashi cried. “What the hell kind of hair product do you use?! Bar soap?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Iruka huffed at him. Kakashi felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life. “I use my three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body-wash.” The glimmer of hope promptly whimpered, curled up, and died.

“Alright. That’s it. I’m confiscating this,” Kakashi said, twirling the red hair-band around his pinky finger. Iruka’s hair immediately flopped down around his face, sticking out in all directions like an unkempt bird’s nest and further destroying every one of Kakashi’s secret fantasies.

“Hey!” Iruka cried in outrage, shoving his hair aside. “Give that back!”

“You’ll get it back when you learn to treat your hair better.”

“Whatever, I have like three more,” Iruka snorted, rolling his eyes. He reached into his pockets, searching for a few moments, then frowned in confusion. “What the…?” He looked up to see Kakashi twiddling his fingers at him, each digit encircled by a colored band. “When- how did you- give those back!”

“Oh, I will,” Kakashi assured him, “but I have some…demands.”

“You’re holding my hair-ties ransom. You’re unbelievable.”

“Firstly, you-”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“-let me wash your hair,” Kakashi finished.

“Ew. Why?” Iruka made a face. “That’s just an excuse to get me naked, you creep.” Kakashi huffed impatiently.

“You don’t have to get naked, just take your shirt off-”

“And then I’m already halfway there. Forget it.”

“-and then I’ll bend you over the bathroom sink and-”

“I SAID FORGET IT!” Iruka exploded, his face flushing a near-match of his hair-tie. “I have two jobs! I spend all day at the Academy babysitting children who are trying to kill each other, and then all night at the Mission Desk babysitting Jounin trying to kill each other. I don’t have time for stupid things like treating my hair with the ninja art of deep conditioning.”

“Then you’re not getting your hair-ties back,” Kakashi said with finality, squaring his shoulders.

“You know what? Keep them.” Iruka turned away in a huff. “I’ll just go buy more.” And with that, he stormed away. Kakashi narrowed his eyes.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, hands flashing quickly in a series of signs. Several clones puffed into existence and with a short word, dispersed on their newest mission.

---

“The HELL do you mean, out of stock?!” Iruka shouted at the store clerk in outrage. The man flinched back in fear, cowering behind the counter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ninja, sir, but someone came in not five minutes ago and bought the whole lot of hair-ties,” he babbled. “Every single one! We won’t be getting more in another shipment until-”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Iruka cut him off, mind working furiously. “I’ll take… rubber bands. String. I don’t care, I’ll buy it.”

The clerk simply stared at him in mute horror, eyes wide. Iruka sighed.

“…They bought all of those, too, didn’t they?”

“…Yes, yes they did.”

Iruka paused, a sudden suspicion dawning on him.

“This person didn’t happen to have ridiculous silver hair and a mask, did they?”

The eyes went even wider, threatening to pop out. “Please don’t kill me,” the clerk whispered.

“Calm down, it’s not your fault. I’ll just…” Iruka chewed on his lip, mentally mapping out Konoha and his other prospects. “I’ll try elsewhere. Thank you.”

But it was the same story at every shop in Konoha.

So Iruka changed tactics. Not that it made any difference.

It didn’t matter who he begged one off of (Anko, Ino, even Shikamaru, who rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough already), within five minutes it had either magically disappeared or snapped for no reason and his hair flopped back down over his eyes, prickly and annoying- not that Kakashi had a point or anything.

Even his own home wasn’t safe. Iruka didn’t know how, but someone had snuck in and removed everything that could even potentially serve as a hair tie, even rags and bandages. Iruka suspected Kakashi had won over Naruto with promises of all-you-can-eat ramen. He had half a mind to bring his complaint to the Hokage herself, before realizing she would probably find it hilarious and cackle like a loon for hours. So, no. Better to just deal with it himself.

---

Iruka was a hard man to break, Kakashi would give him that. After a whole week of this charade and no sign of the sensei’s resolve weakening, he’d earned his respect. But it couldn’t last forever. He had to give up at some point. Everyone had their limit. Kakashi smirked, raising a hand to study the red band still wrapped around his pinky. Yes, any minute now…

“I’m not going to break, so piss off!” Iruka shouted from inside his apartment. Kakashi, who’d been sitting on the roof, jumped. The man was more perceptive than he’d thought. His respect went up another notch.

“You sure about that?” he asked, popping his head in through the window. It was Iruka’s turn to jump. Then he swore, grabbed him by the vest, and hauled him inside the apartment, which was just as messy and unkempt as his hair. Because, you know, two jobs or whatever. Kakashi caught sight of a pair of pink boxers splayed on the couch before Iruka spun him around to glare point-blank in his face.  

“What the hell do you even care if my hair isn’t perfect? Life is not a fucking shampoo commercial,” he demanded. Kakashi shrugged.

“I had expectations. Dreams. How dare you break my fragile, innocent heart.” He swooned and clutched his chest dramatically.

“I’m gonna break something else of yours in a minute.” Iruka scowled at him, stewing in fury. “It’s none of your business, anyway. My hair, my choice. Deal with it.”

“I refuse.” Kakashi glared right back, refusing to stand down. “It’s a matter of honor.”

“Oh, please! Like yours is any better!” Iruka burst out, stepping forward to plunge his hands into Kakashi’s thick mane. “You’re always out on a mission, don’t tell me you have the time to- merciful God it’s like I’m petting one of those fluffy Inazuka dogs.” Iruka stared at him in shock. “How the hell do you get it so soft and silky? Haircare no Jutsu?”

“Don’t be silly,” Kakashi scoffed. Iruka just gave him a flat stare. “…Alright, yes, I infuse my shampoo with a little chakra for extra volume. Sue me.”

“I’m considering it, after all the harassment,” Iruka muttered darkly, his hands still in Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi had to fight back a shudder of pleasure as his fingertips scraped across a particularly sensitive area. Finally Iruka removed his hands (Kakashi stifling a disappointed whimper) and frowned in consternation. “…I just have to let you wash my hair once?”

“Sure,” Kakashi answered with a nod. “…And then you are legally obligated to follow a strict hair-care routine dictated by me-”

“ONCE.” Iruka held up a finger, expression firm. “That’s it. That’s the deal. Then you leave me alone.”

Kakashi weighed his options. He could keep running around Konoha, using up his chakra on clones and buying up every bit of material that could serve as a hair-tie, following Iruka around till he was old and even grayer and broke.  

…Or he could just wash his hair right now and be done with it.

“Alright, fine,” he agreed. “Let me wash your hair and we’re good.” Rather than look triumphant like he expected, Iruka hesitated, biting his lip uneasily and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“…Promise you won’t take advantage of me,” he said, voice quiet and serious for once.

Kakashi solemnly placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

And then Iruka took his shirt off and Kakashi had never regretted making a promise more in his LIFE. He truly was that tan all over, with white scars scattered here and there like constellations, accentuating the toned muscles and hard flesh.

“Oh, wait,” Iruka said, “what am I thinking? You probably need to go to your place and get-” Kakashi wordlessly held up his shampoo and conditioner bottles. Iruka blinked. “…Of fucking course.”

---

Iruka’s bathroom was just as untidy as the rest of the apartment, half-empty three-in-one shampoo bottles and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. For some reason, the fact that he was a complete slob did nothing to detract from Kakashi’s burgeoning attraction to the man.

“If you please,” Kakashi said politely, rolling up his sleeves and nodding towards the sink.

“I am not tipping,” Iruka sniffed haughtily as he stepped forward. His eyes lingered on Kakashi’s bared hands and arms for a moment before jerking away. He leaned over the sink, which, thankfully, seemed large enough to accommodate an impromptu hair-washing. Kakashi turned the tap on, careful to adjust the water temperature to a pleasant degree, then eased Iruka forward into the spray with a gentle hand. The other man grumbled, but kept still as Kakashi thoroughly wetted his hair, careful to get every bit. When he was satisfied, he pulled out his shampoo and poured a dollop into one hand, paused, then poured some more. Might as well make it count.

“Hurry up, I’m getting water up my nose,” Iruka muttered, head still under the spray. “And water all over the rest of me, too.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Kakashi forced himself to concentrate on washing Iruka’s hair and not his glistening, muscled back. He sank his fingers deep into the dry, bristly hair and scrubbed gently, lathering up the soap, making sure to pay special attention to the scalp and roots.

The shampoo was his own special recipe, imbued with his own personal chakra for extra strength and luster. He rinsed it out after several minutes, then applied the conditioner. After one more rinse, he was done, and he stepped back, allowing Iruka to straighten. Kakashi turned away to find a towel, snatched the cleanest-looking one from a shelf, and turned back.

I’ve made a horrible mistake, Kakashi realized immediately. I can’t let others see him like this. He’s too beautiful.

Iruka on a bad day was a knockout. Iruka, gloriously shirtless and gleaming, with his wet hair pooling like ink around his face and shoulders, was a vision fit for the Gods. Kakashi stood frozen, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Unaware of the other man’s dilemma, Iruka raked a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands off his face. Kakashi gulped, his throat suddenly dry and tight. A long, tense pause drew out between the two of them like a taut bow-string.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

“…Huh?” Kakashi stared at him, blinking.

“Make a move already, you idiot.” Iruka stood there in his shirtless glory, arms crossed over his tanned chest, wet, glistening hair framing his face. “You’ve already got me half-naked and everything.”

Kakashi sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, shaking his head.

“I...I can't, I promised-” he choked out.

“Oh my God come here.” Iruka grabbed Kakashi by the front of his shirt and reeled him in like a prize catch. Kakashi did his part, gaping at him like a fish, wide-eyed in shock. Iruka scoffed, then leaned in close enough for their lips to brush teasingly. “I never promised not to take advantage of you, dumbass.”

Kakashi was not about to argue.

---

Years later, he still kept the red band around his pinky, right next to the wedding ring that winked in the sunlight.

-End-

Months ago, I was chosen to be a pinch-hitter for the Kakairuzine (I would step in if someone had to leave), so I completed two fics in case they were needed. Since they aren’t, I might as well upload them here. This is the second and final fic. Enjoy!

[inkandpen22]

Time is Irrelevant (1/?): The Mystery of Psychology

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k 

Part Summary: Y/N is an undergraduate student double majoring in history and English. While she’s cramming away at her research paper she’s approached by a rather peculiar man. 

Masterlist

“History, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.” 

                                            - James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans

I’ve never imagined myself as one of the greats. They’ve lived before my time and their legacies will outlive me long after I’m gone. The greatest task I can accomplish is do them justice by telling their stories. I must immerse myself in their lives and hope to influence others with their work. I’m merely the surface that the puzzle of history rests upon. Over time, I’ve collected facts from as many historical periods as possible and have memorized them.

I’ve always found history easy to retain. I believe it to be a blessing. Once I’ve heard, read, or watched any kind of information about history I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. My gift made the subject easy for me in school. I also excelled in English. Words resonate with people for generations, they’re needed to retell history. A simple sentence or everyday speech may end up in every history book across the country. Words are equally as influential to our history as our actions. Hence why I’m a history and English double-major. With history comes life lessons, valuable lessons that can only be learned from past experiences. English, words, can impact an entire generation or many, thus influencing history. By telling the stories of the past, I hope to better the future.

___________________________________________________ 

As I review the archives on the Crusades in front of me, my fingers tap against the table to the beat of the music coming from my earbuds in the otherwise silent archives. Many of my friends have never understood how I’m able to read and listen to music at the same time. What can I say? I’m talented. Disregard the fact that I’ve read this book fifty times over so I could practically recite it from memory. I’m kinda mixing wars here by listening to Hamilton while reading about the French and Indian War. Oh well, there are no rules against the action. 

Suddenly, there is a tap on my shoulder. I assume someone must be able to hear my music and is asking for me to turn it down. I close my book as I remove one of my earbuds and peer over my shoulder. I lift my eyes and meet the gaze of a rather handsome individual. 

“I’m sorry is it too loud?” I apologize. 

“Not at all,” he assures me with a gentle smile and I take note of his accent. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of information on the French Revolution?” 

The gentleman is lucky, an average person wouldn’t know the archives by heart. I’ve spent nearly every day up here since the early days of freshman year. 

“You’re on the right floor so good job.” I joke and point my finger towards the proper section in the middle of the room near me. “Most of the books on the French Revolution that I’ve been able to find are over there but there are more throughout the library upstairs. Nonetheless, those should be a good start.” 

He grins, pausing for a moment as he stares me in the eye.  “Thank you.” His focus travels to my book sitting on the table. “The Last of The Mohicans, good choice.” 

He leaves, as quickly as he appeared, towards the section I suggested. That man is something else entirely. He’s likely a professor considering he’s down here and his considerably formal attire. Only a professor would wear a bow tie. Then again, he appears awfully young. A TA perhaps? That wouldn’t explain his accent though. He could be a visiting professor. Plus, oddly enough, he knows of my book, not many people I know do. 

I pop my earbud back in and dive back into reading. The whole interaction was short but interesting nonetheless. I’m not sure what it was about him but he was different than most. It could be that he had this awkward charm and I’m not used to people being so polite. For a young man, he seemed old fashioned. His wording was more articulate, could be because he’s British. Normally a guy would say ‘uh hey so like, could you…. um…  show me where the books are for the French Revolution or whatever it’s called? If they have an audiobook or DVD that’s cool too!’ 

Okay, that’s it, I can’t focus after that guy talked to me. I’ve read the same sentence five times over. It’s best just head home, it’s getting late anyway. 

The sun is setting as I make my way back to the apartment. I take the more scenic route by the original brick buildings from the colonial era. Mainly because I like the brick path, especially now that it’s fall and the leaves coat the ground. I’m not surprised to see some boys playing football on the lawn in the center of campus. My first thought is how American they appear, with the crisp leaves scattering the ground, everyone in their duck boots, and playing football. I feel as if I’m in a Lands End catalog.

On the way home, I stop by the student union to fetch a late dinner to take home. I shuffle through the music on my phone, trying to find the perfect playlist for the walk back. I approach the door to the building and the person ahead of me holds it for me as I stare down at my phone. 

“Thank you” I mumble absentmindedly. 

“Oh well hello again!” 

I look up and believe it or not it’s the same man from before. I take notice of his exquisite eyes, their long lashes, and his multicolored uniqueness. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They’re like marbles. A warm chestnut shade toward the cornea but then fades into a ring of emerald that transitions into a deep ocean blue. He has every possibility in one. 

“Oh hey!” I respond politely, “did you find the book you were looking for?” 

He shows me the hardcover book in his hand. “Yeah, thank you so much for your help earlier!” He holds out his hand for me to shake, “it’s nice to meet you...” 

“Y/N,” I answer, accepting his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too!” 

I’m not the kind for such formal introductions. In this day and age, there are rarely introductions just frequent run-ins until everyone becomes acquainted. 

The gentleman stares at me for a second, visibly deep in thought. He continues to hold my hand, but I’m too awkward to remove it. Then, snaps himself out of it, parting from my hand. “Beautiful name,” he compliments, charmingly.

Normally, I would imagine girls swoon over a compliment from a man with his foreign accent. American girls love a pretty English accent. Yet, his attention makes me feel on display. I’ve never been fond of physical compliments. I never know how to respond to them. 

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask.

He looks confused but realizes I’m referring to the building. “Oh! No, no I’m here to get something to eat.” 

 This was nice, but now I’m over being polite because I’m starving. Plus, I’ve been in the archives practically all day working on my research paper for Medieval History for I’m beyond tired. 

“Oh okay…” I stumble over my words, “well, it was nice to you!” I nod, preparing to walk away.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks abruptly before I’m able to escape. 

It’s ironic, I’m a mess and he’s wanting my company. The image of me schlepping around this ten-pound backpack wasn’t off-putting to him, really? 

 “Awesome!” He declares, not giving me the chance to decline his offer before he ushers me inside. “I’ll meet you over there after you get your food!” He adds, pointing over to a specific table. 

I was really looking forward to eating in my bed at home, but I can’t decline anyone and risk hurting their feelings. Sticking to my word, I head over to where he instructed after I grab my usual sushi order. Sure enough, he’s already seated at the table. I notice the fact we’re in the far back corner separated from the workers or the other few eaters this time of night. I place my bag next to me on the floor as I get situated. 

“You like sushi?” He inquires. 

I sway my head from side to side, “Americanized sushi. The traditional raw fish I’ve never tried.” 

He chuckles lightly, “one day you’ll have to try it. It’s surprisingly not as bad as one might assume.”He speaks so smoothly. Does it come naturally or does he have to work at it? 

“One day,” I sigh with a smile. I would love to see the world and experience everything it has to offer. Yet, I’m a poor college student with responsibilities. 

“What’s your major?” He asks, creating casual conversation. 

“I’m a double major, English, and history,” I nod. 

He raises his eyebrows, appearing amazed. “Impressive!” 

“What about you? What do you do?” I’m purposefully vague enough with my questions because I still don’t know whether he’s a student or a professor. He could pass as a graduate student and that’s what has me stumped. 

“Oh uh...” he stammers, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “I’m a doctor.” 

He’s a professor then. I’m having a social dinner with a professor... is this allowed? “Oh okay,” I try to remain unfazed. “What is it that you teach?” 

I’m assuming he must teach history considering the search for the French Revolution book. Then again, I don’t know of any English professors in the department. The topic isn’t really one for some light reading. He could be required to take a history course, though I doubt it. 

“Psychology,” he rushes out an answer. 

Do I ask or is that too bold? Then again, I’ve never really cared about superficial social standards. 

I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on the table as curiosity appears on my face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you looking for books on the French Revolution earlier?” 

He hesitates as if he’s evaluating my question. His features go blank then shift to sternness. Did I say something wrong? Was I not being polite when I asked that? 

“I was picking it up for a friend,” he answers plainly, questionably. 

I don’t believe him, not for a second. I’m no expert in psychology but his eyes glanced to his right while his voice went up a little at the end of his sentence. He’s lying. My heart quickens and I do everything in my power to remain calm. I’m going to play along and act oblivious. Perhaps, he has a good reason for lying.

“I was just wondering because you said you were in Psychology,” I say light-heartedly, waving my hand to dismiss the matter. 

He sighs deeply, placing his napkin on the table. “They said you’d be hard to fool.” His eyes meet mine with a smirk as he leans back in his chair. “You don’t miss a thing do you?” He snickers. 

His words are so ominous they make my breathing hitch as I drop my chopsticks. 

“What?” I calmly question, reaching for my back slowly. 

In a swift movement, he grabs my hand on the table and points a metal shiny thing at my face. I attempt to yank myself free, but he just squeezes tighter. I look into the light radiating from the buzzing object. Then, suddenly, my sight goes dark. This can’t be good.

_____________________________

Masterlist

[justlookfrightened]

Special delivery

Takes place in fall of Bitty’s junior year

Holster balanced the stack of boxes on his arm while he turned to shove the door closed with his foot.

“Rans, how much protein powder did you order?” he said, carrying the boxes towards the coffee table. “Like, a year’s supply?”

“That’s not all protein powder,” Ransom said. “The boxes aren’t all the same.”

“I did order tape,” Holster said. “And extra sheets. I forgot that I cut that one set up to make a toga last year.”

“And I got a new set of slides,” Ransom said. “I left mine at home by mistake.”

“You’ve been showering at Faber barefoot?” Holster turned back from the junk drawer with a utility knife and raised both eyebrows. “That is seriously disgusting, bro. We could have like, gone to Target or something.”

Ransom shrugged.

“I didn’t catch anything,” he said. “I don’t think.”

“Better you than me,” Holster said, inserting the tip of the knife into the tape that held the top box closed.

He slit the tape and pulled the box open. It was the smallest one, and kind of light, so maybe Ransom’s slides? He pushed the plastic packing material out of the way and to find a box of condoms.

“Ransom, are these yours?” he said, suddenly feeling a little sick. Sure, Ransom dated around, but an economy-size box of condoms? Maybe he ordered them for the Haus. They’d be good to have around, especially during kegsters. Encouraging good choices and all that shit.

“What?” Ransom peered into the shipping carton. “Trojans? No. I use Durex.”

“Right,” Holster said, stifling the giggle that wanted to bubble up. He knew that. He’d seen the box -- a normal-size box -- in the attic. “I thought maybe you got them, just, you know, to have around. In case someone ends up hooking up.”

“Like put out a bowlful during a party?’ Ransom said. “Sounds like something Shitty would do.”

“That doesn’t make it a bad idea,” Holster said.

“True,” Ransom said. “But I didn’t order them, and you didn’t order them. Who did?”

Holster flipped the top of the box back to read the address label.

“Eric Bittle … Bitty? Why would he need condoms? He hasn’t gone out with anyone since that rugby guy we screwed hin with last year, and that never went anywhere,” Holster said.

“Maybe he’s got a secret life, dude,” Ransom said.

“Like he’s getting out there without us knowing?” Holster said. “How? With who?” “He was away that last weekend before the home opener,” Ransom said.

“He was visiting that cousin, he said,” Holster said.

“He said,” Ransom said.

“You don’t really think … I mean, after screw last year I was pretty sure Bits was y’know, inexperienced,” Holster said.

“You know what Shitty says about virginity being a construct,” Ransom said.

“I didn’t say he was a virgin,” Holster said. “But speaking of Shitty … he and Bitty are close, right? Maybe it was Shitty, and he sent them to Bits. For the Haus. Like he knows Bitty wouldn’t hog them all himself.”

“I think Shitty was closer to Lardo than anybody,” Ransom said. “Except maybe Jack.”

“But he wouldn’t send a box of condoms to Lardo when he’s been pining after her all this time. That would be a little weird.”

“It’s Shitty,” Ransom said. “A little weird is his brand.”

“Whatever,” Holster said. “The problem is what we do now.”

“With what?”

“Unless you have a roll of that Amazon tape, Bitty’s gonna know we opened it and saw what was inside,” Holster said. “Think he’s going to be pissed?”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of?” Ransom said. “I’m not losing pie privileges.”

“Some d-partner you are,” Holster said.

No, man, you're not thinking clearly,” Ransom said. “If he’s mad at both of us, then neither of us get pie. If he’s just mad at you, I get pie. I bring it to the attic, and you can have some.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” Ransom said. “You’re my partner. Well, depending on the kind. And if Bitty lets me leave the kitchen with it. But sure.”

“Well, for now I’m just going to put this in his room,” Holster said. “Maybe he’ll be flustered enough to never mention it. But if he does figure out who opened it, I can chirp him to hell and back. It’s a win either way.”

****

Bitty saw the box on his bed as soon as he dropped his bookbag.

He had been about to strip out of his jeans, pull some shorts on and start a pie, but there the Amazon box, tape slit neatly down the middle.

“Oh, lord,” he said, tiptoeing towards his bed like he could sneak up on the box.

It didn’t have to be the condoms he ordered, he reasoned. He hadn’t ordered anything else, but maybe someone else did. Maybe Jack sent him more French picture books, or his mother sent another sweater. But why would the box be open?

Maybe it was something from someone in the Haus. Maybe Chowder’s aunt had sent the shark cookie cutters he kept talking about, and he left them for Bitty. Sure.

Nope, the label clearly had his name on it. Bitty pulled the flap back, and sure enough, there was the box of Trojans nestled in plastic padding.

Fuck. All he’d wanted was to be prepared if Jack was able to sneak a visit to the Haus sometime. Sometime when everyone else was not around and he could get to Bitty’s room unseen. Sure, maybe 36 condoms was optimistic. So sue him. Once he and Jack got together, he figured out that he liked sex.

Bitty left the box where it was and stalked to his bedroom door. When he opened it, Chowder was just heading out of his room.

“Chowder, sweetheart, you didn’t by any chance put an Amazon box in my room, did you?”

“No,” Chowder said. “Wasn’t me. Is there a mistake or something?”

“Only in having packages sent here,” Bitty muttered.

Aloud, he said, “Do you have any idea who might have delivered it? Did you see anyone?”

“Um, no?” Chorder said, his face screwed up in thought. “Wait a minute -- when I got home a little while ago, Ransom and Holster were both heading down the hall toward the attic stairs. I thought it was weird that they’d both be using the hall bathroom at the same time, but I thought maybe one was waiting for the other one? Or whatever. It’s Ransom and Holster, you know?”

Bitty gave a curt nod.

“I know,” he said. “It’s Ransom and Holster.”

Chowder clattered down the stairs, no doubt off to meet Farmer, and Bitty went back in his room and closed the door to consider his options.

Option one was to simply never speak of it. Maybe they -- or one of them, but it didn’t really matter because they were both there in the hall -- maybe they simply opened the package by mistake, realized it, and put it in his room to avoid any further embarrassment on any of their parts.

Bitty was an adult man, he reasoned. He was allowed to have a sex life. His captains wouldn’t argue with that. Heck, they’d tried (and failed miserably) to facilitate it. The question was whether they could accept him having a sex life and not sharing the deets.

Option two was to confront them with the open box and ask who they thought they were, going through his mail. Mail tampering was a crime, wasn’t it? Maybe that didn’t extend to package deliveries, but the principle was the same. He could tell them that if they breathed one word about it -- to him or anyone else -- they could say goodbye to pie for the rest of the semester.

That option had its appeal, but it might do nothing more than show Ransom and Holster that that this was a sensitive topic for Bitty. Doing that would be like putting a big red button in the middle of his forehead that said, “Push me.” They wouldn’t be able to resist.

So back to option one. He wouldn’t say anything if they didn’t.

****

For a while, the topic of the Amazon delivery that mysteriously made its way -- opened -- to Bitty’s room didn’t come up.

Bitty could have forgotten it, almost. Maybe he would have, if he didn’t notice Holster shooting him a curious glance when he announced he was going to spend the day in the library on a Sunday. Or if Ransom didn’t ask him -- twice -- if he’d figured out what his type was, so he and Holster could do a better job of hooking him up for Winter Screw this year.

So the box of condoms, now safely squirreled away at the back of his closet, didn’t tickle his brain much. Or at least its manner of arrival didn’t, not until Ransom and Holster started planning the post-midterms kegster.

“So,uh, you have anything to contribute, Bitty?” Ransom asked over breakfast a couple of das before the party. He had his laptop open and the party planning spreadsheet pulled up.

“Well, I was planning on making a few batches of cookies,” Bitty said. “And maybe some brownies … blondies if you think they’d go over. But no hand pies. They take too much work and no one appreciates them properly at a kegster.”

“I got all that,” Ransom said.

“He meant, like, what maybe Shitty suggested?” Holster asked.

“Oh, no, I am not doing that,” Bitty said. “I don’t mind making some special brownies for Shitty every now and again, when he asks and when he supplies the weed. But not for a party. I don’t want anyone to get confused or not know and end up high when they’re not expecting it. And I don’t want a reputation as that kind of a baker.”

“Wait … you’ve made Shitty pot brownies?” Holster said. “And you didn’t give us any?”

“It was his weed, Holster,” he explained again. “And it was over the summer, when I came up to stay with Jack. Y’all weren’t even around.”

“Jack has had pot brownies in his kitchen?” Holster asked, incredulous.

“No,” Bitty said. “I spent a day in Cambridge with Shitty, too. Lardo was there too if you don’t believe me.”

“See?” Ransom said.

“Fine,” Holster said. “But Bits, we’re thinking maybe Shitty reminded you to make sure everyone has a chance to be protected, y’know, in case the opportunity arises.”

“Protected?” Bitty said, feeling a bit nauseous.

“And lubricated,” Ransom said. “Just a little.”

“Just a little lubricated?” Bitty said. “I thought he left y’all the recipe for tub juice.”

“He did,” Ransom said. “And that’ll make you a lot lubricated, but not necessarily in a safe way.”

“Look, Bits,” Holster said. “We know about the box of Trojans you got. We figured maybe Shitty suggested that we put them out for parties, y’know, to help people make better decisions. Seemed like a Shitty thing to do.”

Bitty paused. He thought about going with it. Fluffing it off on Shitty trying to lecture the team all the way from Cambridge. But if he did that, he’d be playing into the false idea that Ransom and Holster had, the idea that in addition to looking twelve years old when he stood next to his huge and buff teammates, he was as inexperienced as a child. And he would have to give up the condoms he got for when Jack visited.

“No,” he finally said. “I bought those. For myself.”

“Bits, you don’t need a condom when you’re by yourself,” Holster said.

“I said I bought them for myself, not that I was going to use them by myself,” Bitty said. “And I’ll thank you not to go through my mail next time. I was willing to believe it was an accident, but here you are trying to get me to give up my property.”

“They’re condoms, Bitty,” Holster said. “Not the deed to Boardwalk.”

“Not the point.”

“How about this?” Ransom said. “You let us put the condoms out, because the more I think about it, it is a good idea. We keep whatever is left over in a stash for the Haus -- a stash you can use too if you want. You can take the money to cover the cost from the fine jar. Whether you use it to buy condoms or not … well, we won’t know, because we learned our lesson about checking the names on packages. What do you say?”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “If you insist.”

“Great,” Holster said. “Bring them down early so we can tear the strips apart.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.”

The whole thing was ridiculous, Bitty thought, as he put down a full tray of cookies in the place of one that held only crumbs. The condoms were right there on the food table, arranged in a glass salad bowl. It looked like a few had already been taken.

It was silly for him to have bought so many anyway.

He was still looking at the bowl when he heard a Holster whoop from the area of the front door.

“Jack! We weren’t expecting you tonight! Excellent game yesterday.”

Bitty plucked a handful of condoms from the bowl and thrust them into his pocket.

****

Also posted to AO3 as part of Bits ‘n’ Pieces

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 2/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: A deal is made.

Notes: DON'T HATE ME. I'm not sure anyone thought that this was where this is going, but this is where it's going. Gold is a bastard, and he knows it. This is peak S1 Gold and Skin Deep-esque Belle, I hope that comes through. If there are any tags or warnings anyone thinks needs to be added to this, please let me know. I am always trying to be conscious of consent issues.

[AO3]

Alastair Gold sat in the back of his shop, scowling at the ledger on his desk.

His pen trailed along the edge of the paper, the tip guiding his eyes as he mentally added up the numbers. He wrote the total at the bottom of the column, -$450, and then, before he could contemplate what he was going to do about the debt he was owed, the bell over the shop door clanged loudly. Using his cane, he pushed to his feet and moved to the doorway between the backroom he used as an office and extra storage and the front of the shop to find a peculiar sight.

Belle French stood in the middle of the room in her red wool coat, her arms full of what appeared to be clothing. Her purse had fallen and was hanging from her elbow, and her hair was messier than usual. She looked harried and tired, and even at this distance he could see the redness in her eyes. One of his more responsible and courteous tenants, she was always ready with a smile and a kind word, even for someone like him. He didn’t understand why she went out of her way to speak to him whenever they were in the same location, or why she treated him like he wasn’t the complete bastard everyone knew he was, but the fact that she did secretly delighted and tormented him in equal measure. He might even admit to himself that he harbored the smallest bit of affection for her, a tiny crush that he buried down deep and never entertained as anything other than a fantasy.

“Miss French?” he said, folding his hands over the handle of his cane. “How can I help you?”

She took a breath and seemed to square her shoulders before she came up to the counter and dumped the contents of her arms across it. “I want to sell these.” Then she rummaged in her purse for a few seconds, and pulled out a small, black velvet box which she set down on top of the clothes. “And this.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the items. She appeared to have brought in a collection of...undergarments, and he felt a tinge of heat creep up his neck. He cleared his throat. “I see.”

He moved behind the counter and leaned his cane against it before picking up the jewelry box. Flipping it open revealed a surprise, and his eyes darted quickly to her left hand and then back to the ring.

“I presume this means you are no longer the future Mrs. Gaston?” he asked, eyes fixed on the sparkling diamonds.

“Yeah, he, uh, he left,” she replied, looking to the side at the old gramophone that sat at the end of the counter. Then she turned back to Gold, her expression hardening. “And he took our shared bank account with him.”

Gold glanced up in surprise. Though he couldn’t say he was shocked that her engagement to Garrett Gaston had ended, given that the man was an idiot and frequently a chauvinistic jerk, he was taken aback by the fact that Gaston had also stolen money from his fiance in the process. It certainly explained why Miss French had come to his shop, and it also started to form a very shameful idea in his mind that nearly distracted him from the matter at hand.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he managed.

She gave a short nod. “That’s why I’m here. I, uh, I need money.”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

He took the ring out of the box and set it down on a square of padded velvet before retrieving a jeweler’s glass from behind the counter. She watched silently as he took his time examining the ring, which he made a bit of a show about, considering he had assessed the value of it the first time he saw it on her finger. It was a touch too gaudy for his taste, and he suspected it might be so for her as well, based on how she usually dressed. It was big, showy, and fake, not unlike Gaston himself, and Gold knew he would never see a return on it. He had suspected the stones weren’t real the first time he saw it, but he was willing to give Gaston the benefit of the doubt and not say anything. It was the kind of ring that would probably sit in his shop for years, and he considered that he might be better off to remove the stones and set them in something more suitable.

“Three hundred,” he said matter of factly, and set the ring back in its box.

Belle frowned. “For the ring?”

He nodded and her frown deepened.

“What? No!” She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “That ring cost over three thousand dollars, and you’re going to give me a tenth of its value?”

Gold sighed. “Look, Miss French,” he began, “the value of a thing is only what someone is willing to pay. It’s devoid of the sentimental attachments we may have to the object, or the -”

“I do not,” she snapped, “have any sentimental attachment to anything that asshole gave me. I just want what is fair.”

“And I am telling you that what was originally paid for this ring is nowhere near three thousand dollars.” She continued to regard him with anger and confusion, and he sighed again. “Given the type of gold it’s made of, which of course is an alloy, and the fact that the stones are lab created white sapphires, albeit very high quality, that is the best I can offer you.”

Belle looked like she wanted to cry, and her loud sniffle told Gold she almost had, but she once again squared her shoulders. “So Garrett got me coming and going then.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “It would appear so.”

“What about this stuff?” she asked, lifting what appeared to be some kind of chemise from the stack of undergarments.

Gold stared at her hand and what it was holding for a long moment, and then met her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t want it.”

She dropped the silky nightgown, letting it spill across the counter. “But...it’s all new. Half of it still has the tags on. I haven’t even worn any of it yet!”

He flashed his teeth. “A pity indeed, but clothing rarely sells in my shop, even the cast off designer items from Mayor Mills, and I can hardly put anything like that,” - he nodded towards the puddle of black silk - “on display for the public.”

Her mouth hung open as she stared at him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, forcing his eyes away from the lingerie and curling his right hand into a fist to keep from touching it.

He wanted to feel the cool softness of it with his fingertips as it slid over his skin. It was a shame no one would see her in it, but since the only option for that had been that lummox Gaston, he considered it only a small loss.

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Gold exhaled and closed the ring box. “You could take the ring to another shop, or go back to the original retailer. Perhaps they would give you a better price, but I would be surprised if he paid more than three hundred for it.”

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “I don’t have the receipt, nor do I have the money for the gas to get me there, and it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. The rent is due next week, I need to buy food, and I promised my father I’d give him some money...” She sniffed again. “You don’t need to hear this, sorry.”

“You’re giving your father money?” he asked, curious, and she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s just for him to buy extra stock for Valentine’s Day. The shop always does well that week, and he’ll pay me back, he always does, but I have literally thirty-seven dollars to my name right now."

She gave him a flat smile and shrugged with her arms out to either side, and then let them slap sadly against her sides as she sighed. Gold regarded her for a moment. Moe French borrowing money from his daughter was not exactly a surprise. The man borrowed from anyone who would lend to him, and in fact the four hundred and fifty dollar debt in the ledger still open on his desk was from Mr. French. Moe had even used the same reason with him, that he needed to purchase more stock for the upcoming Valentine’s Day orders. Gold suspected that the loan Belle would give her father would be used to pay the debt to him. It was robbing from Peter to pay Paul.

Her hands went to her collar and she pulled out the short necklace she was always wearing. It was gold with a teardrop shaped pearl, a simple but beautifully elegant thing, that he had always thought suited her perfectly.

“How - how much for this?” she asked, her voice shaking as she pulled the pearl up and away from her neck.

His eyes narrowed. The fact that she wore the necklace everyday had to mean it was important to her, and the waver in her voice gave it away. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”

She let the necklace drop and it settled out of sight behind the wide, thick collar of her coat. “No,” she sighed. Then she ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath as she tried to keep herself calm. “Look, I know you don’t give extensions, but, maybe I could - I could get a loan from you to cover it? I get paid again in two weeks, and I could pay you back half out of that, or - or - shit, I don’t know. Help me out here? Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he met her pleading gaze. He knew what it was like to be down to your last dollar, the desperation and anxiety that came with it, and he knew what people might be willing to do in that situation. He had done things he wasn’t proud of, and he had failings as a parent that had left him with a more distant relationship with his son than he wanted, but unlike Moe French he had never lied to borrow money from his own child.

His eyes trailed down to the pile of lingerie still sitting on the counter. It was a shame that it wouldn’t sell in his shop. He might enjoy seeing it everyday, imagining what Belle might have looked like if she’d gotten a chance to wear it, knowing that each piece was something she liked, something she wanted to wear for her lover.

The sensation of the chemise against his palm when he finally touched it was a shock, and he blinked as a terrible idea formed in his mind. “Perhaps...” he started, drawing his gaze from the fabric to settle on her face again, “Perhaps we could come to an...arrangement.”

Belle swallowed and shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting from where his fingers were running back and forth over the black silk to meet his eyes. “What - what do you mean?”

He glanced down at the undergarments again and then up. “You said you’d never worn any of it?” She shook her head. “Would you want to?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you mean?”

Gold licked his lips. Something about the fear in her voice pulled at the darkest parts of him, the spread of silk and lace in front of him like a siren call to his deepest thoughts and desires. He was exactly as beastly and terrible as everyone said, and no amount of Belle French’s sweet conversation could change that. If she agreed to what he was asking then afterwards there would be no more of that, not for him, but for a little while, perhaps, he could indulge his baser notions.

“Would you want to,” he repeated, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles, “for a price?”

She took a step backwards and eyed him. “What? Just like - like modeling?”

He braced both hands on the counter to either side, and leaned towards her. His shaggy hair slipped forward, shadowing his face and darkening his sharp features. “Of a sort, yes.”

Her chest rose and fell steadily, her gaze scrutinizing. “For you?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

“For - money?”

He smiled briefly, a flash of teeth in the low light as he spoke that had her hand tightening on the strap of her purse. “Yes.”

Her face seemed to go through several expressions in a matter of seconds, from surprise to confusion to disgust.

“No!” She took another step back and frowned. “Why - what? No. No.”

“I assure you it would be quite worth your while,” he said, finding himself oddly entertained by her reaction. She was seeing the side of him that others saw, the facade she had constructed of him possibly being a good man, the one that allowed her to talk to him so sweetly when they met, falling away. “You could make up everything you’ve lost, and more.”

Belle hesitated at that, and he could see that her mind was warring with itself in spite of her immediate rejection of the idea.

“What would - how would -?” She stopped and pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “No.”

Then, abruptly, she lunged forward and snatched the ring box off the counter, followed by the lingerie, her hands gathering it up without regard for how creased it might get and tucking it into the crook of her arm. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the shop, leaving Gold staring after her with a bemused grin.

Belle stalked through the door of the pawn shop, trying to hold her coat closed, her purse on her shoulder, and keep the lingerie against her chest where no one would see what she was carrying.

She had never expected Mr. Gold to proposition her, not like that. His reputation varied by person, but most were in some agreement that he was a bastard through and through, ruthless and hard, inconsiderate and merciless. She had always felt they were exaggerating, that their bad experiences of late rent and unpaid loans clouded their judgement. After all, it wasn’t Gold’s fault if someone couldn’t keep to their contract, was it? She had been prepared for him to protest an extension, to threaten her with a late fee or even eviction if it came to it, and he would have been legally within his rights, even if it made him a little heartless, but to suggest that she - that she would -

Her heels skidded in a patch of slushy snow on the sidewalk, and she reached out to catch herself against the pole of a streetlight. The cold air was making her nose run and she sniffed loudly as she straightened.

She was halfway across the street when she stopped and looked up at the lights from her apartment over the library, glowing through the window in the little galley kitchen. It wouldn’t be her apartment for long at this rate. She’d have to move in with her father again or sleep in her car, neither of which were attractive options.

You could make up everything you’ve lost and more.

Everything and more. It was exactly what she needed, but the thought of parading around for him in her underwear seemed beyond the pale. What had made him even suggest it? Was it out of cruelty or some streak of perverted amusement? She couldn’t begin to understand his motivation, but now that she was standing in the cold, her bare knees battered by the wind and her arms full of what amounted to useless trinkets, she considered that perhaps she didn’t care.

Mr. Gold had always been very exacting in his words, his agreements legally iron clad and always leaning a bit in his favor. He had said he wanted her to wear them, for him, nothing else. She’d asked if he meant modeling, and he’d said ‘of a sort.’ Modeling she could do, she thought, particularly for money, especially since most of the lingerie she was holding was fairly basic catalog stuff, nothing too risque or weird. There were a couple of items that she’d considered special, but those could be easily stowed away somewhere or shoved in the bottom of the trash before she agreed.

Belle closed her eyes and turned around. The shop glowed bright in the darkness as she slowly made her way towards it. She couldn’t believe she was considering this, but her alternatives were few, and consisted almost entirely of being homeless or hawking everything she owned. Unfortunately, what she owned was barely worth anything. Her engagement ring, such as it was, might as well have come out of one of the vending machines at the Dark Star Pharmacy. Garrett could have gotten a cheap ring and a temporary tattoo in a tribal pattern for fifty cents.

The thought, sad as it was, made her laugh, but her smile faded as soon as she came to the door of Gold’s shop. This was it, a moment of truth. She was either going to accept his deal and humiliate herself, or take the two hundred dollars for the ring and starve for the next month. She reached up with her free hand and touched the pearl at her throat, her mother’s necklace which she’d actually considered selling just a few minutes ago, and exhaled.

Do the brave thing, she thought, and pushed open the door.

Gold was still behind the counter, and he looked up as the bell rang out. “Miss French.”

His voice was as smooth and even as it always was, with no tinge of surprise at her return. She regarded him for a moment and then closed the distance, her arms tightening around the undergarments she was still holding.

“How much?” she asked quickly.

His eyes widened, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. “For each time or in total?”

“Each time?”

He smiled slightly. “One item, one night, each week until it’s all been worn.”

She swallowed and took another step forward. “Each time then. In - in case -”

“In case you want to stop?” he asked, and she nodded.

Then he took a pen from inside his suit jacket, tore off one of the pawn tickets from the pad beside the cash register, and wrote something on the back of it before setting it on the counter, facing her.

“I will pay you two hundred for the ring as well,” he added. “If you still wish to sell it.”

She inched closer until she could read it, and gasped when she saw the amount he’d written. It was more than enough to cover all her expenses for a month, and if he intended to pay her for each piece of lingerie, then in all it was definitely everything she’d lost and much more.

“Is that sufficient?”

She looked up and met his eyes, his mouth curving gently as he smirked, and for a second the sickening dip in her stomach made her feel as though she was about to sell her soul. “W-where? When?”

Gold pulled the scrap of paper back and took the time to fold it neatly before tucking it away in his pocket along with the pen. “My house, say, next Thursday evening?”

Belle pressed her lips together and then nodded. “Okay, um, do I need to sign something or -?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not necessary. Unlike some people in this town, I know I can take you at your word.”

She frowned at that and took another step forward, holding out her hand towards him. He glanced down at it, and then extended his as well. They shook hands briefly, and then she turned to leave, wanting to hurry home before she got sick or started crying again.

“Miss French,” he called out before she’d made it more than two steps. She turned back to face him, and he nodded towards the bundle in her arms. “You can leave those with me.”

“Oh...” She looked down at the now rather mangled and creased underthings as she moved back to the counter. “Uh, sure.”

She relaxed her arms and let the garments fall from her arms, in a messier pile than when she’d first brought them in. Somehow their disarray and the cramping in her arms made her feel even worse. Then she fished the ring box out of her purse again and set it down.

“If you wait a moment,” he said, taking up his cane, “I’ll get the money for the ring from the safe.”

“No no,” she replied. “I, um, I need to get home. Can I - can I get it on Monday?”

Gold inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Belle turned on her heel and hurried out of the shop, her shoes loud on the old wood floor. She heard Gold’s voice bid her a good evening as she pulled the door open, but she didn’t look back or return the sentiment. She had done the brave thing, and now she could only hope that it didn’t backfire.

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 8

Title: “I may just take your breath away” / Sweater Weather AU

Relationship: Jemily

Word count: 35,604

Summary:

Penelope hacks the college. JJ pets a cat. There are three blowjobs. Need I say more?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

JJ adjusted the textbook in her hands, rolling onto her side to get comfortable with it. Behind her, was the calming sounds of Penelope’s pop music and her dancing fingertips as she typed code into her computer. 

She had only a few pages left to read, but she was having a hard time focusing. JJ’s brain kept drifting to the events of that weekend. On Halloween, they played spin the bottle. JJ’s spin landed right on Emily, meaning that they had to kiss. 

But it was not chaste. As Penelope most eloquently put it: “you two were seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off in front of us.”

JJ couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

Emily had really kissed her. There was tongue. It was not a peck to play the game; they had gone at it like teenagers in the backseat of a car at a lovers’ lane. 

It made reading her textbook difficult when she knew what Emily’s tongue felt like against hers. It made doing her essay challenging when she could remember the taste of her lips. It made doing just about anything next to impossible when JJ was desperate to kiss Emily again. 

“Did you know that it’s Hotch’s birthday tomorrow?” Penelope asked, spinning in her chair to look at JJ. 

“Wait, what?” JJ asked. She looked up from her textbook.  

“So... I’ve hacked into the college database,” Penelope said, turning back to her computer, her hands were once again typing a mile a minute. “Because of the whole thing with Reid not telling us about his birthday, the poor thing, and I didn’t want to miss anyone else’s.”

“Maybe we could do a co-birthday?” JJ mused, thinking about the logistics of that. 

“You read my mind, my beautiful sporty friend,” Penelope replied. “I’ve almost got everyone’s, just a minute.”

JJ stood up, walked over to Garcia’s side of the room. Somehow, her side of the room was cleaner than JJ’s, despite the sheer amount of things. Her desk was covered in trinkets, decorations and her wall covered in posters, art prints and photographs. JJ’s, on the other hand, had significantly less stuff, and way more mess. She was a busy girl and her desk was basically useless with all of her books and loose paper and miscellaneous things she needed to deal with ages ago. 

“Did you know that Morgan is a gemini?” Penelope asked. 

“Figures,” JJ replied, hoping that was the right response. 

Garcia had two monitors on her light, wooden desk, and a large desktop computer that she had built herself tucked underneath. On one monitor, was a file that she was slowly adding to, of birthdays written in white text on a grey background. Her own was there, alongside Spencer, Hotch, Derek….

JJ then watched as Garcia typed out Emily’s birthday: October 12. They had missed it too!

“Oh my god,” Penelope said, “why don’t they tell us these things?! How did we befriend such secretive people.”

“Wait, when was that?” JJ murmured, grabbing her wall calendar and flipping through the pages. “Oh my god I saw her that day. She was baking cookies, alone.”

“Alone?” Penelope whimpered. 

JJ thought back to that night. She had barged into the kitchen, talked all about her impending break up with Will, and ate Emily’s cookies. She felt awful. Obviously they didn’t know each other as well then, but why was she alone?

“She didn’t even tell Derek,” Penelope said, “oh that sweet summer child. Who hurt her?”

JJ always celebrated her birthday. Be it a family dinner or a full on birthday party when she was a kid, JJ was used to a fuss made about her each year. It was harder after Ros, but her parents refused to let the day pass without at least a cake and a present. 

As she befriended Penelope last year, their birthdays were filled with presents and friendship and alcohol, both girls making sure to give the other a thoughtful gift and make a fuss for the day.

Her heart was breaking that three of her new friends were about to let theirs pass without anything to show for it. 

“We should have a party,” JJ blurted. 

“You read my mind.”

JJ frankly welcomed the distraction from her circular thoughts about her kiss with Emily.

 ——— 

JJ left another store empty handed. She had first placed an order at a store downtown for a birthday cake, with three names on it which confused the baker, then began to wander downtown searching for presents. 

She had another half hour before she was supposed to meet back up with Derek and Penelope, who were at the dollar store buying decorations, and she had hoped to find something for Emily by then. 

The three of them were quite efficient at party planning, and they had to be with such a quick turnaround time. JJ had been tasked with finding a present for Emily.

For Hotch, they wrangled a bottle of the nicer whiskey that he liked, because even at the age of 21, he was somehow already an old man in his tastes. Spencer was also easy, because Penelope was working on knitting him a scarf. Apparently it was from the show Dr. Who, but JJ didn’t really know much about that besides that it was British and both he and Penelope were big fans. 

Emily was a lot harder to shop for. 

What could JJ get for her with the thirty dollars that they all had pitched in to fund her present? Not much. Especially since JJ knows that Emily comes from money. If she wanted something, she could probably just buy it for herself, right? 

It was also difficult because it would be from her. It would be a token of her affections. What were her affections? Did she want to simply sleep with her? Date with her? Be her best friend? JJ’s thoughts were a mess.

JJ had been in just about every store downtown, browsing clothes, gift stores, even a plant store in which she contemplated the meaning of getting Emily a cactus. Nothing was quite right.

She had almost given up when she wandered past a used book store. She had never been in before but always meant to. Out front was a stack of old milk crates filled with books, mostly romance novels and thrillers, and inside the window, beautifully bound antique books were resting in the display. 

A bell dinged as she walked in, and an elderly man waved at her from the counter before returning to his own book. 

Inside, the smell of old books filled her senses, mixed with the smell of apples and cinnamon and the earthy smell of all the old buildings in her college town. 

Stacked floor to ceiling were mountains of books, towering over her head. 

There were a few other patrons in the shop, some sitting and reading, others wandering the stacks, pulling out the occasional book. 

JJ slowly made her way through the maze. It was larger inside than she expected, with thousands of old books surrounding her, no matter where she looked. At times, she had to step over a pile of books in her path. 

The books were organized by topic, but within that, JJ couldn’t discern a clear system. 

She climbed the creaky staircase and pondered what kind of book Emily would like. Is buying her a romance novel too forward? JJ wondered. She probably wouldn’t be able to find one with two women anyways. 

Did Emily like fantasy? Sci-fi? Non Fiction? Should JJ get her something she’s read? JJ realized that she hadn’t read anything that wasn’t for school in ages. 

JJ felt overwhelmed. Was she thinking too hard? 

She did a double take at the window sill, realizing that the movement that caught her eye was a black cat basking in the sunlight. 

JJ reached out her hand tentatively to pet it. The cat nuzzled her hand, and began to purr. JJ smiled, spending a few minutes giving the cat much needed attention. 

The cat then stood, apparently growing bored, and ran off to investigate something or chase a mouse or whatever bookstore cats got up to. 

Where it lay was a small book. It was old, but not as old as some of the other leather bound texts in this store. Its white cover had a simple drawing of a boy, and written in a looping script: “Le Petit Prince.”

JJ smiled slightly, picking up the thin book. She leaned against the windowsill and carefully flipped through the pages, admiring the illustrations and trying to decipher the premise with her limited understanding of French. 

It seemed like it was for children, with whimsical art of a boy on a small planet, a king, a rose and a fox, among other things. She read the first few pages, about a boy falling in love with a flower, and decided it was perfect. 

It was a sign, JJ thought, the cat led her to this book. 

The cat—which reminded JJ of Emily with its standoffish exterior but affectionate personality—had clearly shown her that this was the perfect present. 

There was no price on it, and JJ worried that it would be out of her budget. Holding it to her chest, she descended the steps and brought the book to the clerk. 

“Hello sir,” JJ greated him, setting the book down on the table, “How much is this book? ”

He was seated in a comfortable looking chair behind a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. The sign on it read, ‘cash only’  and there was a tip jar in the form of a cat mug. 

“Oh this is an excellent choice!” The man lifted the book up, examining the cover. “On ne voit qu’avec le cœur.”

That was French. JJ didn’t know what it meant, only catching the word “heart” at the end. She nodded nonetheless. 

“You speak French?” He asked her. 

She shrugged. “I’m learning.” 

“This book will teach you more than just French,” the man said. “Trust me.”

JJ didn’t know what he meant, but nodded. He still hadn’t told her how much it was. 

“It’s a gift,” JJ explained, “for a friend.”

He handed her back the book, smiling at her. He gave it to her for fifteen dollars, seeming to make up the price on the spot. The black cat waited for her near the door, letting her pet him on the ears before she left. 

JJ left the door, hugging the book to her chest. 

 ——— 

Wrangling three of their friends into attending a surprise party was harder than it looked.

With three student athletes, nights during which none of them had games, or practices were scarce, so it took them until the next Friday before they found a free evening. Then, they had to go through the ordeal of convincing them to show up at Derek’s room at the right time. 

JJ felt giddy with the secret, greatly enjoying the party planning and doing something special for her new friends. On her Wednesday afternoon study date with Emily, her excitement for the party almost overpowered her nervousness with the girl due to their recent kiss. JJ caught herself looking more at Emily than her notes, alternating between imagining them kissing and imagining the look on Emily’s face when she received her present. 

By seven that Friday night, they had fully decorated Derek’s tiny dorm with streamers, balloons, and just about anything Penelope could find at the dollar store. A happy birthday sign was strung over one of the windows, with the addition of their friends' names written in marker on poster boards taped underneath.  

Their presents were wrapped messily, as JJ wasn’t particularly good at using wrapping paper. The cake sat on Derek’s desk reading “Happy (belated) birthday Emily, Hotch and Spencer!” in red icing on white cake. 

The three of them were frantically blowing up balloons and checking their phones. JJ felt slightly light headed by the time they were done. 

Hotch and Emily were coming for a “study date” with Derek, and Spencer was expecting a Dr. Who marathon with Garcia. All were supposed to be there any minute.

There was a knock on the door. 

“Get ready!” Garcia squealed, “someone’s here!” 

She opened the door, and instead of the birthday kids, it was David Rossi, who JJ had met for the first time a few weeks prior. He was 22, only a few months older than Hotch, in his first year of his masters. He and Hotch were close, and Emily and Derek knew him well since he TA’d one of their classes. 

“Rossi?” Derek said, “you came!”

“I never turn down an invitation to a party,” he said. 

“I have to admit,” Derek said, “it’s not that much of a party.“

“It’s more of a magical birthday get together,” Penelope said as she ushered him in. 

“Good thing I brought enough alcohol to make it a party,” he said. 

He pulled a very expensive looking bottle of vodka out of his backpack, and more beers than should fit in a normal sized bag. 

“I take it back,” Derek said, “this is definitely a party.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Come in!” Garcia said, picking up a balloon to throw. 

Spencer opened the door trailed by Hotch and Emily, all looking confused as they were bombarded by a dozen balloons cascading down from above and a series of hugs from the group. All were looking around with a mix of shock and happiness on their faces.

“It’s technically none of your birthdays today,” Penelope said, “Because you are all such awful private people, BUT I got the goods and figured it out. We thought we would celebrate all of you guys, and our amazing friend group, with this little shindig.”

“It’s wonderful Garcia,” Hotch said, almost smiling, “Thank you.”

“Don’t just thank me!” she said, “It was Miss Jennifer’s idea, and she got the cake. And my beautiful Derek helped me with the decorations and loaned his room, which might I say, is strangely large for a single room.”

Derek chucked, “It was my pleasure, happy birthday you three.”

He pulled Spencer in and ruffled his hair. 

“We’ve ordered pizza too!” JJ announced, “It should be here any minute now.”

“You’re too good to us,” Emily finally spoke up, after standing in the doorway with a dazed expression on her face. 

Penelope guided them in, and the group exchanged hugs and laughter, and Hotch got a very Italian kiss on the cheek from Rossi. Penelope put silly birthday hats on their heads, and took photos like a proud mother. 

After a few minutes of chatter—about the decorations, how they managed to keep it a secret, and most importantly, the illegality of Penelope hacking into their personal data on the university server— JJ’s phone pinged and she ran to the foyer to get the pizzas. 

Munching on greasy food, there was a companionable silence with the cheery sounds of the music in the background. 

As pizza wrapped up, their chatter resumed and the room filled with overlapping conversations. JJ noticed Rossi had snuck off to fish something out of Derek’s mini fridge, pouring something out into shot glasses. Then she heard the sound of whipped cream. 

At that sound, all heads turned towards him. He had three cups filled to the brim with whipped cream and he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any point. 

“BIRTHDAY SHOTS!” Penelope squealed. 

“No way,” Hotch said, “I’m not doing one of those.”

“One of what?” Spencer asked nervously. 

“It’s not a blowjob is it?” Emily asked with a laugh. 

“A blowjob?” Spencer asked even more nervously. 

“It’s a shot, kid,” Derek assured him, “you just can’t use your hands and there’s the-“ 

He gestured at the whipped cream with a laugh.

“White stuff!” Emily said, tying up her hair into a ponytail in preparation. 

Rossi had to explain the premise several times, before it sunk in that they had to fish out the small shot and drink it all without using their hands. Reid looked at them suspiciously but he warmed up to the idea after Hotch offered to go first so he could see how it’s done. 

The older boy had definitely done a blowjob shot before, efficiently grabbing the plastic shot cup and downing it, his cheeks covered with whipped cream. 

Emily was enthusiastically buried in the whipped cream but struggled on the follow through, spilling most of the vodka into the larger cup before she drank it. 

Reid seemed nervous to get the whipped cream on his face, reeling back and wiping his cheeks then trying again. 

Eventually, Derek reached his hand into the cup, retrieved the shot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth.

“Look ma, no hands!” Morgan quipped before rubbing some leftover whipped cream on the younger boy’s face as the group laughed. Reid was laughing happily, beaming as he wiped his face. 

With the celebratory shot in their system, it was time for cake. JJ carefully used Penelope’s bright pink lighter to ignite candles on each piece for her three friends as they sang Happy Birthday to them.  

“Happy birthday to you!” They sang, “happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Hotch, Spence and Emily! Happy birthday to you!”

They blew out their candles. All were instructed to make wishes. 

As the night progressed, JJ got more and more nervous about the present. What if Emily hated it? Would she ruin the whole night? Penelope and Derek had assured her that it was a good present but what if they were wrong too?

JJ busied herself with cutting the cake, distributing pieces and making sure everyone had forks and napkins. 

Rossi, who was their unofficial bartender, was stationed near the mini fridge and passed out fresh beers when called upon. 

“Gifts!” Penelope exclaimed once they had made good work of the cake, dragging the presents out from their hiding space under Derek’s desk.

She handed them over to Emily, Hotch and Reid. 

“We all pitched in,” Derek said. 

All three looked perturbed at the fuss, murmuring “you shouldn’t have” as they looked at the gift. Spencer opened his and laughed, wrapping the incredibly long striped scarf around his neck and thanking Penelope. Aaron actually did smile at his present and expressed his gratitude by pouring them all shots. 

Emily held hers for a moment, staring at the wrapped book with an unreadable expression on her face. JJ watched, holding her breath as she turned it over, then placed it back down. 

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Emily said, her voice tight and sounding very… formal. 

JJ gulped as Emily stood, and exited the dorm, shutting the door behind her. She immediately thought that she had done something wrong.

The group looked back and forth, not quite sure what to do, as the commotion happened mid way through Hotch doling out shots of whiskey and some were already half raised. 

A moment passed as JJ thought about whether it would be worse for her to follow or leave her be. Maybe she wanted to be left alone? Maybe JJ was the last person Emily wanted to see?

She knew there was a lot about Emily that she didn’t know. Like JJ, the other girl kept a lot close to her chest. Over time, JJ had learned some details of her childhood, but not all, and what she knew didn’t look good. Maybe all of this was a bad idea? Emily might have had a reason that she didn’t celebrate her birthday. This could have been an awful plan and it would have been all JJ’s fault. 

She stood and grabbed the book, deciding to follow Emily. She slipped out the door and walked slowly down the hall, unsure of what she would even say to Emily once she faced her. Hey I just gave you a gift and you all but ran out of the room before you opened it, did I offend you somehow? Or I’m sorry?

JJ wasn’t sure what she was sorry for. She just knew something was upsetting Emily and the last thing JJ wanted to be was the cause of that. In fact, she wanted to make Emily happy and make sure nothing ever bothered her ever again. It would probably be weird for her to say that, right? 

She assumed that Emily had gone to the communal bathroom, as she left her lanyard with her room keys behind her in Derek’s room. If she had left the floor she would have been locked out. 

JJ took a breath outside the door, then pushed it open. 

Emily was standing in the bathroom that all of the girls floor shared, with its small row of stalls, old fashioned sinks and blue tiled floor. A frosted window that looked out into the courtyard. Many mornings JJ found herself brushing her teeth next to the other girl. 

Emily had her arms braced on the sides of the sink, leaning forward and looking at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was coming in quick breaths. 

“Em?” JJ said softly. 

Startled by the noise, Emily looked away from her, quickly pulling up a corner of her shirt to wipe her eyes. 

“You ok?” JJ asked, tucking the present behind her back. 

“I’m fine,” Emily said, standing up straight and giving her a half smile. Her posture was stiff, her smile forced.

“You don’t look fine.” 

Emily stepped back, leaning against the window sill. She crossed her arms, still avoiding any eye contact. 

JJ walked forward, slowly closing the distance. 

She leaned on the wall beside Emily, trying not to stare at her and make her feel uncomfortable. 

“Did I do something wrong?” JJ asked. Her voice sounded small in her ears. She immediately kicked herself, upset at how this might sound like she was making it all about herself. 

“No!” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head. “No. It wasn’t you it’s…”

She trailed off. 

“I’ve never had all this before. The friends and the party and the gifts. All this attention… it’s a lot.” 

She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. JJ did the same, turning to face the other girl. She didn’t want to push too hard lest Emily flee from her again.

“It’s all so nice,” Emily whispered. 

“Then what’s wrong?” JJ asked softly. 

Emily sighed and began to bite her nails. Her posture was hunched over, curled up on the cold tile floor. 

She began to speak, then stopped herself, gritting her teeth and blinking hard. She looked over at JJ reluctantly, seeming to think hard about how to answer that question. 

“I was always the new girl wherever I was,” she said. “I was never anywhere enough to make friends, real friends that is. Or have anything like all this. I would do anything to fit in and it never seemed to work.”

JJ’s heart felt like it was breaking for her friend. She tried to imagine Emily trying to be anyone else other than the Emily she knew and couldn’t. Fitting in is hard, let alone fitting into new countries and learning new languages. JJ knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it together.

Emily shook her head, picking at the skin around her nails anxiously, JJ could tell that sharing all of this was incredibly difficult. 

“I lived in a dozen different countries and was barely  there long enough to make friends and when I did…” Emily sighed. “I fucked it up. I make things worse for people.” 

Emily buried her face in her hands, her breaths coming harder now. Her voice was shaky and quiet, almost whispering to JJ. 

“My mom was never around on my birthdays. She would leave me a present. Maybe. This year she didn’t even call.”

Emily paused. 

“And then you guys do all this.” 

Emily looked up, staring with unfocused eyes into the bathroom, JJ could tell she was thinking of someone else, some other day. She looked lost. 

JJ wanted to hold her hand, wanted to comfort her, keep her close. She was always called the mom friend, it was in her nature to try and make sure her friends were taken care of. Her feelings for Emily complicated things. If she was anyone else, she would grab her hand, no questions asked, but she felt herself second-guessing each move.  

Her actions suddenly felt like they had more weight to them. Knowing that she liked Emily made everything strange. If she held her hand, would it be weird? She didn’t know. Normally, she wouldn’t question holding a friend’s hand, hell, she’d already held Emily’s hand. 

But that was before she was gay, or bi, or whatever. Before she knew she liked girls. Liked Emily. Now, touching her felt scary, like she was doing something wrong, even if she was simply trying to be nice. 

Fighting against her anxious thoughts, JJ reached out, tugging at Emily’s wrist until her hand clasped onto hers. JJ ran a reassuring thumb over her hand. She sighed a breath of relief when Emily leaned into the touch. 

“You’re our friend,” JJ said, simply. “And we care about you.” 

Emily nodded, still not looking at her. 

“When I held your present in my hands,” Emily said, “I just couldn't stop thinking of my friend Matthew. He surprised me on my sixteenth birthday, pulling me out of some stupid event my mother had dragged me to. That was the only time I got a real birthday present before now.”

JJ hadn’t heard about this friend. Emily didn’t really talk about her past, beyond the general facts. JJ had to stop herself from prying, fighting back her curiosity in favour of letting Emily talk. 

She squeezed Emily’s hand in a gesture she hoped would be encouraging.  

“Your gift just brought back a lot of memories,” Emily said with a whisper. “Matthew basically saved my life. He was the only friend I had before now I guess.” 

She looked over at JJ. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, wiping at her eyes. 

“Don’t be.”

JJ pulled Emily into her, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. Emily let out a muffled sob and fell into her, with her head tucked under JJ’s chin. They sat like that for a while, JJ listening to Emily’s ragged breathing and JJ running a calming hand over her back. Emily’s face was buried in her shoulder, her soft hair tickled JJ’s face as she held her tight.  

She focused on rubbing Emily’s back, making patterns with her hand on top of her soft sweater. Emily’s arms were wrapped around her waist. 

For a moment, tears pricked at JJ’s eyes. Watching Emily finally be vulnerable to her, for her to share something, even if she left out details, was a lot. She blinked them back and focused on steadying her breathing, being a calm presence for Emily. 

After a moment Emily pulled away, creating some distance between them, wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffling. 

“JJ I don’t want you to get hurt,” Emily said, her voice cracking, “I just bring people pain.”

“What happened, Em?” JJ asked. 

Emily looked at her with teary eyes and shook her head. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Emily. But I need you to know that whatever it is, I’ll still be here. I care so much about you and just… like being your friend. I don’t care what happened in your past or if you think you’re going to hurt me. All I care about is us.”

“I like being your friend,” Emily said with a teary laugh. 

JJ smiled at her, pulling her into another hug. Holding her tight feeling like the girl would break into pieces in front of her if she let go. 

“Do you want your present?” JJ asked carefully, still hugging Emily. She could feel the other girl nod. 

JJ pulled back, taking the wrapped book from the tile floor and placing it in Emily’s lap. Emily carefully began to unwrap it, as if she wasn’t allowed to rip the brightly patterned paper.

“You know you can rip it, right?” JJ said with a kind laugh. “Just tear it open, it’s part of the fun!”

Emily looked at her nervously, and half heartedly tugged at the wrapping paper. 

“Harder!” JJ said, demonstrating by pulling on it and making a satisfying tearing noise. JJ assumed that the girl didn’t have the opportunity to tear open presents as a kid, and JJ wanted to make sure she didn’t miss out on that joy anymore. 

Emily laughed and tore at it, ripping the paper off and revealing the small book underneath. Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. 

“I read this as a kid,” Emily breathed, staring at the cover reverently.  

She opened the cover and looked through the first few pages. 

“L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux,” Emily quoted the novel just as the book shop clerk had done.

“What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” JJ translated. “I don’t really get it. I tried to read it before I gave it to you, but didn’t make much headway.”

“It’s about love,” Emily said as she flipped through the pages.

Emily slowly turned the pages, smiling down at the whimsical illustrations and murmured about it in French that JJ couldn’t quite make out.

“I could translate it for you if you want?” Emily offered.

“Is it as good in English?”

“No,” Emily said with a laugh. 

JJ beamed, happy that her gift was no longer making Emily upset. She hoped that whatever bad memories she had about birthdays were being amended with some joy from today. 

“Well then I just have to get better at French so that I can understand it,” JJ said. “I’ll need a good tutor.”

“This is an amazing present. Thank you JJ.”

They smiled at each other.

“I’ll read it to you,” Emily said, “And you can stop me and I can explain anything you don’t understand.”

JJ’s heart fluttered at the thought of Emily reading a love story out loud. Though, from what she saw it was about a boy being in love with a flower so it couldn’t be that romantic, could it? 

“Sounds like a plan,” JJ said. “Should we get back? I wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

Emily nodded, then the two of them stood up together. JJ’s legs had fallen asleep while sitting on the cold, tiled floor so she dramatically shook them out, making Emily laugh. 

God her laugh, she wanted to hear that forever. She’d do anything to keep Emily smiling and happy.

As they walked back to the party, it was Emily who took JJ’s hand. 

Maybe they could be friends. Maybe that would be enough. 

[jungshookz]

Winemaker!Hobi!!!! y/n is wine tasting with her friend (idk why people go wine tasting but I'm sure it's for parties or something) and she forgets you aren't actually supposed to SwaLLow the wine and gets a little tipsy and she embarrasses herself, and her friend, but Hobi is like uwu she cute

➺ pairing; jung hoseok x reader

➺ genre; sommelier!hoseok, mostly comedy because y/n’s kind of a dummy 

➺ wordcount: 3.6k

➺ what to expect; “the choice to spit or swallow is entirely up to you.”

➺ note; after one million years i have returned with a hobi drabble!! i thought this request was sO good and also everyone look how handsome sommelier!hoseok is :’)) i hate wine but i would chug ten bottles just to sit around and listen to him explain to me how white wines go with creamy foods and red wines go with spicy foods :’)) okay happy reading clink clink!! (gif source unknown but i found it off here!!)

                                        ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

sometimes the fact that you’re friends with kim taehyung genuinely confuses you

not just because you’re complete opposites in terms of literally everything but also because-

well… that’s pretty much it.

the two of you are like... a peanut butter and pickle sandwich!

when you first look at it you might think that combination is a little funky anD could possibly lead to destroying a toilet BUT when you actually give it a try you realise it’s actually pretty great!

…you get the point

so when taehyung told you that he wanted to spend his birthday at a wine tasting event, you really weren’t that surprised because of couRse he wants to spend his birthday drinking wine and socialising with other wine snobs instead of doing something actually fun like… literally anything else in the entire world

you’ve always prided yourself on being a good friend so if wine tasting was what taehyung wanted, then wine tasting was what he’d get!

but, uh

to be perfectly honest

you’re not really a wine person

you’re more of a margarita person

you just don’t see the appeal of drinking fermented grapes!!!!

why drink bitter grape juice when you can drink sugary lime goodness??

why drink something that’s been ageing in a barrel for like fifteen years when you can drink something that nevER ages due to the insane amount of additives in the premix formulas??

“wowiE, check out that spread!” you look over at the round table in the centre of the room as you and tae trickle in with the rest of the participants of the event “is that fondue?? holy shit.”

“hopefully you don’t burn the roof of your mouth again.” taehyung snorts before the smile falters on his face, “…maybe you should stay away from the fondue altogether.”

the two of you take your seats (there are fancy name cards for everyone!!) and you smooth your skirt out before smiling politely at a couple of the other people at the table

so far, the rest of the people here are… to put it as nicely as possible… more mature than you thought they’d be

but then again this is a wine-tasting seminar so it would be a huge surprise to see other twenty-something year olds hanging out here

you feel out of place but taehyung is just soaking it all up

he’s happily chatting away with the older gentleman seated next to him

sometimes you tell taehyung that you feel like he’s a fifty-five year old man trapped in the body of a twenty-four year old

and he never fights back because he knows it’s true

you let out a breath as you take a look around the room

god

you’re going to be stuck here for a good two hours drinking wine

maybe you can sneak away to the hotel bar or something

taehyung probably wouldn’t notice, right?

but would that make you a bad friend?? abandoning him here when you said this was a thing you were going to do with him??

“you know, i see myself as a wine enthusiast. the more i drink, the more enthusiastic i become!” taehyung laughs heartily and the other couples join him

christ almighty  

you’re tempted to ask him which wine-mom facebook page it was that he stole that joke from

“does anyone have the time? i think it might be wine o’ clock soon…”

you let out a quiet groan as you feel your soul literally float out of your body

okay well

that’s your cue

you are ouTTa here

just as you’re about to get up off your chair, you hear the door slam shut and-

“good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! welcome to today’s wine-tasting event. my name is hoseok, and i’m going to be your host…”

you shift in your seat as you follow the host with your eyes

you feel your heart skip a beat when he spins around to face the table

oh

he’s handsome  

like vERY handsome

perfectly tousled dark brown hair

bright twinkly eyes

his nose is literally perfect!!! perfectly slanted and perfectly pointed!!!

and his smile!!!!! it’s shaped like a heart!!!!! how precious!!!!

the thin gold chain hanging around his neck winks at you under the lights and you swallow thickly

it seems as though you’ve found a reason to stay at this event

as hoseok begins to explain how the structure of the event is going to pan out, you find yourself paying extra attention to the way his lips curve around certain words

“as you’ve probably already noticed, there’s an abundance of different dishes in front of you that’ll go great with some of the wine you’ll be tasting today… over here, a roasted fruit and cheese platter… a smoky three cheese fondue with some freshly baked french baguette slices on the side… popcorn with sesame glazed pistachios…” he slowly makes his way around the table as he introduces each of the dishes and you feel your heart drumming away as he gets closer and closer to you, “dark chocolate sea salt cashews… baked brie with figs and walnuts…”  

and you think it might be a nervous habit or something but whenever he pauses his tongue pokes out quickly to lick over his bottom lip

whatever it is it’s cuTE

as he passes you and tae you catch a whiff of his cologne and for some reason you instinctively cross your legs

and when hoseok looks directly at you your thighs automatically squeeze together and-

oh god

okAY you need to relax

why don’t you just stare at the fondue or something??

ya

you’ll do that

you immediately look down at the three cheese fondue and you begin counting how many chunks of baguettes there are on the plate sitting next to it to keep you distracted

it’s a shame you’re staring down this fondue instead of paying attention to hoseok because you don’t notice the way his eyes scan over you before he’s quickly looking over at someone else

“i believe it’s essential to expectorate when you’re tasting a wide variety of wines, but i’m well aware that some people might not be comfortable with spitting into cups and pouring that into a dump bucket, so-“ you look back up at hoseok after you finish counting the baguette chunks (you counted twenty six but some are hidden under others) “the choice to spit or swallow is entirely up to you.”

you immediately choke (on nothing??? apparently??? goD you’re lame) and reach over to grab your glass of water to keep yourself from bursting into giggles

tae gives you a couple pats on the back before rolling his eyes playfully

you find toilet humour pretty funny so he’s not surprised that you chokEd over the spitting or swallowing thing

the corner of hoseok’s mouth twitches in a smirk when he hears you whisper: “in my humble opinion, spitters are quitters-“ to your friend before you’re pressing your lips together and holding back a grin

he looks at your name tag quickly

y/n y/l/n

how cute

“so you’re going to want to hold the glass up and examine the wine against the light,” hoseok explains, “what you’re looking for are colour and clarity.”

you let out a little sigh as you prop your cheek up on your fist while the other hand holds up your glass on wine

you look down at the information sheet on the table

it’s basically just a list of the wines that you’re trying today and you’re still on number one

it’s been like fifteen minutes!!!  

there are seven wines you have to go through!!!

this hoseok guy is hot but gee whiZ he really takes his time with things

you could probably explain the wine better and faster than him!!

the colour of the wine is red!

…and you don’t know what clarity means so you’re just going to say that the clarity of the wine is also red!

“now stick your nose into the glass and give that a good whiff. what do you smell?” hoseok pauses as he looks around the table

“i’m getting notes of… i’m thinking strawberry…?”

“yes, so am i!”

“is it strawberry or cherry? i feel like it’s easy to mix those two up.”

“there’s something nutty… i’m picking up something nutty but i’m not quite sure…”

“it smells like wine to me.” you blurt out and tae elbows you when you get a couple irritated glances from your fellow wine buddies

what???

were you wronG??

you lean over to get closer to tae, “when are we drinking??” you whisper as hoseok continues to babble on about the different notes that you should be picking up on

“hush.” tae scowls before nudging you back

goD

this is torture!!!

“go ahead and give that a taste.”

aH

there we go

you tilt your head back as you down the wine in one go

down the ol’ hatchet!

also

another reason as to why you’d be a much better sommelier than hoseok: his serving sizes are tiny!!!! how are you supposed to properly taste and appreciate the wine when he gave each of you like a tiny baby shot of it??

“now, this wine pairs particularly well with the dark chocolate sea salt cashews, so feel free to try that combination.”

you perk up at the mention of eating

noW we’re talking

>:)

so

since the two of you are here for him, taehyung didn’t think that he’d have to worry too much about you

because today is his day! he should be able to enjoy his fancy wine tasting event! he wants to chat about how the creamy brie cheese compliments this rich white wine! he wants to learn about how different types of glasses can change the way you taste a certain type of wine!!

but NO

he doesn’t check up on you for good half an hour and thIS is what he gets

you’re wasted

zooted!!!

completely gone!!!!

you’re slumping back against your chair with a dopey little smile on your face while trying to balance a little chunk of camembert cheese on the tip of your pointer finger

“y/n, you weren’t- you weren’t supposed to drink all of the wine, you blockhead-“ taehyung whispers as he plucks the cheese off your finger before using his napkin to wipe your hands clean

“well, i believe in noT being wasteful, sooOo i think you might be in the wrong here, mr. look-at-all-the-wine-left-in-my-glasses-“

“alright, so this next one is a merlot,” hoseok explains as he makes his way around the table to fill everyone’s glasses up, “in terms of flavour, it’s definitely more fruit-driven and has a more cherry-like aftertaste. it has a smoother finish compared to the cabernet sauvignon that we tried earlier…”

taehyung whacks the side of your leg when hoseok gets closer to the two of and you immediately straighten up in your seat

“wine me up, monsieur.” you hold your glass up for hoseok and offer him a bright smile

he chuckles and plucks the glass from your hand before setting it back down on the table

taehyung gives you a warning look before reaching up slowly and gesturing to keep your lips zipped

you raise your hands in defence before zipping your lips and throwing the key away anD blinking hard (it was supposed to be a wink)

taehyung raises a brow

you can’t zip your lips anD lock your lips that doesn’t make any sen-

you know what

it’s fine

as long as you don’t say anything else for the remainder of this session it’ll be fine

“everyone has a little in their glass? good. go ahead and give that a taste.” hoseok clears his throat before turning to put the bottle down

you take a small sip of it before tilting your head back and-

gurlrulrulrurlurlurrgurlugr-

“what the hell are you doing?!” tae hisses as he gives your arm a hard pinch

you choke and give your chest a couple hard pats before grimacing

“god, that did noT go down smoothly.” you whisper loudly and shake your head, “i’m giving that one a sssaaad face.” you slur as you doodle a little frowny face next to the name

taehyung’s eyes widen as he looks at what you did to your information sheet

where did you even find a pen????

‘not good very bitter if ass was a flavour then this would be ass juice’

‘supposed to be complimentary with aged cheddar but i think it would go better with a kraft single’

and then in thiS corner there are several attempts of you trying to spell sauvignon blanc and they’re all scribbled out

‘sawvinion bank. solveingrown blank. sawnananananananananananananananana batman!!!!’

oh dear god

you slap tae’s hand away before scribbling something new down

‘tasted better after gargling.’

oh dear GOD

“everything alright over there?” hoseok chirps and taehyung gives him a sheepish smile before nodding quickly

“all good! sorry, we’re all good.”

“alright, does anyone have any questions for me before we move on to-”

“oOh, i have a question!! i have one, i have one, pick me-“ you wiggle your arm around and hoseok nods in your direction

“yes, y/n?”

“i think, i think that we should order, um, we should, we should order a pizza. because these water crackers or whatever you call them are nOT doing it for me, like, look at this-“ you pick one up before popping it into your mouth and chewing obnoxiously, “fho dhry. fho DRY-” you let your jaw drop and taehyung suppresses a groan of mortification when what looks like straight up saND falls out of your mouth and sprinkles right into your wine glass

“oh, god. please stop, please stop-“ taehyung winces and quickly reaches over to snap your mouth shut

you slap tae’s hand away before swallowing your bite

“so, thoughts on this pissszzzaa?” you slur as you reach for another water cracker (tae moves the plate away before you get a chance to grab one) “is pepperoni okay with everyone? yes? yes? good? nice? yum? hm?” you look around the table while nodding enthusiastically, “barbara, my love, i noticed your earrings are from chanel which can only mean you’re loaded so because of tHAT i think you should be the one to pay for this extra large, cheese-stuffed crust pepperoni-

“okay! i think you need a time out-“ taehyung chuckles and gets up before grabbing you by the arm and yanking you up off your chair

“time out??” you gawk as you stumble over your feet, “i’m not three years old, taehyung, i- oOh, barbara, dahling, if we order within the next five minutes, we can get two cans of coke on the HOUSE-!“

sLam

“-you’re going to sit here and do nothing, got it?” taehyung scolds as he helps you get settled on the ground next to the door of the room

“i gotta say, i think all this wine is making you a little catty-“ you purr before playfully batting at taehyung’s face

luckily he moves before you get the chance to scratch his cheek

tae pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration and shakes his head, “y/n, you know you’re one of my best friends and that i care a lot about you, and i appreciate you being here with me but- today was supposed to be my day! my day! so can you please just sit here and behave? please?”

even in your drunken haze you can see that taehyung is upset with you and that’s enough to sober you up a little bit

you didn’t mean to upset him :-(

you were just trying to do this wine tasting thing right!!!!! and you weRe technically tasting the wine.,. just maybe a little too much of it.,,.

you nod slowly and reach up to zip your mouth shut

“good. the water dispenser is right there, so stay hydrated.” he gets up off the ground and dusts his knees off, “and we can order a pizza after this is over, okay?”

you nod again and offer him a meek little smile

you spend the next twenty minutes staring at the wall in silence

occasionally you looked around to see if anything besides nothING was happening

you did get up once to get yourself a little paper cone of water

and then you put the cone on the top of your head like a little party hat

but theN you realised that putting a white paper cone on top of your head was just you giving yourself a dunce cap which… was actually pretty fitting in this situation  

at the twenty-eight minute mark the door opens quietly and you immediately perk up because you automatically assume it’s tae  

“it’s y/n, right?”

“oh, uh-“ your eyes widen as hoseok slides down the wall to plop himself down right next to you “yes? yeah. i’m- yes, i’m y/n.”

“i noticed you were a fan of the dark chocolate covered cashews, so-“ he holds out a little napkin filled with the cashews before handing it over to you, “everyone in there is currently mingling with each other, so i figured i’d come out here and keep you company.”

you blink owlishly

he’s being pretty friendly considering the fact that the two of you are complete strangers

almost too friendly

…you like that :-)

because you totally like being overly-friendly with strangers too!!!!

in fact, that’s how you and tae became friends!!

but enough about tae because heLLo attractive young man sitting right next to you-

“ah, well, i’ve been staring at that patchy blotch of paint on the wall for-“ you pause to check the time on your phone, “coming up to be twenty-five minutes now, so you’re not missing out on that much.” you murmur as you unwrap the napkin and pick up a cashew before popping it into your mouth

“i, um, actually…” hoseok trails off before laughing lightly, “i wanted to come out here to talk to you about earlier-“

“oh, god. you don’t have to say anything, i know i was acting insane-“ you shake your head before snorting, “trust me, you won’T be seeing me again after the event ends-“

“but i do want to see you again.”

you freeze for a second before turning to look at him

you wait for another second to go by juSt to make sure he’s not playing around with you

“…say that again?”

“i mean… i thought you were hilarious!” he grins, “i know the alcohol was definitely a contributing factor, but i took a glance at your information sheet and-“ he pauses to pull the folded up piece of paper out of his shirt pocket, “-i don’t think i’ve ever heard anyone describe the aftertaste of a sémillon like: ‘you know lemon-scented febreze? now imagine what it’d taste like if you mixed sprayed lemon-scented febreze into a glass of bleach, because that’s what this tastes like’.” hoseok looks over at you with wide eyes, “you made this wine-tasting session way more fun than i thought it was going to be!!”

huh!

what a pleasant surprise!!!

cute boy thinks you’re funny!!!!!!

“i’m glad to hear that me humiliating myself was entertaining for you!” you joke before rolling your eyes playfully,“the only reason why i’m here is because my friend is a self-proclaimed wine snob.”

“oh, please. everyone here is a self-proclaimed wine snob.” hoseok rolls his eyes playfully, “no offence to your friend, of course.”

“oh, no. all the offence, please.” you snort and pick up another cashew, “he kicked me out to punish me but i didn’t even wanna be in there in the first place so this is actually super great.”

“ooh, i think i just felt my heart split in half…” hoseok winces dramatically as he presses a hand to his chest

you can’t help but giggle before you look away nervously

now that you’re not drunk off your ass, you feel the butterflies returning to your tummy

you barely know this guy but you’re pretty sure you’re already 500% in love with him

…what wine is he going to pick out at your guys’ wedding?

oOp

okay time to reel it in a little

“-i know this might seem a little out of the blue, but… would you wanna go out for drinks sometime… with- with me…?” hoseok clears his throat

wait what

you look back at hoseok so quickly that your head probably could’ve popped off your neck

he glances away before letting out a nervous chuckle, “i just… yeah, can i take you out?”

your eyes widen slightly

oh!!

you certainly weren’t expecting for him to ask you out but you’re definitely not complaining

“feel free to say no, i just- ah, i don’t know, i don’t usually get a lot of people my age coming to these things, and i feel like you-“

“i’d love to go out for drinks sometime… definitely with you.“ you tease as you nudge his arm gently

hoseok’s cheeks flush before he beams at you

“great! i know a place that makes really good cocktails- say, do you like margaritas?”

your lips part in a gawk

“do i like- do you wanna get married??” you scoff as you sit up straight, “i love margaritas!”

“great! i promise i won’t make you drink anything that tastes like-“ hoseok pauses to look at your sheet again, “‘mouldy grapes after they’ve been trampled on by someone with athlete’s foot’…?”

you flash him a sheepish smile

yeah

you don’t think you’re ever going to be a wine person. 

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

[libsterslobsters]

Ramble On

Summary: Late night phone calls are rarely good, especially when they come from someone known for texting. Or maybe, just this once, it's for the best

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x gem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader sees bits of the future, understands all languages, and processes information abnormally quickly)

Warnings: Strong language, tiny bit of angst, mostly fluff

Author's note: Reader is unnamed, but when I'm writing this character, I call her Violet.

*************************************************

 As she rolls over, rearranging the covers around her for what must be the fiftieth time in an hour, she catches sight of the bedside clock. 2 a.m. She really needs to get to sleep. She has an interview in the morning, after all. The only problem: she can’t, too worried about what the outcome will be to get any rest.

 There’s so much riding on this one meeting. If she gets the job, teaching English as a second language at an actual college in Bucharest as opposed to in her apartment, her whole life will change. It will no longer be a constant struggle to stay afloat, often leading to the choice of whether she’s going to pay her heating or electric bill this month, eat or have a place to live.

 Applying for any job is a risk, because what if they look her up and a notification pops up on SHIELD’s radar? She’s forged her papers well, payed the right person to invent a background for her, but while it may hold up under the Romanians’ scrutiny, will it be enough to convince anyone lurking in the shadows that she’s a perfectly normal woman with nothing to hide? Or will there be a knock on her door in the middle of the night, followed by her being captured, herded onto a plane and then locked in a cell or worse?

 Rolling over once again, she tries to convince herself that enough time has passed, she looks different enough from the scared eighteen year old that flagged the American government’s interest when she fool-hardily took a job as an intern translator and performed a little too well.

 It’s not long before she’s tossing and turning once more, and this time her phone’s screen lights up. 2:30. Only three and a half more hours before she’s got to get up and prepare for the day ahead. She wishes she had some tea left, but she ran out three days ago. For a few minutes, she plays on her phone, rereading old messages between Barnes and herself, but eventually she has to stop. Thinking about him definitely isn’t helping her sleep, especially since she knows, no matter how much she wishes it were otherwise, he’ll never care for her the way she cares for him.

 Chiding herself for allowing the foolish longing for something different, for the man who’s only ever been kind to her, treated her like a close friend, to want her, she tosses her phone to the side and closes her eyes. She’s completely unaware that, inadvertently, she’s hit the little icon of a telephone and on the other side of the city, a ringing noise is filling the air.

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

 He’s not asleep when his phone rings. Not even so much as dozing. Still, it takes a few moments for Bucky to put together that the whirring noise is coming from his phone, and he should probably check to see who it is. As her name flashes on the screen, all weariness disappears, replaced at first by excitement, and then when he answers, receiving no reply, worry. It’s not like her to call this late, or really, to call at all without texting first to make sure he’s free (even though he’s told her multiple times to call whenever she likes, he’ll always answer). His first instinct is to rush over to her apartment and make sure she’s alright, but ultimately, a cooler head prevails. He should try to call her back first. Maybe they have a bad connection and she couldn’t hear him.

 That’s what he does, and after the third ring, she picks up.

 “Bucky?” It’s said in a voice that’s rough with disuse. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” That’s supposed to be his line.

 “I’m fine. What about you?” He hears her yawn over the line.

 “Dealing with some insomnia, but nothing huge.” Funny. She sounds exhausted.

 “Is that why you called? You’re having trouble sleeping?”

 “What?” He can imagine her brow furrowing in keeping with the confusion in her voice. “I didn’t call.”

 “You did. Didn’t say anything, though.”

 There’s a pause, and then-

 “Crap. I’m sorry, Buck. I must’ve rolled over on my phone and accidentally called you.” Oh. Now it makes sense.

 “It’s alright.”

 He’s about to tell her that his night’s so much better for hearing her voice, but stops short at the last second. It’s been going on for a few months, these casual dates at one or the other of their apartments, occasionally a cheap restaurant in the city, or just out for a walk. Still, he hasn’t so much as kissed her yet, too worried that he’ll push too far and frighten her, or worse, make her feel like she has to do something she doesn’t truly want. She hasn’t made a move to speed things up either, so he’s waiting, taking things slow. It doesn’t bother him; he’s got all the time in the world on his hands, and frankly, he’s enjoying just getting to know all the little things about her.  Still, he doesn’t want to come on too strong, so he simply says,

 “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

 “Nothing.” She chuckles, but he can tell it’s faked for his benefit. “I’ll let you go now.”

 “No, you won’t. You’re going to tell me what’s keeping you up so that maybe you can get some rest before the sun comes up.” He internally winces as his words. It sounds like he’s ordering her around.

 “Alright.” She sighs. “I have that interview tomorrow-” He nods, even though she can’t see him. “-and I think I’m just too in my head about it, you know? I keep going over all the ways it could go south, and the more I try to push that aside, the more I think about it.” 

 He chooses his words carefully, knowing that it’s not just the possibility that she won’t get the job that’s worrying her.

 “They don’t check things as closely here as they do back home. And even if they did decide to do some sort of background check, so far as all your paperwork is concerned, you’re just another college grad looking to put your teaching degree to use.”

 He may have done a little reconnaissance, gotten into certain government buildings not open to the public and checked out exactly what they know about her just to make sure her forgeries would stand up, but she doesn’t need to know that. It would just worry her that he’s taking unnecessary risks over something she doesn’t consider a necessity.

 “I know. It’s just a niggling feeling. Not a vision or anything. Just paranoia.” 

 Speaking of…

 “Have you had any visions lately?” Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes useful. Sometimes, downright bizarre.

 “Yes. I’m having one right now of you sitting up in bed, talking on the phone when you should definitely be sleeping because you’re too polite to tell me I woke you up.”

 “Must be something that hasn’t happened yet, because I’m actually lying down, and I was wide awake when you called.” He hopes that’ll be enough to assuage her guilt.

 “Hm… I’m calling bullshit on that, Barnes. Have you looked at the time? It’s nearly three a.m.”

 “It is, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was up.” She’s not going to believe him unless he explains. “I don’t sleep much.” 

 “Part of the super soldier thing?”

 “I don’t think so. More like I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, they’ll get the drop on me and put me back on ice.” He definitely didn’t mean to say that last part, but now that it’s out there, he can’t take it back.

 “Bucky, you need to sleep. That’s not healthy.” The corners of his lips turn up. All the way across the city, awake at three a.m., and she’s scolding him for not getting his beauty rest.

 “Neither is worrying about a job interview that you’ve got in the bag since you’re a great teacher.”

 They’d be stupid not to hire her. She literally speaks every language on the planet, and even though they won’t know that part, she’s still completely qualified. Plus, she’ll give this job her all, work harder than anyone else they could possibly hire, because she actually cares about the people she’s teaching. Them; not just their lives so far as it pertains to her classroom.

 “How would you know that? You’ve never been one of my students.” Maybe not, but she’s taught him so much, like how to be alive again instead of just surviving. But, he should probably keep that to himself.

 “Well, I already speak English.”

 “Good point. Spanish, then?”

 “Afraid I speak that one too.”

 “French? Mandarin?”

 “Yes and yes.”

 “What about gibberish? Surely you’re not fluent in gibberish.” 

 He chuckles.

 “You’ve got me there. I don’t speak it.”

 “That’s too bad, because I’m only conversational.” Another yawn sounds from her side of the phone. “Alright, this time I really am letting you go.” Good. Hopefully, she’s finally able to get some rest now that she’s shifted some of the weight of her worries to him. “Goodnight, Bucky. Thanks for talking me down.”

 “Goodnight, Doll. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

 As the call ends, his phone flashing the length of their conversation, Bucky finds that maybe, just maybe, he’ll get some sleep tonight after all.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark (6)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count:  2785

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: Peter gets introduced finally!

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

Your dad made you take a few days off after the low blood sugar incident, so by the next Monday you are so ready to get back to school. Science and technology might not be your favorite topics, however MSST is great and it means you get to see your friends. Betty and Astrid are waiting for you when Happy drops you off on Monday. Pepper rode with you, because your choice was having her come with you or having Tony and you were not dealing with Tony Stark outside of your school again… The first day of school drama was enough of kids trying to get close enough to take pictures of him. But your dad was adamant that he wasn’t going to miss your first day. You shake the memory from your mind as Pepper gives you a hug. “If you need anything, you call me or Tony. Or Happy if you can’t reach us. Even if-”

“I’ll be fine. I could have come back last week and be fine. Dr. Cho said so.” You say with a smile. But you wrap your arms around Pepper and give her one more hug. “I love you.” You whisper and feel a little guilty that you said it to your dad’s girlfriend before you said it to your dad, but it felt right.

“I love you too.” Pepper says back. “Happy will be here for you when school finishes.” You turn to get out of the car when Pepper calls, “Lunch!” handing you the lunch box you almost forgot. 

“Thanks Pepper! See you at dinner.” Ever since the conversation in the Med Bay, Pepper had been trying to make it home in time for dinner so that you, Tony and Pepper felt more like a family. Sure it had only been like five day, but it still was something you enjoyed on top of having the Avengers there when they weren’t on missions. You shut the door behind you and turned to be enveloped in a hug between your two best friends. “Guys I’m fine.”

“You missed almost an entire week because of a diabetic seizure. We’re allowed to be worried.” Betty states. It’s not the first time that diabetes has pulled you from school and Betty gets worried every time.

“I know, but I’m fine. Tony overreacted by making me stay home. Dr. Cho said I could have come back Wednesday, but Tony had me stay home the rest of the week because and I quote ‘I’m your dad I’m allowed to worry.’”

“STARK OVER HERE!” The paparazzi don’t know your first name, but they know the school you attend and have seen you out with Pepper and Tony in the few weeks since everything has been announced. 

“Let’s get inside.” You say, not even looking towards the paps. Betty and Astrid follow you up the stairs and into MSST. You have a feeling that there will at least be a picture of Pepper dropping you off at school if not more on some gossip page. It’s not even that interesting. You go to school every day. Although, most days Tony or Pepper don’t come with you so maybe that’s why it’s interesting?

“Y/N watch out.” Betty’s warning comes too late. You crash into one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” You exclaim, expecting to hit the tile of the hallway.

“My fault. I should have been looking where I was walking.” Arms wrap around you to keep you from hitting the floor.

“Penis Parker crashing into Iron Man’s daughter. Now you’ll have all the Avengers after you!” A boy who you think is called Flash calls from across the hallway. The boy whose arms are around you takes a second look at you after hearing what Flash said.

“You’re Y/N Stark?”

“Fraid so.” You say scrunching your face ever so slightly. “I’m hoping your first name isn’t actually Penis though?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.” His face goes red as he helps stand you back up on your red converse feet.

“Well it was nice running into you Peter. Hopefully we don’t do that again soon though.”

“Your dad might sue me for damaging a Stark and I can’t afford that.” You can’t help but laugh at that.

“Yeah he might try, but I’d get Pepper to stop him before it got too crazy. Bye Peter.” You don’t wait for a response as you turn to follow Betty and Astrid towards your lockers. “What do we know about Peter Parker?” You ask Betty as you walk, knowing that if anyone knows anything it will be Betty.

“He’s a Sophomore. On the Decathlon team with Liz. I think he’s also in band and he’s on the robotic team.” Liz was one of the few upperclassmen Betty knew from one of the clubs she was in. You had sat with her at lunch thanks to Betty but you didn’t know how to feel about her. “You should ask Liz about him. See what she knows if you're interested in him.” Betty says with a smile. “Maybe Y/N can find a date to Homecoming.” She tosses to Astrid.

“Like Tony Stark will let me out of the house for Homecoming with anyone of the opposite gender? Doubtful. I’ll have better luck going with a girl or with a group of friends.” You say as you spin your locker combination. You dump your backpack and pull the books you need for the first half of the day. 

“I think you could convince him. But if you don’t want to we can always pull a group together. It’ll be fun! It’s our first Homecoming!” Betty grabs her own books as she goes on about potential plans.

“It’s not even for another few months, so we have time.” Astrid says from a few lockers down. Betty and you turn to head towards your English class as Astrid heads off to her French class. Before you get inside your phone pings with a notification about the Avengers. Lagos? What are they doing there? You scroll through the news articles trying to understand what’s going on, but your teacher tells you to put your phone away. You open your computer to take notes and open your text stream with your dad, which is more bare than most people would think a text stream with Iron Man would be. 

Y: What is happening in Lagos?

T: Nothing that I know about right now. You’re in class. Focus on class.

Of course the one time you need him to tell you things he pulls the dad card of telling you to focus on class. Pepper won’t have information you need and the other Avengers are across the world at the moment apparently. Tony only responded because FRIDAY is part of his suit too. So now instead of being able to focus on being back at school for the first time in almost a week, you wished you were home still so you could talk to your dad and see what the actual fuck was happening.

By the time you got to lunch, everyone in the school it seems are aware that something is happening with the Avengers and everyone wants to hear from you. But you don’t have the patience to deal with anyone, except for trying to get an answer from your father.

“Y/N, now’s not really a good time.”

“Make time.” You say shortly. “Explain what’s going on. Because I have news reports and high schoolers telling me what’s going on or expecting me to explain to them what’s happening and I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

“Well I’m in the middle of dealing with the government and possible rogue Avengers so I think my problems trump yours at this point in time kiddo.”

“Rogue Avengers?” Your voice drops as you turn the corner, trying to get away from ears that are trying to hear too much.

“I promise I will talk with you about everything when you get home, but right now I need to focus on Avengers stuff and you need to focus on school. Just give a no comment to the school kids. You’re not an Avenger, so they shouldn’t be expecting answers for you about what your dad is doing.”

“Fine, but I’m expecting answers tonight.”

“I know. Hey kiddo. I love you, no matter what else is going on. Just know that ok?” Your voice chokes up, as if he knows you told Pepper first. “You don’t have to say it back, I just… there was shit today that made me think that I need you to know that ok?” You bite your lip for a second before biting a bullet and just going for it.

“I love you too… Dad.” There’s silence on the other end for a moment and you think the call has dropped before Tony continues as if nothing happened.

“I’ll see you after school. Happy will pick you up. Go with him ok?” 

“Of course.” The call ends and you're more confused than when it started.  Making your way over to where Betty and Liz as well as a few of Liz’s friends are sitting, they look at you when you sit down. 

“Everything ok?” Betty asks.

“Oh yeah, Dad wanted to know how my numbers were doing cuz of last week.” Everyone sat looking like they were waiting for more. “Wait, you guys thought he would tell me what’s going on in Avenger-land? No. He barely tells me what we’re having for dinner.” You force out a semi real sounding laugh and Betty joins it. 

“He honestly doesn’t share that much with you. So Liz, how’s planning for Homecoming going?” You tune out the rest of the prattle as you look at some info on your phone, but something non Avengers related catches your eye. A video of a superhero called Spider-Man? Catching a car with his bare hands. It’s impressive. And it seems like something that Dad should be aware of especially if things are going to shit right now. So you send him the video, not thinking anything about it. 

By the end of the day though, when you and Happy walk into an empty tower, you start thinking more about the issues your dad mentioned. “Happy have you seen Dad all day?” Happy tries to control his emotions at hearing you call Tony Dad. 

“He’s been Iron Man most of the day. Hasn’t needed a driver. He did say he has to go deal with something. But I am to stay here with you until he gets back he said.”

“So you’re my baby-sitter?”

“I prefer the term companion?” Happy suggests.

“Where are the rest of the Avengers? Like I’d at least imagine Wanda, Vision, Clint, and Natasha to be here?” Usually the group of them were around when you got home from school, but today the tower seems rather empty. 

“I think Wanda and Vision are upstate. Natasha too. Clint might have gone home.” You always seem to forget that Clint has an actual home and family. You shoot a text to Natasha asking where she is, but don’t expect to hear anything if she’s off doing actual business stuff. As you slide the Stark Phone back into your pocket, you wander up towards your room to dump your backpack. After kicking off your shoes, you think about asking if Happy will take you to the Avenger’s Compound since there’s no one here, but you know your dad wants to keep you as close to the city as possible. 

So instead of putting off your homework you decide to get started on it. The tower is too quiet and it puts you on edge. Usually there is at least a handful of Avengers making noise or your dad tinkering around or something. But it’s too damn quiet. “FRIDAY, play Tony Stark Can Rot.” You maybe should change the name of your playlist, but right now you’re too focused on putting something on to make the Tower less quiet.

Finally, after spending way too long on your essay that’s due next week, you trod down to the kitchen. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve had to make yourself food since you moved into the Tower. Steve likes cooking. You guessed it felt the most like being at home to him. But it meant you never really had to make food unless you got hungry at weird times. But making dinner tonight was weird for multiple reasons. First of all, none of the Avengers were here. It’s not the weirdest of things, but definitely made your top ten. Second, and most weird since the talk you had had, was that neither Tony or Pepper were here. Could you manage on your own? Sure. But it definitely counted as the weirdest thing since you all were trying to make more family time. 

You sat down at the empty kitchen table with a veggie patty and some French fries. Not the fanciest dinner, but as a dinner for one, it would work. You try scrolling through Twitter to find out more about the Lagos thing, but most of it seems like news from over a month ago, so why is it being brought up again? There’s even some Sokovia news being brought up but that’s even older. You close out Twitter and text Pepper.

Y: When are you coming home?

P: probably late. Caught up with a lot of SI stuff. Sorry I missed dinner. Love you.

You want to text your dad, but at this point, he’s already missed dinner too. He’s probably off doing Iron Man stuff. So instead, you just throw some music on from your phone and eat your dinner. When you’re done you put your plate in the sink and make your way back up to your room. You have biology readings, Intro to Calc notes to revise, and English readings for tomorrow to still do and you could start on your German studying if you want to get ahead. 

It’s close to midnight when there’s a knock on your door, softly almost like it doesn’t want to be heard. “Hey,” Pepper says softly when she sees you're still up. “Shouldn’t you be heading to bed?”

“Finishing up the last bits of homework. Did you just get home?” She nods but makes her way into your room to sit down on your bed. You turn in your desk chair to face her. “Long day?”

“Super long. How was school?”

“Fine, boring, too long.”

“You miss a week and that’s all the catch up I get?”

“Everyone was going on and on about this Lagos stuff which I don’t get why it’s being brought up again and Dad wouldn’t tell me anything.” Pepper’s head tilts to the left ever so slightly.

“He doesn’t always talk about what’s going on inside his head. But come on, you missed a whole week of school and there was no drama that you can catch me up on?”

“Well it’s not really drama but I literally ran into a boy today.”

“Bumps and bruises from it?”

You shake your head. “No he caught me before I could fall. He’s kind of cute though.”

“And what did we learn about him after that, because doesn’t Betty know everything?”

“Well his name is Peter. He’s a Sophomore. He’s in Decathalon with Liz, who we sit with at lunch, and Betty said she’s pretty sure he’s in band and on the robotic team too.”

“Well I hope to learn more about this Peter kid. Maybe you’ll have to ask him-”

“I’m not asking him to anything. It’s my first year at this school and I’m already too much news by being Tony Stark's daughter. Literally some other kid teased him when he crashed into me saying that Dad was going to send all the other Avengers after him for bumping into me and then when I said I hope we don’t literally run into each other again he said something along the lines of ‘your dad might sue me for damaging a Stark and I can’t afford that’. And he’s not far off from the truth.”

“We wouldn’t let your dad go that crazy.” Pepper reassures you. “Now, it’s late and you have school in the morning, get to bed.”

“Is Dad not home?”

“He had that MIT thing this morning and I think he was going upstate to deal with some Avenger stuff this afternoon. He may stay at the compound tonight.”

“Oh.” He didn’t mention any of that to you. And you’re somewhat disappointed that he didn’t.

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway  @iamaunicorn4704  @furiouspockettoad  @daughter-of-stark  @eternalharry  @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

[weclassygirl]

𝐓𝐮𝐮𝐦 𝐞𝐬𝐭

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Summary: “You’ll fit right in, I promise.”

Warnings: none i think, triggering? (if i got it wrong please tell me! i don't want to offend anyone)

Author’s note: hello, i’m back! as mentioned above if i got something wrong, please tell me! as always give me your most brutal honest opinion so i can improve. english is not my first language so beware. 

dulce periculum series: 01 / 02 / ... / 04

Gif credits (x) 

You wake up with a gasp, your hand immediately rising up to your neck, holding it gently. Another nightmare. Your whole body is shaking lightly, your hand releases your neck slowly and drops onto your lap. 

It's sunrise. The faint light of the morning raises up directly in front of you but you see some dark clouds forming in the distance. You wonder what time it is and look towards the nightstand. The clock reads 7:30 am. You sigh, running your hands through your hair. You rub your eyes in means to wake up when you hear a distant voice coming from the hallway. 

You get out of the bed and grab the white robe you left laying on the couches under the windows. You reach the door knob and turn it slowly as to not make much of a noise. 

The voice that you've heard is beginning to grow more louder with every step you make. You stop by the kitchen and hear Santino talking on the phone in Italian.

You're not really surprised, it's his mother language after all, but you can hear him switch to French every now and then. Probably talking to more than one person. You hear him speaking more quietly, in a harsh tone. 

You peak your head slightly from behind the wall and see him turned away from you, he paces back and forth, his hair adorned by a few curly strands that hang above his forehead. 

"I think you forget your place here. You answer to me now and when I say that you have to comply to my order than you do so without hesitation, is that clear?" he says in Italian. "I am aware of what happened last night, I was there, no? Sooner or later people all over the world will take an interest in her, don't you think that-" he stops mid sentence noticing you in the doorway. You can't really read his expression, you see him showing surprise and that hint of seriousness disappears from his face. 

"We'll talk about it when I'm back." he ends the call before the person on the other side can respond. Santino's gaze is focused on you. 

"Good morning, slept well?" he asks as he moves towards on of the cabinets, pulling out two mugs and placing them under the coffee machine. 

You move closer and sit at the chair beside the marble island. "Like a baby." you lie. You haven't slept all night due to the nightmares, it's always the same, it's always that same basement, nothing really changes in it. You move in your seat and feel pain growing up your body. You hang your head down and grit your teeth. 

Santino’s expression softens but you don’t see it. He knows that there isn't much that he could do to help you ease your pain. Instead he places a cup of fresh coffee in front of you. You took some of the painkillers the doctor gave you but they still haven’t kicked in. You wrap your hands the mug and immediately take a sip of the warm liquid. Santino does the same. The morning sun has already rose up and is now casting a gold light in the kitchen. You look up from your mug at the man in front of you. 

He's wearing only a dark gray shirt without a tie. His Camorra ring gleams in the golden light. 

"News travel fast in this world, don't they?" you point out suddenly. You sip on your coffee, the liquid warming you up inside. 

"It would appear so. The events of last night are spreading worldwide, people know who you are, where you've came from. Some choose not to believe it." 

"Do you believe it?" you asks with curiosity. 

"Call me crazy, but I guess I do." he puts his finished coffee back on the table and plays with his ring. Your eyes snap to it. It's golden with a red ruby inside of it. 

You chuckle under your breath. "You are crazy, you called a contract on John Wick." 

"Which you made me call off."

"You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me you'd be lying cold in the Continental's basement." you say a matter of factly. You saw it with your own eyes… well through a screen. Him laying on the metal table while the Adjudicator leans over him and examining the damage that John caused. 

The cuts on his face seem to be fading away. Yours do to. The bruises are still there but not nearly as visible as before. 

"What happens now?" you wonder out loud. " I heard your conversation and I'm guessing it was someone from Camorra. Do I have some kind of bounty on my head?" 

His eyebrows draw in confusion. "Bounty? Why would you think that, bella?" 

"I don't know.” you shrug. You can feel a sensation of anxiety building up in your body. “Maybe… maybe Winston told the High Table of what happened at the Continental and now they've decided that it would be easier to eliminate the threat." you feel yourself slightly starting to panic. "I know what happened after your death” you point to him “what if some of the events won't change?"

It's hasn't been even 24 hours and the reality of the situation finally starts to get to you. You are not entirely safe here, Santino could grant you protection, but will it be enough? One wrong move and you could be as good as dead. 

Santino notices your uneasiness and stands up. "Hey, look at me." he says softly, which is surprising to hear from him. You do as he asks, staring at his emerald eyes, the sunlight falling into them from the side. "Winston will not tell the High Table of what happened there, he doesn't have any reason to. No blood was shed on its grounds." he tries to calm you down, your breathing slowly becomes more uneven. You feel like you can't breathe. 

Santino sees that movement and you move away from him, your back hitting the cabinets behind you. You slide down on the floor. Your breathing is even more rapid now and you feel tears starting to gather in your eyes. You try to calm down but nothing works. You don't hear Santino sitting beside you, his arm stretched out, palm face up. You look at it, consider taking it, to ground yourself somehow. 

You carefully place your shaky hand in his. He doesn't say anything just runs his thumb over your knuckles. It's a soothing gesture and you feel your heart rate calm down as you hear him speak.

"I can't even imagine how you feel. Being trapped in this world." you can tell that this isn't a thing he is used to doing. Comforting someone, a complete stranger at that. But he tries and you're grateful. "When my father told me of who I will become in the future I was terrified. I was always aware of this world, but when he said it, it felt like a new door has been opened. My sister and I were always here, but we never had a choice in it. She always wanted the seat and so did I. But the only reason she got it was because my father favored her more than me." your breathing starts to calm down as you listen to his story. 

"To be able to take up one of the seats at the High Table is a great honor. Camorra is one of the most powerful at that table. One of us taking that seat was a big deal, no one knew who it would be and even we didn't know it." your eyes move to him, he keeps his vision on your entangled hands. Still running soft circles over your knuckles. "No one expected our father's decision, especially me." he sighs and brings his eyes up to yours. "But that's just the course of life, isn't it, bella?" he smiles sadly. You grip his hand a little tighter. 

"If- if I can be honest, your father was kind of a dick." you say softly, still trying to calm your beating heart. Santino grins. "Yes, well, he wasn't particularly liked by people. They always saw him as someone that should be respected but mostly feared." 

You look at the window, the sun has already risen up. The day has officially started. You begin to slowly stand up from the floor, Santino follows your lead. Your hand still hold his and you release it from his grip.

"There are clothes prepared for you in your room." he informs you. Clothes? You don't remember seeing them in the room. You draw your eyebrows together.

You exit the kitchen area and head towards your temporary bedroom to see a fresh set of clothes and shoes sitting on the couch beneath the window. You take them in your hands. 

A classic black jeans, dark blue shirt and a pair of semi high boots. It's casual but also an elegant set. There's also a black coat next to the neat pile. It reaches your calves, the material of it is soft, firm and flexible. You quickly get dressed and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The clothes lay perfectly on you and you wonder if maybe Santino somehow found out your measurements throughout the night. 

You step out of the bedroom and go straight to the living room. Santino is not in it but you see him from the corner of your eye, standing on the small terrace connected to the room. You gently open the door and stand beside him.

New York is beautiful at this time of day. You can hear honks of the cars from here, see people walking by in the far distance. Where are they going? Do they know of this hidden world? 

"So… what now?" you lean against the railing.

"We’re going to Italy." he responds shortly still looking ahead. 

Italy. His country. The place where his family rules with an iron hand. Or ruled, you have no idea how it functions now with his father and sister dead.

"Before you ask, let me explain few things." he offers, in exchange you nod your head. "Your appearance here is noticeable and it's starts to turn a lot of heads. You under Camorra's protection is the only good option for you now. I suggest you take it." he narrows his eyes at you and you quickly draw your eyebrows.

"And if I don't?" you lift your chin up and raise your eyebrow at him. He grins. "Then you end up dead in some of the alleys of this city." he confesses with a seriousness drawing on his face. You press your lips together in a thin line. 

You consider his option. You already agreed to go with him so what's the difference? He may use you to his advantage but who says that it can't be used against him. You don't have to comply with whatever he would want. You just need to survive here, that's all. And if that happens because of him and his offer, you might as well take it. 

"Fine. When do we leave?" you ask. 

His lips draw upwards. "In 2 hours, but we need stop somewhere first." He says and turns to leave the terrace. You look one last time at the skyline of the city. Thinking it may be your last time. "There's a package waiting for me on the other side of the city." 

"What is it?" you question. 

"Now that would be unwise for me to tell you, no?"

"Well seeing as you would be taking me with you then I might as well know."

"It's something my father left." he says after a beat.

You don't question further. If it's from his father then it must be important, even if he wasn't the favorite child. But for him to leave Santino something and receiving it after his death… you can only guess what it is.

Both of you quickly ride down the elevator to the lobby. Santino returns the keys to the concierge and you head towards the car waiting outside. 

"Don't you think that it would be faster to get your package by metro?" you turn to him. He raises his eyebrow at you as if you've just told the most ridiculous idea. "What? I might have never been in New York, but I know that the metro is the fastest way to go around. You rather just sit in traffic? Like yesterday?" 

Last night the drive from the Continental to the penthouse took over 30 minutes. The distance from the hotel to the penthouse was short, but the traffic made it seem too long.

You can feel the tiny drops of rain falling onto your face and look up, the bright sun has began to hide behind gray clouds. 

The Italian considers your option. "Very well." Both of you start walking towards the nearest subway and Santino takes out the metro card from his wallet and presses it to the scanner. 

You're surprised that he even has one. You stand at the station, awaiting for your train when you notice something from the corner of your eye. A homeless man in baggy clothes. There isn't many people around, only few on the other side of the station. 

"I think we have a company." you say looking up at Santino. His face expresses confusion. "What makes you say that, cara?" he questions. 

"The guy in the corner has been watching us since we got here… and I know who he is." you glance towards the homeless man as he stands up, definitely hearing your last sentence. He starts walking towards you and Santino starts to gently place you behind him, but you stop him before he can finish that action.

He looks down on you, questions filling his head. But as soon as the man comes closer, Santino realizes who he might be and for who he works. 

"The Bowery King wants to talk with you." he says in a scruffy voice. His clothes are dirty and worn out but you catch a glimpse of a shiny watch on his wrist. 

The three of you hear an announcement of the train coming from the speakers and feel the rush of air behind you as the train passes by and stops. People slowly start to exit the train, the three of you don’t move. The Bowery King himself wants to speak with you. You shouldn’t be surprised, after all he has every eye in the city, or at least he would be one of the people that do.  

“We’ll go with you.” you respond. 

“He wants to speak with you alone.” he insists, glancing towards Santino and throwing him a dirty look. You look between both men and smile mischievously.

“No,” you step closer to the man “either we both go or you can just go back to your boss and tell him to fuck off.” the homeless man stares at you with wide eyes. 

"He won't accept this, people don't refuse him." 

"Well, first time for everything right?" you say raising an eyebrow. "Either we both go or none of us do."

The little morning breakdown is now sitting deep in the back of your mind, you can't afford being seen as a vulnerable girl from another world. Santino stands beside you, his lips twitching to smile. 

The man looks between you too and considers taking the option at hand. "Follow me." he says through gritted teeth. 

You miss the train and Santino doesn't gather his package in time. 

Both of you arrive at the Bowery King's domain. People scattered all around the shelter, wearing dirty and worn out clothes. A facade. You know that all of this is just a cover up for the whole industry inside. Money flows here as well as it flows in the hands of rich people. 

You walk down the rusty, metal staircase with a torn umbrella over your head, Santino trailing behind you and the King's man ahead, leading you to his boss. 

The boss himself is standing on an open platform almost beneath the Manhattan Bridge. He’s holding one of the pigeons in his hands, petting it carefully.  The New York air hits you with chilly wind. Your coat flatters lightly from it. Santino stands beside you, his shoulders tense. None of you know why the Bowery King would want to speak with you. 

"As I live and breath, miss Jade." exclaims the dark skinned man. "I must admit it is an honor to meet you and you" he turns his sight to Santino "the man who offered 7 million dollars for the life of John Wick. Spare pocket change perhaps? We would gladly accept it." the Bowery King grins at Earl who’s standing behind you alongside four other men.

"What do you want?" you ask with an icy cold voice. 

"Ah, straight to the point, I like it." he puts the bird gently back in his cage and turns to you, a transparent red umbrella over above his head and spreading his arms lightly. "You are the talk of the city. The girl who stopped the Boogeyman. To save him?" he glances in Santino's way. "And for what?"

You side eye the Italian, he doesn't say a word, only silently watches your conversation with the King.

"You’re all seeing and all knowing, shouldn’t you know that by now?" you squint your eyes at him, the left of the morning sun hitting you in the face, you hear raindrops bouncing off your umbrella.

"Hmm, your right," he hums, deep in thought. "I assume you’ve told him your explanation in a more private setting.” the King smiles, it's a pleasant smile but it holds that cold attitude. “But you know a lot too, don't you?" he steps in closer, Santino moves a bit closer to you too. "You are from a world where all of this is a movie." he gestures around himself. "A movie, Earl! Can you believe it? We are stars." 

The New York traffic on the bridge is starting to get louder with every passing minute. You and Santino stand close to each other, listening, awaiting for the Bowery King's next move. The Italian decides to speak up.

"You might want to speed up your little speech, we have more important things to do than talk with rodents like you." he comments and the King grins. 

"Well, no one likes to waste time, but on you," he turns to you with a mischief in his eyes "everyone in this damn city would do so in a blink of an eye." 

The word does travel fast in this world. Maybe Winston did inform the High Table. You look towards the stairs from where you came from, expecting an Adjudicator to come in at any second. You feel relieved when that doesn't happen. 

"Why? How many people know? No one was at the lounge yesterday." you slide your eyesight to the King. 

"Well you do seem to be missing those few guests that were there before you interrupted their lovely night." 

The guests. There were a few of them before you crashed into the railing of the stairs at the Continental. Few heads turned your way, and all of them left the venue when Winston told them to. What if one of them stayed in the shadows? 

"Let me guess, one of them was working for you." you acknowledge.

"Indeed she was." the man says it slowly with a smile playing on his lips. "Quite a scene you've made, placing yourself in front of a gun, shielding the Camorra prince. You have some guts on you, baby." he directs his eye on the Italian beside you.

"And to answer your rude request Mr. D'Antonio, I am here to offer a deal to your lovely saviour." 

You furrow your eyebrows as the Camorra head places his arm on the low of your back. 

"No, we're going." Santino says coldly. 

Both of you turn to walk back but before you can do that the Bowery's men stop right in front of you, hands placed on the guns hidden inside their torn jackets. 

You hear a small chuckle from the King. "So quick to refuse when you haven't even heard my offer." you keep your eyes on Earl and a few other men before you turn your sight to the man standing behind you. 

"Work for me." he simply says. You look towards Santino, looking for his reaction. "You supposedly considered going here in the first place, why not making it true?" your eyes slide from Santino's and go in the direction of the Bowery King. 

"I'm afraid that I have already beaten you to it, she's going with me." the Italian cuts in, his eyes still focused on your frame before they move to the man.

The King stares at the prince with hooded eyes, his gaze piercing into Italian's. One leader versus another. 

"I was speaking to our guest and not you, Mr. D'Antonio. So what do you say?" he takes slow steps in your direction  "We could teach you everything you need to know about this world, teach you how to blend in with shadows, be unnoticeable."

You think about it and feel conflicted. On one hand staying with the Bowery could help you blend in this world, on the other you could go with Santino and see where that leads you. He owes you, that much you know, you did save him. You could use that favor in the future.

"Thanks for the offer, but... I think that going with Santino will be somewhat a better option."

The Italian stares at you in disbelief, he thought that you might take up on the man's offer. 

"Call me surprised," he says slowly "do tell me one thing before we depart. Why do you think you're safer with him than with us?"

You look towards the man in question, right into his emerald eyes. The sun is not hitting them anymore, hiding behind the clouds but they still hold that bright look in them, his hair wave slightly at the feeling of the wind flowing on the platform. The birds faintly chirp in the background. 

"He's Camorra and a member of the High Table. I saw how easily it is to take your bowery down. Your people, even trained , don't stand a chance against professional killers." you step closer to the King and you hear shuffling of feet behind you and soft clicks of guns.

"Careful now, it's dangerous saying things in that tone here, baby." he smiles widely but there is nothing sweet about it. "You've seen it? In this movie?" he wonders. 

The King heads to one of the cages and you slowly walk towards him. The people behind you are still ready to attack if it comes to it. He pets on of the birds with his gloves hands. 

"Yes and I also saw that you gave John seven bullets. But don't worry, I don't think that you're endangered now that I saved him." he knows you're talking about Santino, but he shows surprise at your mention of the bullets. It reminds you of the same surprise on John's face when you told him his real name. 

The Bowery King sighs and closes the birdcage. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, miss Jade. Our doors are always open for you, we could really use your knowledge." your shoulder loose their build up tension just a bit. "I do hope we meet each other again."

You keep your sight on him, your eyes burning into his. 

"Don't hold your breath."

He hums. "Hmm, definitely a fighter soul. I'm sure we'll hear about you again.” the man smiles and nods towards the man who brought you here. “Earl will guide you on your way out."

You turn to leave and look at Santino, his expression blank. As you head up the stairs you can hear a faint laugh of the man. 

Outside there's a car waiting for you and the driver from last night. He was probably informed by Santino of your location. When he did that though, you don't know. Maybe on your way here? 

Both of you enter the car and head towards the airport. The rain keeps falling onto the car and makes a tapping sound against it. You follow a single drop that slides on the window and see it connecting with the others. After a brief moment of tranquility you speak up.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Santino responds. "You've seemed to be handling the situation pretty well. You didn't need my help."

You feel a sense of pride coursing through you. You refused the Bowery King, one of the most powerful people in New York. How many refused his offers and lived to see another day? You don't ponder about it for too long. 

"He's a cool character, you know," the Italian raises an eyebrow "in the movie. The actor that played him was working with Keanu on a previous massive movie trilogy."

"Keanu?" he asks with curiosity lacing his question.

"Ah, right, you don't know, that's how John's actor is called, Keanu Reeves." you quickly inform him. 

"Unusual name." he says as you pass the river. 

"Yeah, it is, but it falls in memory." you stare at the water, some small boats float above it, fishermans sitting on the shore. "Just like John now that I think about it." you smile at the thought.

Santino glances at you, at your shy smile. The tranquility fills up the small space of the car. You hear the faint sound of the tires, moving on the pavement, the passing cars and a quiet sound of the flowing river.  

"What about your package?” you turn to him, your face filled with concern. “We wasted a lot of time there, don't you wanna know what your father left you?" you question with furrowed eyebrows. 

"He's dead anyway, I don't think that it would be something useful." he only answers. You wonder what would his father leave him? What if it was something to show that he cared about him? Or maybe something to make him hurt even more? 

You don’t respond to his answer, but don’t want for the silence to fill up the atmosphere again. 

"So… Italy. We're going to Naples?" you question, he looks at you as if he just acknowledged your question.  "Camorra exists in my world too. They're placed in Naples and have people working for them worldwide, many of them fear them and are the second most active Italian mob." you inform the Italian. 

"You just described the Camorra working here." he says with an amused smile. 

You say nothing, he observes you as your coat falls delicately on the car seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. Your face is turned to the direction of the window, admiring the view of the New York. You're not in the middle of the city but it doesn't stop you from marvelling at the scenery next to you. 

"Would you be taking up on the bowery's offer if I weren't there?" the Italian breaks the silence with a sudden question. You answer him without even thinking about it. 

"No." you tell him the truth. You wouldn't, over the course of last events you realized that maybe being in the presence of the new Head of the High Table would be more efficient than staying with the Bowery. 

"Why?" he questions further. He's curious, you did propose that offer in the first place as a suggestion, but even suggestions could be your true intention. Why changing your mind then? 

"You owe me," you smirk "and I could really use a decent protection. If the bowery knows about me then it would be turning a lot of heads in my direction." you say as a matter of fact. 

Last night's events may have already reach some dangerous people, maybe even the High Table itself. You don't want to risk meeting face to face with one of their servants. "I know things that some don't, that's an advantage." 

"It could get you killed here." he leans in closer, his whole expression flashes with softness and seriousness all in one second. You decide to lean in too, narrowing your eyes. 

"That's why I stayed with you.” you exclaim as you study him. His expression doesn’t change. You slowly start to smirk. “ You're welcome... again, you may find out one thing or two from me and my knowledge of this world." you lean back in your seat and cross your arms on your chest. "And you still haven't thanked me for that." you point out. Santino says nothing but you can see from the corner of your eyes that he tries to hide a smile. 

Both of you arrive at the private airport. It’s empty, the only thing standing in the center of the open space is a pearly white plane. You step out of the car and look towards the beautiful machine. The sun has already started to peak out from the clouds, giving away to the stormy weather. 

"Of course it’s a private jet.” you mumble under your breath. Santino seems to have heard that cause there's a smirk on his face as he turns to you. 

“Come on.” he urges you. You walk towards the stairs leading to the plane and are met with one of the Camorra guards. He's dressed in a grey three piece suit with his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Welcome back boss.” he says to Santino and the man nods his head. The Italian starts to enter the plane but the guard stops you before you can do the same. Santino notices your absence by his side and turns to the guard. 

“It’s alright, she’s going with us.” you hold your gaze with the guard as he still holds your arm. He releases the grip on your arm and takes a step back. You look towards Santino and he only tilts his head as if to say Come on. 

The interior of the plane is simple but still shows that state of luxury that comes with everyone flying on private planes. 

“Take a seat anywhere you want. The flight is over 8 hours long.” Santino tells you as he sits down in one of the comfy chairs. You sit across from him. The only people in the small space are both of you and a hostess that comes up to you with a smile on her face. You suggest that she also works for Camorra and is probably trained in how to defend herself.  

“Welcome aboard, can I get you anything to drink?” she asks politely. Her head turns from you to Santino. The Italian shakes his head, not wanting anything at this moment. You look up at the woman. 

“Um… water is fine.” you say softly and return the smile. The hostess disappears and you look outside of the small window. The sun is high up in the sky, by the time you arrive in Italy it will be already night. You stare at the New York far in the distance, the high skyscrapers gleaming with light reflecting on them. 

You wonder if you made a right decision. Yes, going to Camorra is a safer option but you are still not sure if they would even accept you, an outsider, one that doesn't belong in this world. 

All this time that you've been here you haven't even thought of a way to get back home. Or even a way of how you really got here in the first place. Do you want to go back home? Is it worth it, to go back to a place where you were not fully acknowledged by others? You feel like the questions won't end for a long time. You break your thoughts with one question that has been bugging you since the Lounge. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea taking me with you?” you ask the man sitting across from you. He glances towards you and his green eyes shine in the afternoon light. 

"How many times will you ask this before we get there?" he asks with a hint of that Italian accent of his. You smirk his way, mirroring his own, faint grin. 

"As many as it takes, I just… need to be sure." you hesitate with the last part. You see from the corner of your eye the sun peaking out from the leftover clouds, some of its rays fall on the side of your face. 

Santino keeps his eyes on you and slowly turns his gaze towards the window. Everything is already prepared for the departure. You can hear the engines of the plane becoming alive. They roar faintly in you ear. 

“You’ll fit right in, I promise.” you hear Santino say. His gaze still focused on the window, the plane begins to move and it slowly takes off.  “You’ll be safe there.” 

New York starts to become a small point in the distance now that you're in the air. The city is even more beautiful from above, you can still see cars moving and even the platform below the Manhattan Bridge, but you don't see any of the Bower King's men or even the King himself. 

“I hope you’re right," you say quietly, he narrows his eyes at you. "cause I don’t really wanna end up six feet under, especially in this world.” 

You look at your reflection in the small window, the bruises started to fade and don’t hurt as much as before. The painkillers helped but you will still have to take them in the evening, just to ease the rest of the pain as you’ll fall asleep.

It hasn't been even full 24 hours and you feel a big change coming. You don't know if it will affect the world around but you're sure that it will get to you. You sitting on that plane proves it, in a few hours you'll be in the center of the underground world or at least a big part of it. 

You wonder if Camorra will be the only organization you meet during your time here. You've met the Bowery, but you know that there's so much more underneath this world. 

The tranquility filling the air of the small space is deafening. Over 8 hour flight, might as well get comfortable. You lean back in your chair and lean on the side of the plane. The soft trembling of the walls lulls you to sleep, before you can fully submerge yourself into the dream land you feel a soft material being placed on your body.