#forgot to mention that when i said “do my homework” i mean copy half of it

[ami8666]

Hang in there buddy (uncensored and just one edited version under cut cuz i love editing my art to make it look better 🤭)

Erm... time for me to disappear cuz i did NO homework and i got one week left *crawls back to where i came from*

[1kook]

hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening.  “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides,  drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. “That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

[cxptain-carol]

𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧' | 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨

➺ summary: of course it had to be the cool and aloof shoto who you fell for, out of all the boys in class a. for now, you’re content admiring him from afar—but one thing leads to another and now it’s time for you to confess.

➺ pairing: todoroki shōto x reader

➺ word count: 2.7k

➺ warnings: stress/overthinking, general insecurity is mentioned, one bad word (also i briefly mention your quirk & there’s a suggestive comment)

➺ genre: fluff, pining (?)

➺ gender-neutral and racially inclusive reader

➺ a/n: this is just cute cliché fluff that i hope can cheer ya up if needed :)  please enjoy as i abuse italics and ellipses...

You were surprised there weren’t rose petals floating in the air and angels singing, to top off just how ethereal Shoto looked in fourth period. Well, fourth period and every day.

Present Mic was talking but his ear-piercing voice might as well have been crickets with how distant you were from the classroom. You were in a Shoto kind of mood today, and just by reassuring yourself that you were a relatively hardworking student, you let school take a backseat to your uncontrollable heart.

It hadn’t even been that long since you finally admitted to yourself that you were most definitely crushing on Todoroki but that didn’t even matter, because it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep your thoughts clear of him. 

Shoto wasn’t even really your type. He was a bit too quiet and came off a little detached but somehow that just added to your fascination with him. He scared you at first, but now you admired him for his cool nature and genuinely impressive skills. That was really where your problems lay.

Shoto was much too cool and remarkable to like someone like you.

You usually didn’t compare yourself to others (you had a pretty nice Quirk and were good at using it) but of course you couldn’t help but realize you paled in comparison to Todoroki Shoto and it made you unbelievably insecure.

But that didn’t stop you from finding him attractive.

Your right cheek was squished against the palm of your hand, propped up by your elbow on the desk. From your optimal desk placement, it was too easy to watch Shoto out of the corner of your eye, and even turn your head to stare at him when he looked down.

It was definitely creepy, but he was yet to catch you so it was fine.

Shoto brushed his half-red-half-white hair out of his eyes and copied something down, squinting a little bit as he bent over slightly to write. You wanted to squeal but bit your lip to keep it in—he just looked so cute and it was making your heart race.

In the back of your mind, you could hear and process that you were supposed to be paying attention to the directions for something but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Shoto’s serene expression even as he looked up at the board.

Stop it, look away! You were trying to urge yourself but it didn’t seem to work.

Sure enough, Shoto’s bi-colored eyes locked onto yours in a heartbeat and you flinched, jolting out of your comfortable rest and into an upright position pointed straight at the board, trying to ignore the heat that rushed to your face.

✾  ✾  ✾  ✾  ✾

You tapped your fingers on the smooth surface of a clean notebook page, biting the end of your pen as you looked out the window. Most of the Class 1-A students had retreated to their rooms, but you and a handful of others milled around the first floor.

Your legs were tucked under you in your spot on the couch, and you swayed your head slightly to the quiet music playing in your earbuds. There was only one assignment left for you to complete but you were absolutely exhausted already; it had been a long day and you were ready to go to bed. Maybe even think about Shoto before falling asleep.

“Y/N! I was about to go up—wanna come with me?”

You swiftly ripped out your earbuds to see Ochaco, who appeared pretty much out of nowhere, with a bright smile and pink cheeks like always. You smiled involuntarily at the sight of her and nodded, but quickly remembered you weren’t actually finished.

“Oh, um, maybe later? I still have one more thing to do,” you replied, pointing to the blank notebook page. 

Ochaco looked disappointed for a split-second but went back to her usual cute grin, leaning over the back of the couch towards you.

“It’s okay! You don’t mind if I sit with you, right?” 

“Go ahead,” you said quietly, pausing your music and setting the mess of cords aside while she sat down beside you. You gripped your blue pen tightly and started writing faster, but felt Ochaco staring. You finished up a sentence and finally turned to her. She was still smiling, but in a different way. You had a sinking feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Are you gonna ask about Shoto?” You questioned her timidly, already beginning to sweat in anticipation of the upcoming conversation.

She looked into her lap shyly, her smile slightly fading.

“Well, I just noticed you looking at him today and I wanted to talk to you about it. Of course, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to!” Ochaco’s brown eyes sparkled under the lamps as she looked at you, hopefully.

“It’s fine,” you said, cheeks warm and homework forgotten. “If you really want to know, I like him.”

Not even a moment after the words left your lips, there were hurried footsteps approaching the two of you and a bright pink ball of joy was sitting on the next couch over.

“Really?! Y/N, I think he likes you, too!” Mina contained her excitement to the best of her ability.

You shook your head, barely bothered by the fact that another person knew your secret and more concerned with Mina’s unforeseen confession.

“No way! If he likes anyone, it’s probably not me,” you said, looking over at the table Shoto had been sitting at before going up to his room almost an hour ago.

“I’m telling you! I was watching him this past week and he was looking at you, like, a lot. Oh my gosh, you guys would look so cute together! I almost forgot to tell you that, by the way, thankfully I was eavesdropping,” Mina said. She and Ochaco were both smiling as they stared at you, looking convinced that there was no reason to question the validity of this new “information.”

“But there’s no… no way! I don’t really care if he doesn’t like me back, anyway,” you played around with your fingers, uselessly trying to brush off the false hope that Mina’s words had secretly given you.

“Y/N?”

You looked up at Ochaco, who wore a soft expression on her face.

“I think you should tell him how you feel, after class tomorrow. I trust Mina and after thinking about it, it looks like she could be right! I know you don’t believe us but it couldn’t hurt to go after him, right? I’ll even tell him for you, if you want.”

You had been so sure that Shoto barely noticed you that there was a large possibility that you missed some hints. Of course, the other side of you was completely unmovable. But Mina looked so happy, and Ochaco was so excited too… 

“I mean, I’ll think about it,” you said. You couldn’t help but smile as the two girls’ faces lit up.

Mina laughed a bit as she squealed excitedly. “Can I watch the whole thing? I’ll hide behind a wall or something!”

Your face felt hot again as your mind lingered on what you actually got roped into. Confessing to Shoto… alone… with no true confirmation that he even reciprocated your feelings. 

The idea of doing such a thing was so unlike you that you wanted to cry out of fear. There was a lot that could go wrong.

“Y/N, you’re gonna be fine. There’s no doubt in my mind,” Ochaco added, sensing your unease.

You nodded, half-terrified and half-excited as you started stacking your books in your arms to go upstairs. Mina hugged you, still giddy over your answer but you could only feel anxious. You hadn’t even considered confessing to Shoto and now you practically didn’t have a choice?

It seemed like you wouldn’t be sleeping a wink that night.

✾  ✾  ✾  ✾  ✾

Red and white.

Your brain was so preoccupied with imagining all the different ways Shoto could react that those two colors were practically etched on the inside of your eyelids.

Of course, the happy-ending scenarios were your favorite to imagine. You don’t stumble over your words or start sweating profusely, and Shoto says he’s been in love with you since the day you first met.

It’s a little too good to be true.

You recognized that and as a result, filled your head with the possibility of rejection and humiliation at the hands of Todoroki. Each time the clock ticks, you prepare yourself for it. You might have been optimistic in most situations, but your love life was really just uncharted territory and you couldn’t afford to think like that.

The sudden scraping of chairs against the floor and chorus of loud voices alerted you that the last class of the day had finished. 

And for someone who had just spent hours panicking, you felt oddly ready.

“Psst,” a small voice whispered and you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to see Mina and Ochaco’s smiles of encouragement. You nervously sent one back before standing up from your seat.

“Go, go, go! We’ll take your stuff with us!”

You picked up your pace towards the back of the classroom as Mina’s fingers poked you in the back.

You can do it, you told yourself, slowly easing your nerves. A small smile formed on your lips but it went away almost instantly when you looked at Shoto and your insecurities began to surface.

Shit, he was just too good-looking.

You took a deep breath and walked the last few spaces until you were right beside Shoto’s desk.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t-

“Hi.”

Your fingers instinctively reached for the back of your neck and you scratched awkwardly, much too shy to look Shoto in the eyes.

“Hi! I was, um, wondering if you could step outside with me for a second? I… I want to tell you something,” you said. See, that wasn’t so bad.

“Oh, sure.”

Why doesn’t he emote?! Maybe he doesn’t care about me at all… 

Shoto stood up from his seat, leaving his supplies behind. He was obviously taller standing up but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. It didn’t help that his resting face was handsome, too. You tried to keep your cool but it all felt so different—you went from fantasizing day after day about him to this.

Once you two found a quiet spot further down the hall, you took another deep breath and looked up at Shoto. 

He was looking back at you, but not in a way that scared you; in fact, there was something in his gaze that made heat rush to your cheeks and brought your hand back up behind your neck again.

“Um, I know we don’t talk that much but I think you’re really cool,” you began, taking another look at Shoto to see that he had tilted his head to the side, eyeing you as if you were a curious little thing that he simply didn’t understand.

“And… and even if you might not feel the same, I-”

A flash of pink moved somewhere in your field of view.

You looked for it momentarily, causing Shoto to look away from you and in the direction of your line of sight. You tapped his arm lightly, giggling a bit as he looked back down at you, slightly puzzled.

“It’s nothing, sorry,” you said, feeling a little less nervous.

“But I was saying that I think you’re really cool a-and I might have been staring at you a lot for the past few weeks because you’re cute and-” Your eyes widened at the words leaving your mouth and you sneaked a look at Shoto, who seemed equally shocked.

“I mean, y-you are cute but that’s not why- wait, sorry… geez. I, um, like you. As more than a friend.”

Damn, you must have done something pretty remarkable in one of your lifetimes to be able to experience the beauty of Todoroki Shoto.

You bit your lip nervously as you awaited a response, but Shoto’s reaction was somehow much better than anything he could have said.

His relaxed stance tensed up in surprise at your words. You could see his hands shift around inside his pockets and you heard him intake air so cutely it cut through the wall of fear that was built around you since you first approached him. But his face was what made your heart flutter with joy. Even if it was just a light blush, you made his cheeks turn pink.

A hopeful smile stretched across your face as you admired him, waiting patiently as he thought out what to say (and you wished frantically that it turned out in your favor).

“Y/N,” you hopped cheerily at the way he said your name, “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I made sure you didn’t notice but I was also watching you. I… think that I like you, too.” Shoto ended his little confession, still pink-cheeked but looking satisfied with himself.

“Really? I mean, wow! I-I can’t believe- but, what do we do now?” You weren’t really looking for an answer; you wanted to jump for joy, maybe even scream. It was like lifting your hood to see the sunlight after weeks of having it drawn shut. You couldn’t tell whether you wanted to kiss Shoto (considering the context of the situation) or just hug him out of blissful relief.

“Well, would you like to go out with me sometime?” Shoto offered, looking down at you, amused at your delight with a hint of adoration in his eyes.

“Yes, of course!” You were done with this awkward conversation: all you wanted to do was feel Shoto’s arms around you. But you knew him well enough to understand he wouldn’t hug you right then.

Shoto wore a small grin as he watched you and after a moment’s contemplation, you beckoned him a bit closer. He obliged, bending slightly.

High off of the rush of the moment, you leaned in and pressed a little kiss to his cheek, right below his scar.

Shoto pulled back slowly, looking thoroughly shocked. You bit your lip again, hoping you hadn’t gone too far.

“W-Wow, thanks,” he managed to say, his face a few shades redder than before. He couldn’t make eye contact with you, instead choosing to stare out the window shyly.

“No problem, I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” you replied, the smile returning to your face. “I guess I’d better get going then.”

You straightened out your blazer and took a step out of the little corner you had been occupying. With a look over your shoulder, your heart fluttered again at the sight of him, flustered and frozen.

“Well, bye Shoto.” You waved at him—he waved back, the rosy blush still prominent on his beautiful face—and turned back around, with a slight bounce in your step.

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You spun around eagerly.

“Would you like to walk with me?”

✾  ✾  ✾  ✾  ✾

“I’ll just say it: I knew you could do it, Y/N!” Ochaco was grinning from ear to ear again as the three of you lounged around in Mina’s room, still in your uniforms because you were far too excited to talk about the afternoon’s events.

“And I’ll just say it: I wasn’t watching Todoroki at all before!” Mina chimed in but the smile fell off your face in an instant.

“So I just went into that with nothing even kind of ensuring that he liked me back? Oh my god, that could have gone so wrong,” you sighed in relief, your head in your hands as you looked down at the floor.

“Well, I was just trying to give you a little confidence. I think this just proves that you can pull any guy you want, Y/N.” Mina smirked.

Heat rushed to your face. “I don’t think I’d go as far as to say that.”

Mina ignored you, opting to lean back in her chair and eye you curiously. “Okay, now we have to start talking about the future for you two—this is just the beginning. When do you think you’ll take your relationship to the next level?”

“What?! I-I didn’t realize we’d have to-”

“Y/N! Get your mind out of the gutter! She did not mean it like that!”

[peanut-butter-parkerxx]

Used to be mine

*i saw this Peter Parker POV on TikTok and decided to make an imagine off of it :) so thank you @tom_.hollands.wifeyyxx (the creator on TikTok)!!*

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Status: Ex-lovers

Warning: fighting

*also in this imagine, y/n has a lot of preferences that may not be in your liking so just keep that in mind, enjoy!*

"Guys, y/n's birthday is coming up. And I don't know what to get her?" Brad spoke after sipping his black coffee, his statement suddenly catching peters attention from his homework. The group today decided to have a little hangout at this local cafe, one of mj's favorite spots.

And by the group I mean, Mj, Ned, Peter, Betty, brad, and flash somehow managed to come as well. The only one missing, which Peter realized immediately, was y/n. She said she'd come a little later than usual since her family needed her for something.

"What?" Peter blurted out, a little too quickly. Everybody's heads spun to his direction, confused to why he was acting so weird. It wasn't the first time Peter has been a little sus when brad mentioned his new girlfriend, y/n. The poor boy would stiffen just by her name rolling off brads tongue so adoringly and- and, and literally any possible tone he could use to show how much he loved her since he was the one who had her.

"Uh yeah sorry, just uh, forgot it was soon" Peter chuckled nervously. of course he didn't forget, what kind of idiot would he be if he did? But he shrugged it off nonetheless, immediately going back to his algebra homework. A few minutes of awkward silence later, Betty decided to break the tension.

"So what are you gonna get her?!" Betty eyes Beamed in excitement. .Betty and mj were y/n's ultimate best friends, so of course they'd have to approve of what brads so called 'best gift ever' would be, you can say both girls get a bit overly protective of her. But y/n wouldn't trade it for the world.

"I was thinking, flowers and-"

"Don't get her a hibiscus. she hates their smell, man" Peter interrupted brad, chuckling slightly at the memory as he was writing his answers.

"O-okay Uhh well i was also gonna ask my mom to make strawberry cheesecake-"

"Dude are you crazy? She's allergic to strawberries!" Peter visibly huffed, shocked on how brad didn't know these stuff about her already.

"Okay then, we'll make vanilla cupcakes-"

"Hates vanilla" Peter quipped, rolling his eyes as he finished his last question in his worksheet

"Chocolate?"

"Too basic-"

"So what do you think I should give her, Parker?" brad was irritated. Not being right, or not thinking of the perfect gift for y/n made him boil in anger. How could the loser of the school know more about his girlfriend than he did?.

"Make brownies, she likes to be dfferent. You all know how y/n is" somehow Peter managed to laugh again, just thinking about all the times they've burned the brownies until they made the perfect batch and obviously celebrating by eating the whole thing in one night made a smile light up his lightly freckled face, and forget all about the urge to web brad up and throw him into Mars.

But this time everyone laughed with him instead of watching the banter between the,, each of them remembering a certain memory of how y/n is always determined to be different than everyone else, how she wants to think creatively all the time and not bother copying whatever she was doing from someone since she liked the feeling of achievement and productivity.

Hell, even flash laughed remembering that one time where y/n challenged flash to a race after getting her first car, people think she wanted to win, but she needed to win, and of course the y/h/c haired girl won fair and square.

"Yeah haha" brad chuckled obviously faking it, trying to blend in and no one noticed it...except for Peter. Surprise, surprise. His eyes was burning with rage, he couldn't believe how careless brad was! After 3 and a half months of dating her, yet he didn't know a single thing he said about her before?

"Okay but what about the gift?" Mj piped in, her eyes brows furrowed in concentration.

"Well, she likes painting!" Brad said a little too loudly, eyeing Peter as if he won a silent battle of who knows y/n best. But Peter rolled his eyes knowing where this was going "I remember she wanted a copy of some painting from a website but it was too expensi-"

"Yeah well y/n being y/n, decided on not buying it but creating her own, so she took inspiration from one of giuseppe camino's paintings and did an amazing masterpiece that is hung beside her door in the hallway" Peter narrowed his eyes at him, not knowing something as important as y/n's obsession of paintings and Italian painters is crossing the line, he was this close, thisss close into beating the shit out of him.

"Fine, well. I'll buy her a necklace" bad glared at Peter

"Okay, just make sure it isn't gold, she likes silver jewelry" Peter looked back at his homework, putting his pencil case and papers away. Turning back to see brad looking at him with fire coming out of his eyes, but that doesn't mean peters eyes weren't burning as well.

"How do you know so much about my girlfriend, you creep" brad almost shouted, demanding an explanation from the so called caring friend of y/n's

"Well im sorry for listening and paying attention to her more, instead of stressing over not getting an extra 3K followers everyday!" Peter quipped back, gritting his teeth from frustration causing brad to roll his eyes

"Oh shut up, That still doesn't explain why you know where her gio-something painting is?"

"it's giuseppe camino" Peter lifted his index finger pointing it at him trying to prove a point.

"WHO THE FUCK CARES?"

" YOURE SUPPOSED TO" Peter had had enough, he couldn't be patient anymore not after brad admitting that he doesn't care about something so special to his y/n. "YOURE THE BOYFRIEND, YOU SHOULD PROUDLY KNOW ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING ABOUT HER AND WISH TO KNOW MORE EVERY SINGLE DAY" Peter shouted back, standing up from his chair like brad did infront of him

"DONT TRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT PARKER, HOW DO YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT HER?" the rest of the group looked surprised, shocked by how Peter handled this situation. Fighting back, and shouting isn't what Peter does on a daily basis. Ned and mj looked right at Peter, a strong feeling of sympathy arose by looking at how desperately their best friend didn't want to cry in front of the group, luckily he managed to hide it well. But no one knows Peter more than his best friend Ned.

"S-she- She"

"Spit it out parker, why were you in my girlfriends house?" Brad finally cooled down, still frustrated from the boy infront of him, wanting to rip his head off just for being right, just for knowing more, just for paying attention more. That sentence flooded peters brain with memories, happy ones, sad ones, perfect ones , he couldn't count.

—————————————————

"I love you, pumpkin"

"Just because I made you pumpkin pie ONCE, my names pumpkin now?" She laughed

"Say it backkk"

"Fine fine, I love you more Parker" holding the sides of his face, giving his forehead a kiss causing him to hum lowly

—————————————————

"Y/n have you seen my-"

"What is it?"

"Oh nothing, I was just looking for that hoodie. But it looks better on you so keep it!"

—————————————————

"Hey babe" Peter was mindlessly scrolling through his phone "have you finished your painting yet?" He looked up to see his gorgeous yet frustrated girlfriend looking back and forth between the canvas and the picture on her screen

"Ugh I can't do it, Peter" y/n sighed deeply not ready to give up yet

"What do you mean? Of course you can do it, here"

—————————————————

"Your eyes look so pretty from here" y/n whispered staring deeply into her lovers chocolate brown eyes

"Y/n/n I'm trying to help you with your painting! Stop doing that" Peter chuckled sheepishly his cheeks getting redder by the second.

"I can't help it, youre beautiful" she replied shrugging her shoulders, and in that moment Peter looked up to meet her y/e/c eyes, now his turn to admire his girl.

"What?" She chuckled nervously

"And you're perfect" he replied kissing her

—————————————————

"YESSS I WON, PETER I WONNN" y/n shouted jumping from excitement

"YESSSSS" Peter gasped in realization and jumped with her

"Why are you jumping, Parker? Y/n won" Sam huffed annoyingly from y/n. winning the 5th round of monopoly causing him to break his streak

"Coz we're basically a package deal" Peter grabbed y/n by the shoulders side hugging her closely "when she wins-"

"He wins" y/n spoke looking at Peter with much love and adoration in her eyes

"Are you sure you want to share the next prize with someone?" Tony appeared with a covered plate wiggling his eye brows causing both of the kids to roll their eyes "it's brownies" Y/n's eyes widened, nothing can get between her and her brownies, she slowly looked at peters direction.

Oh, Peter knew how close his girlfriend's relationship with brownies are, so he knew he was screwed, after a few seconds of staring y/n suddenly sprinted to Tony grabbing the plate of brownies and ran to her room.

"OH NO YOU WONT, PUMPKIN" Peter groaned as y/n's laughter echoed through the halls

—————————————————

"HOW COULD YOU PETER!" y/n yelled through gritted teeth "I THOUGHT YOU DIED AND YOU DIDNT BOTHER TO TELL ME YOURE OKAY? I HEARD YOU AT THE COMMS YOU WERE BREATHLESS AND-AND..." y/n sobbed

"Y/n, baby i wanted to I swear! But then I got caught up with healing myself, and studying, and the project liz and I were working on-"

"Wait what?" Her eyes widened, in disbelief "SO YOU HAD THE TIME TO GO AND FINISH A FUCKING SCHOOL PROJECT WITH LIZ AND YOU COULDNT JUST COME BY MY ROOM, LIKE EVERY GODDAMN TIME YOU HAVE PATROL, AND TELL ME YOU WERE OKAY?"

"N-no no! Y/n no i swea-"

"Save it, Parker. I can't take." She sighed "I can't take it anymore! I thought I could but I can't, waiting for you everytime you go on a mission hell, even on patrol! Stressing every time praying to god that you'd come back safely I- it's just too much! And now knowing that you don't care about that- I-I I'm sorry I can't do this" y/n sniffled, tears spilling over and over again "goodbye, Peter"

"NO- no no no" the door got shut before he could stop it "Pumpkin..."

—————————————————

"What are you waiting for, penis Parker?" Flash butted in, smirking for some sick twisted reason. Silence filled the group, Peter couldn't bring himself to talk. His mind racing from thoughts, to memories, to regrets as tears  threatened to spill his eyes. he managed to say,

"she used to be mine"

Have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!

-Quacksonlover

[getsojaded]

chemistry || calum hood

word count: 3.8k+

warnings: mentions of weed, swear words, mention of injury, food & the slightest bit of sex talk

a/n: hey twt moots ;)) anyways, this is inspired by this post! i hope u all enjoy <3

-

It was about 11 pm, and I had just finished taking an unnecessarily large amount of notes for chemistry class. With a sore, shaky hand and a vision that was starting to go blurry, I had finally finished ten pages. Who knew that there was so much information about 5 organic compounds?

I yawned in my seat, stretching my arms out and removing my glasses. I was more than thankful that I can call it a night, and walked towards my bathroom to get ready for bed, which took a good 30 minutes. It usually doesn’t take me that long, but fuck, I was exhausted this whole day. After all my skincare was completed, I walked back to my bedroom and hopped into my bed, prepared for a well deserved rest. After slouching for a good three and a half hours, comforter and pillows had never felt so good against my body. 

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a loud ding! from my phone and I opened my heavy eyes, which immediately annoyed me. I ignored the first one and tried to go back to sleep, but one ding turned into six and I couldn’t take it anymore. I angrily ripped the covers off my body, sitting up right after reaching for my phone on the nightstand beside my bed.

6 New Text Messages from: calum hood

hey wyd rn

can you do me a favour

i need your help

im at this party right now and i’m about to get high as fuck but i forgot about our homework for tomorrow and i was wondering if you could do them for me

you don’t even need to make them look pretty like how you do it just take down the important shit

please

“What the fuck?” I whsipered to myself as I looked at my phone. “Who does this bitch think he is?”

to: calum hood

are you fucking serious right now

from: calum hood

please i’m really sorry LOL i completely forgot about it

i know your smarty pants finished it the second you got home please

i’ll literally buy you starbucks tomorrow morning

As much as I hated to admit it, his last text message kind of convinced me. I was a sucker for coffee, and could really stop spending money on it every morning. But was I really about to lose some more sleep just to do the party boy’s notes? I barely know this kid anyways. How’d this guy even get into college? 

to: calum hood

is it gonna be a venti

from: calum hood:

if that’s what you want, sure

I knew I was going to regret this decision, but I threw on my glasses and put my hair up once again, walking towards my desk. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I sighed out, opening my laptop and gathering my supplies together. I unlocked my phone, seeing that the time was 12 am. Am I doing this for coffee or am I doing this because he’s attractive and I couldn’t really say no to him? I groaned and leaned my head on my desk, texting him back.

to: calum hood

i hate you so much

get me a venti iced white mocha no whip and an extra espresso shot

actually no make that two extra espresso shots cause bc of your dumbass im staying up 

from: calum hood

i gotchu angel

thank you so much, see you tomorrow :)

“Fuck off with the petname and the smiley face,” I angrily cursed at my phone, picking up my pencil and beginning to write another ten pages of notes. 

“I hate this bitch,” I said, throwing my pencil onto my desk and slamming my laptop shut. The time was now 3:45 am and tired was an understatement for me. I crawled into bed, falling asleep almost immediatly, hoping that these 5 hours of sleep will give me enough energy to get through class tomorrow.

-

“You have got to be fucking joking me,” I mumbled, reaching over for my phone to turn off the alarm. I was definitely not a morning person, and the fact that I didn’t get at least 7 hours of sleep meant that I was not going to be in a good mood today.

I slowly crawled out of bed and began trudging towards my bathroom, seeing I had gotten a text meesage from the man himself. I rolled my eyes seeing his name pop up, opening the conversation between him and I.

from: calum hood

goodmorning!

to: calum hood

fuck off

I set my phone aside, getting ready for bed in the slowest way possible. I honestly could care less about what I looked like today, so I decided on a hoodie and sweatpants. I went back into my room and packed my bag with everything I needed, including Calum’s stupid study notes. I threw it over my shoulder, putting on my shoes and walking out the front door, into my car. Thankfully my college was not too far from my apartment, so it didn’t matter if I was running a couple of minutes late.

Parking my car and walking towards class, more and more annoyance filled my body, hoping that nobody would say a word to me, or even better, look in my direction. As I walked into the classroom, I walked towards the empty seats in the very back, choosing the one closest to the wall. I got settled into my seat, leaning the side of my head against the wall, hoping that I’d get the tiniest bit of extra rest.

“The last text message you sent to me wasn’t very nice.” I heard a voice beside me say. I opened my eyes and looked up, seeing the stupid Calum Hood. He was holding two cups of coffee - one for me, and one for him I’m assuming - and was wearing a maroon hoodie, which he actually looked really good in.

“I don’t think you deserve to have a nice goodmorning text, because you are the reason I’m in a pissy mood today, thank you very much.” I responded, taking my coffee from his hand and placing it on my desk. I reached into my bag and took the study notes I wrote for him, slapping it onto the desk beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as our professor began to speak up, indicating that class had begun. “What can I do in order for you not to be mad at me?” I turned to look at him. He had the biggest pouty face I had ever seen, which was absolutely adorable. But I’d never tell him that.

“Just shut up.” I sighed, turning back towards the board, opening my notebook and beginning to take notes. 

Not even ten minutes later, a green sticky note caught my eye as I was writing. My eyes gazed towards the sticky note, scoffing at what was written on it.

Pls forgive me :(

I turned towards Calum, who was currently well focused on the board in front of us. I lightly chuckled, knowing he was more than pretending to actually pay attention in this class.

I thought I told you to shut up, I wrote underneath his writing and stuck it back onto his desk, and continued from where I left off. I got maybe 5 words in before I saw the neon green appear back onto my desk. I can’t shut up if I’m not talking.

I rolled my eyes before crumbling the paper in my hand, looking at Calum once again. “You’re distracting me. What do you want?” I asked him, the brunette boy turning his head to me once again. 

“For you not to be mad at me.” He responded. “What can I do for you to at least smile at me? Besides telling me to shut up.” 

I stared at him with the bitchiest face I could put on, then rolled my eyes and began to take down more notes in my book. First, he makes me write ten pages for him and now he’s distracting me in class. Can he leave me alone for at least five minutes? 

“And now you’re not gonna talk to me. Fine, be that way.” He grunted. The two of went back to what to we were doing for the remainder of class.

-

“That’s all for today folks, I hope you have a good rest of your day and don’t forget to read pages thirty to thirty-five and finish questions one to twenty-seven.” Our professor said to all of the class, which resulted in me grabbing my bag and standing up immediately, wanting nothing more than to just get the fuck out of this place.

Please don’t talk to me please don’t talk to me please don’t talk to me-

“Hey wait,” Calum said and grabbed my hand. 

Fuck

“Yes?” I asked him, turning my body towards him as he let go of my hand. 

“What’re you doing the rest of the day?” 

“Nothing, why..?”

I saw that Calum had the cheekiest grin on his face after I gave him my answer. “As an apology for making you write down my notes, thank you very much by the way, along with making you angry this whole morning, how about we go get breakfast on me, and we can do our homework together, except I will do all the work, and you just copy my answers? How does that sound?”

I thought about it. One part of me just wanted to flip him off, go back home and get the sleep I missed out on last night. The other part of me was actually kind of down for that idea. Free food, free homework answers and I get to hang out with pretty boy? I wasn’t really losing anything here, huh? 

“I mean, I would say yes, but I took my car here and also I’m dressed terribly right now, the last thing I need is for more people to see me looking like this..” I trailed off, looking down at my current outfit and laughing lightly. “Babe, you don’t even look bad whatsoever right now. However, if you insist, you can go home and change and I can come get you when you’re ready. Is that a plan?” He asked in response. First angel, now babe? What is this guy doing?

“I mean.. I could do that...but-” “Pleeaaasee?” Calum cut me off, pressing his hands together, acting as if he was praying. 

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go with you! I’ll go home and get ready, and I’ll text you when I’m done.” I responded as the both of us walked out of the classroom, towards the parking lot. 

“Pinky promise you won’t cancel on me last minute?” Calum asked, extending his arm and putting his pinky in front of me as we reached my car. I hadn’t even noticed that he walked me to my car, which honestly made my heart flutter when I realized. 

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed lightly, taking my pinky and sticking it out with his, interlocking it. “Pinky promises mean everything, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” He responded, winking at me then walking away. Getting into my car, I hit my steering wheel, squealing while I repeatedly hit my head against my wheel. “Fuckin’ angel, babe and sweetheart?! What’s next?” I asked myself, driving back to my place to get ready for this little study.. session? Hang out? Date? 

I never noticed how nervous I was to hang out with Calum until four different outfits were placed on my bed, with no ability to choose which one looked best. “Fuck, these are all terrible.” I groaned, flopping onto my bed and closing my eyes. I was interrupted by my phone ringing, seeing that Calum was calling.

“I know you pinky promised that you wouldn’t cancel on me, but angel what is taking so long?” He asked, laughing into his question. “I’m so sorry,” I groaned, getting back up and looking at the outfits I planned on my bed. “I’m having a little wardrobe crisis. I have zero idea what to wear.”

“You could’ve showed up in the hoodie and sweatpants and I’d still find you gorgeous,” He responded, making my heart flutter for what felt like the hundreth time today. This man throws small compliments left and right and it’s kind of driving me crazy. “But lemme see what you got planned out. I’ll make it easier for you.” I responded with an okay, quickly snapping a photo of the clothes that were currently on my bed. 

“Okay first off, none of these are bad at all. I think you could’ve chose any of these and rocked all of ‘em. Second, little shirt big pants is always the way to go. I say the second one.” He told me, choosing a white long sleeved shirt and the baggiest light wash jeans I had in my closet. It might’ve been basic, but Calum was right - you really can’t go wrong with a little shirt big pants combination. 

“Okay, thank you.” I sighed in relief, taking the clothes into my hands and walking into the washroom to change. “You can come now, I’ll text you my address. I’ll probably be done by the time you get here.” 

“Now was that so hard?” He asked in response, causing the both of us to laugh. “I’ll see you in a bit. Bye bye!” 

“Bye Calum, see you later.” And with that the call ended. I quickly changed into my clothes, put my laptop in my bag - along with everything else I needed - and slipped my shoes on. Once I finished doing so, I heard a loud honk outside, indicating that he was outside. 

Walking out of my house I saw Calum exiting his seat, walking over to the other side and opening the door for me. “Wow, what a gentleman.” I laughed as he closed my door and got into the drivers’ side once again. “You look great.” He told me, his eyes focused on my outfit. “All thanks to you.” I said nervously, as he started the car. “Where are we going again?” I asked him. 

“You can never go wrong with IHOP,”  He said proudly, with a wide grin on his face. “How’d you know I loved going there?” I asked him, gaining a chuckle from him in response. “Not sure if you knew this, but I’m a mindreader.” He joked, causing me to roll my eyes and laugh in response. 

Arriving at the place and ordering our food, Calum and I began to have a little conversation. It started off with an are you still mad at me? which resulted into talks about other classes, finals and parties. 

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to a party?” He asked in shock, me shaking my head as I took a sip of the water that was given to me. “Are you kidding me? We’ve been in college for what, two years, and you’ve never been to one?!”

“Yeah, in case you didn’t notice, I go to school to learn and not to party. I don’t ask people to take ten pages of notes for me so I could blaze up, unlike somebody I know,” I responded, Calum looking at me in disbelief. “I cannot believe you just called me out like that. I said I was sorry!” 

“Yeah yeah, I know. You’re making up for it with free food and free homework answers, so I decided to get over it.” I responded, laughing. “Also, when are we gonna start doing the questions?” I asked as the waiter came with both of our plates of food, thanking them as we began to eat. 

“I mean, we could go back to my place and work on it, if that’s alright with you.” Calum said, his mouth full of pancakes. “Is that your way of trying to get in my pants?” I asked jokingly. 

“You’re a fiesty one aren’t you?” He asked, with a simple nod from me in response. “Well to answer your question, no that is not my way of doing such a thing, I’d be much more smooth about it.” 

“Oh, so you think you’re slick or something?” “Nah babe, I know I’m slick.” There’s the cocky party boy that I was much more familiar with. I rolled my eyes in response.

“I’m gonna ignore what you just said.. Anyways, I am fine with working on it at your place.” I told him, getting a nod in response. Throughout the whole breakfast, we got to know each other quite well. I learned that he played soccer in highschool, but due to a torn ACL he had to quit. But because of that, he got into music and started playing the guitar. I told him that if there’s enough free time when we finished, he should play me something. He happily agreed to it, saying that I will fall in love with him after I hear his singing. I just roll my eyes at his cocky compliments about himself. 

I also got to hear his totally wild college parties that he goes to, telling me about this one time one of his friends’ houses got shut down due to the various noise complaints from neighbours down the block. “you should come join me in one”, He offers, with a “fuck no” in response from me. 

“C’mon, they’re not that bad. They’re actually really fun, and everybody’s always so nice.” 

“I literally can’t tell you the last time I got high, and the last time I got drunk it was not pretty, I’m retired from that shit.” I said, as he paid for our food and began walking back to his car.

“Oh, so you used to be rowdy?” He asked, the two of us laughing in unison. “High school me was a different story, we don’t talk about that.” I responded. “The things I would do to see that side of you. You gotta go to at least one before you get outta this place. They take a lot of stress off your shoulders for the night.” He told me as we walked towards the front door to his place, which made me laugh at the fact that he tried to make parties seem like a really good thing. A simple Maybe, was all I responded with as we got settled into his apartment, which was fairly clean to my surprise. 

We were currently sitting across each other at his dining table, the both of us reading over the textbook and him answering the questions after every section. He worked effeciently, which also took me by surprise. I underestimated this guy a lot, didn’t I?

A good two hours later, Calum had finished all the questions for homework and I had finished copying them down, thanking him for doing such a thing.

“It’s no problem. I had no idea that the notes were ten fucking pages long, you deserve a break after that- wait, you wear glasses?” He asked me, analyzing them.

“Yeah, only at home though. I don’t really like how they look on me,” I replied, taking them off and rubbing my eyes. He took them in his hands and put them back on me, smiling. “They look really cute on you, I like them.” He said, causing me to blush. “What’re you so flirty for?” I asked. Keep these compliments up and I might just fall in love with you before you even sing, I thought to myself.

“Well, with somebody as pretty as you, I gotta slip in a flirty remark every chance I get, eh?” He smirked, taking my hand, and taking the both of upstairs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, my guitars in my room.” He reassured me as we walked inside his room. He took the guitar from the side of his room, and sat on the edge of his bed, gesturing me to sit down next to him.

“Ready to fall in love with me?”

“Try me, Hood.” 

He chuckled, playing the intro to Sam Smith’s Leave Your Lover. “Holy shit, I love this song,” I whispered, watching his hands strum the guitar.

He began to sing, immediately amazed by his voice. It was so soft and raspy, I literally could listen to it all day. I closed my eyes, leaning my head on his shoulder. He laughed softly when he noticed, continuing on with the song. 

He finished playing the outro, which caused me to open my eyes and look up at him. “So, how was that?” 

“It was beautiful, your voice is so pretty.” I responded, smiling at him. “You should drop outta this whole college thing and just become famous.”

“Oh man I wish, but I think it’s too late for that.” He told me, now leaning on my shoulder, which made me want to scream and kiss him. “Did you fall in love with me yet?”

I patted his cheek with my hand lightly. “Not yet Cal, not yet. Stil kinda angry about that whole ten pages of notes thing.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nah.”

He laughed, then took my hand and intertwined it with his, rubbing circles on it with his thumb. “What if I told you I’d be down to do this again, minus the whole ‘let me do this for you today as an apology’ thing?” He questioned, lifting his head from my shoulder and looking at me.

“What do you mean, ‘this again’?”

“I mean picking you up with a coffee before class, bothering you the whole time, getting breakfast with you afterwards, studying together, and then playing a song for you once we get too lazy to finish our assignments.” He replied with a soft smile that made my heart warm and my cheeks red.

“And what if I told you that I’d be down to do those things aswell?” 

“Well then my love, I will pick you up on Wednesday at 8:15 with a venti iced white mocha with only one extra shot of espresso, because I won’t keep you up to write more notes. After class, I’ll take us to any place you wanna go. Denny’s? IHOP? Waffle House? You name it. Then, we can go back to my place, study our asses off and then I can play you as many songs as you’d like. How does that sound?” He offered, the biggest smile appearing on my face.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Now if we’re going to be doing this... does this mean I can finally take you to a damn party?”

“Fuck off, Hood.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I just hope you guys are actually enjoying this book bc you’ve been extremely quiet and it’s making me worry jfdg -Danny

Words: 4,785

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Lemon To A Knife Fight -by The Wombats

Chapter Eight: Arguments.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation..."

Mel discovered that pouring all her attention into the classes was an excellent way to keep Harry and his stupid ogling towards Cho away from her thoughts. She wasn't going to bury herself in homework and miss the fun, but for the first time in her life, she was going to put herself first.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape.

As on queue, the surface of Hermione and Mel's started to create a mist, Snape barely looked at them without saying anything.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" She heard the Professor ask in quite a nasty voice.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry shortly.

"Tell me, Potter, can you read?" "Yes, I can."

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

" 'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.' "

Mel noticed Harry's face shift slightly at the last line.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. I forgot the hellebore..."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco. Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

She knew it had been unfair to vanish Harry's potion, but she picked up her things, delivered her own, and left the classroom in silence.

"That was really unfair. Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," Hermione commented during lunch.

"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

"I did think he might be a bit better this year. I mean... you know... Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad..." He turned and left.

Ron and Hermione looked at her in search for an explanation.

"I think he was pretty clear, wasn't he?" Mel raised a brow. "You two fight a lot."

"Look who's talking!" Ron said heatedly. "You and Harry have been arguing all the time!"

"We don't even talk!"

"You do! But you only fight!" Hermione pointed out. "It's strange, you barely speak and when you do, you end up yelling."

"We still fight less than you two."

"Fine," Hermione replied irritatedly. "We'll stop fighting, but Harry has to stop lashing out on us, we're not the ones he should be treating like this."

"Well then, you tell him that," Mel scowled.

Hermione looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but Ron stopped her and mumbled something Mel couldn't hear.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any..."

"I reckon I can handle it, but if you got any problems I'll help you, you just have to pay me five knuts per essay!" The girl joked.

"I think I rather fail everything, thank you..." Ron pouted.

"Well, good afternoon!" Umbridge greeted them in that unnerving voice.

"Good afternoon," said a few.

"Tut, tut– That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," Everyone replied. Mel and Ron shared an amused grin.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please. Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

"Theory-centred?" Mel looked at Hermione. "I'm hating this already..."

"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" A few replied humorlessly, the woman interrupted them. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge."

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Everyone listened. Everyone except for Hermione, who kept her book closed and raised a hand in the air, waiting for Umbridge to notice her. An awful lot of time passed before Umbridge finally decided to address the girl.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no."

"Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims."

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't. There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

"Using defensive spells? Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?" The woman laughed, Mel found it extremely irritating.

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr — ?"

"Weasley."

Hermione raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"

"What use is that?" said Harry. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Hand, Mr Potter!"

Several students now had their hands up.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge asked to one.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"

"I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but —"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention, extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Mel gasped quite loudly. Several of her classmates stared at her in anxious anticipation.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas, who was as upset as her, "he was the best we ever —"

"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

"How can self-defense be inappropriate at any age?" Mel asked, her hand up without waiting for the teacher to giver her permission. "Why does it matter? Isn't it better if we manage to learn it while still young? It makes room for more knowledge–"

"More knowledge?" Umbridge's eyes had a dangerous glint. "What kind of knowledge, Miss Dumbledore?"

Mel opened her mouth but she did not speak. Umbridge knew her name without needing to ask for it.

"Just..." The girl hesitated, measuring her words, "general..."

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you — Did that help you, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads —" Dean commented.

Mel was starting to like Dean better than other years, she made a mental note to buy him a few sweets on their next visit to Hogsmeade.

"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas! Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?"

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions."

"Without ever practising them before? Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry blurted out.

"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

"Oh yeah?" Everyone stared at him in expectation.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think... maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Mel swore under her breath, this was exactly the kind of stuff they were supposed to be avoiding, and Harry had run straight into the trap.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter. Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"

"He wasn't dead– but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge, her demeanour changing, but barely. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark Wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Shut up!" Mel hissed, but Umbridge spoke louder.

"Detention, Mr Potter! Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office," She looked like she'd just been granted her biggest wish, which Mel didn't like at all. "I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' "

Harry stood up.

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried quietly, she turned to Mel with a pleading look, but she crossed her arms and looked ahead. He handles his own stuff, she convinced herself, too pissed about his careless behaviour.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said without missing a beat.

"It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

"Come here, Mr Potter, dear." She said sweetly.

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

Mel was wondering what was going to happen to Harry when she walked out of the classroom and a younger student stood in front of her, handing her a note. Mel opened it quickly knowing from whom it was, she read it with a new sense of purpose.

'Sugar quills. Tonight after dinner.'

Mel sat down in front of the Headmaster and stared at him, waiting. Dumbledore seemed unimpressed.

"You've got your first class with Professor Umbridge."

"That woman is as close to being a Professor than I am to being a mermaid."

"Professor McGonagall told me Harry had an outburst in the middle of her class."

"He did."

"Why didn't you step in?"

Mel frowned.

"Was I supposed to, sir?"

"You're certainly not obliged, but after all these years I assumed you knew better than to let him speak about Voldemort in front of a member of the Ministry."

He didn't sound upset, but there was an edge on his voice that made her feel uncomfortable about her indifference.

"I tried to get my point across, but she knew who I was and after that, I didn't dare to speak. I didn't want to give her a reason to believe my lessons are more than what they are..."

"I'm afraid Fudge is not entirely wrong about your lessons, Mel."

The girl looked up at the man in confusion.

"What?"

"After the events of last June, I've decided to advance your classes to N.E.W.T levels," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I beg you forgive me, but your studies to become an animagus will have to wait. You'll be learning legilimency and occlumency, and nonverbal spells that you will try to do wandless."

"That's..." Mel started, taken by surprise. "That's okay... why?"

"Professor Umbridge will refuse to teach you in practice because Fudge doesn't want you to learn more than what you already know," Dumbledore explained. "I can't allow that to be your case. I need you to be ready."

"Ready for what? You're not... you're not saying I'm bound to take your place?"

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment before continuing.

"I don't want you to be my replacement. I want you to cover all the aspects that I cannot. I understand, thanks to Emily's letters, that you and Harry have grown apart during this summer, is that true?"

Mel thought about it for a moment before speaking.

"You need me to stay close, don't you?" She said in resignation. "Want me to become Harry's guard? You'll find that hard to achieve, as soon as he found out about the lifeline he cut all ties... He's convinced that this way is safer."

"What we're doing is important and we can't afford to fight in times like this. If you don't stick together, then we already lost."

"It's not that I don't care," Mel started, getting a bit irritated. "I just that he's been acting up on everyone–"

"Have you stopped to think that maybe he's acting this way because he's been cast out?" Dumbledore asked carefully. "He pushed you away, and you decided to push even further. He felt guilty of the pain you went through. I'm not saying you owe him kindness, but I surely expected more of you, Mel. You've always been understanding. What's different about this time?"

'What's different is that he broke my heart', Mel thought bitterly. However, his words did cause her to reflect on her actions.

"We'll start next week then, with the new lessons?" She asked weakly.

"Indeed," He stood up. "I must ask you to keep them in utter secrecy this time. No one must know."

"Umbridge could be listening," Mel nodded.

"Keep a low profile," The man told her once they were standing at the door. "Don't give Professor Umbridge a reason to punish you."

"I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him," Luna approached them in their way to Herbology. She said all this quickly and without blinking.

"Er — right," said Harry.

"I also believe you and your grandfather are misunderstood geniuses."

"The Headmaster's not my grandad, Luna," Mel replied politely.

"I know," She said like it was obvious. "You can laugh!" Luna exclaimed, unaware that the laughter coming from Parvati and Lavender had nothing to do with her words. "But people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they? There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Hermione mentioned.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked after Luna left.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her! Ginny's told me all about her, apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler."

"I don't think Luna's a bad person," Mel defended. "Just because she chose to believe in something you don't, it doesn't make her stupid or crazy."

"I know that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But c'mon, Mel..."

"I don't want to hear another word about Luna's 'madness'– she's all right. I don't want to hear any of you calling anyone crazy- I'm sick of that bloody word..."

"I want you to know," Ernie approached them the same way Luna did, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Luna's not a weirdo–!" Mel started, put Harry stoped her.

"Thanks very much, Ernie," He stared at her expectantly.

If she was supposed to prove her point on uniting the houses with good manners and a kind attitude, she had to start now.

"We appreciate it," She kept a smile firmly on.

"Oy, Potter!"

"What now?"

"I'll tell you what now," Angelina stormed towards them. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What? Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers! Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch especially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there! I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who —"

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday and I don't care how you do it, tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"

"You know what?" Harry grumbled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Angelina was gone. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because she seems to be channelling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron as they entered the Great Hall.

"Less than zero. Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno... I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a countercharm for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing, and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

"I already finished half of all that," Mel said with a pleased smile. "If you didn't spend half of your time moping about homework, you would've done so as well."

"I don't remember asking to be lectured," He replied.

"If it weren't because the teachers are pushing schoolwork down your throat, you wouldn't be learning at all."

"Does it look like it's going to rain?" Ron asked, trying to break their argument and looking at the sky reflected on the ceiling with mild worry.

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione.

"Nothing," Ron blushed.

"So, dear ol' Ronnie," Mel sat down next to him in the common room, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Trying out for the Quidditch team, are we?"

Ron let out a choked squeak.

"How d'you know?"

"Oh, please," The girl rolled her eyes. "You asked for a new broom! You brought it with you, and you want Harry to be there on Friday because it'd make you feel better. Am I wrong?"

Ron's ears turned scarlet, which was enough confirmation.

"I think it's a great idea," She continued. "I mean, I've seen you fly and I've seen you play... sort of– I could help you if you want?"

Ron hesitated.

"Would you? I don't want to ask Fred and George because they'd laugh at me."

"They probably would," Mel agreed. "I would try out myself but I don't own a broom, so better you than someone else."

Ron let out a heavy sigh.

"I could really use some help, Mellow."

"No worries, mate. We got this."

Mel was having the worst cramps on her right hand ever since the start of the evening. She thought it was thanks to writing more than she was used to, but after a specially sharp pain, she hissed and grimaced, when she looked down she saw a hand that wasn't hers with the words 'I must not tell lies' carved into the skin.

"Mel, you're all right?" Someone nudged her shoulder and Mel blinked coming back to her senses.

She held onto her hand tightly, breathing unevenly she examined it only to see her skin untouched, her anxiety shot up at a dangerous speed.

"Yes," the girl stood up, leaving her stuff abandoned as she walked to the portrait. "I forgot something in the library..."

She rushed out the door not knowing where to go.

'Look for Harry', She urged herself, running towards Umbridge's office.

Ten minutes later she came face to face with Harry, who stopped abruptly at the sight. Mel stopped too, examining his face carefully and picking on the way he was sweating.

"Hi," She said tensely.

"Mel," Harry frowned. "What're you..."

She looked down at his right hand, Harry was quick to hide it.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with a straight face.

Mel wanted to say what she'd seen, but then she remembered what Dumbledore told her, and she was certain that telling Harry the truth would only cause him to push her away, so she lied.

"I was studying with Neville in the library and I forgot my books there, I was on my way to pick them up."

Harry nodded shortly.

"See you later, then."

Mel frowned, last year he would've offered to go with her, but it was clear that he was adamant to keep his distance. She felt stupid, running out of the tower like that after such a minor inconvenience. Harry was clearly okay! It didn't matter what she'd seen, he could handle it on his own.

"Yeah, see you..." She walked past him, her eyes fixed on the back of her hand, rubbing the skin in circles.

In the middle of her training session with Ron, a cramp pulled all the way to her elbow and she closed her eyes for a moment. It had happened every evening since Tuesday, normally she would just drown the pain and focus on her surroundings, but she was especially tired that night.

"I think we should call it a day, Ron," She sighed. "C'mon, it's getting dark..."

They walked in silence until Ron pulled her behind a statue at the same time the twins walked past them followed by a bunch of first years.

"Ron, you have more dignity than this," She whispered. "You need to stop acting like a baby around your brothers! How're they going to take you seriously if you don't give them a good reason?"

Ron was about to reply when a voice called for them.

"Guys? What are you doing?"

"Er — nothing. What are you doing?"

Harry frowned at them.

"Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"We're– We're hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."

"You're a terrible liar," Mel mumbled beside him. He elbowed her arm roughly, causing her to grunt.

"But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Harry asked.

"Have you, Ron?" Mel pressed.

"I — well — well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right? I-I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom and Mel's helping me train. There. Go on. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Harry, glancing briefly at her. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?"

"I'm not bad, according to Mel," said Ron, smiling a bit. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"So you've been practicing tonight? With Mel?"

"Every evening since Tuesday... Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect."

"You'll do fine, and if they try to mock you, I'll make sure to hex them afterwards," She replied.

"I wish I was going to be there," said Harry.

"Yeah, so do — Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?"

Harry froze, attempting to hide his hand away.

"It's just a cut — it's nothing — it's —"

Ron grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled. There, exactly the same place she'd been feeling pain all week, were the words she'd seen on her vision. Ron let go of his hand.

"I thought you said she was giving you lines?" He asked coldly.

Harry stared at the both of them, suddenly looking smaller than before.

"She's... she's been making me use this quill... she says it doesn't need ink and I think that's because, well, it's using my blood."

Mel felt her mouth dry. Harry might have been acting up, but he certainly didn't deserve that.

"...I've been writing the whole week with it– and it's been cutting deeper each time," Harry concluded as the reached the Fat lady portrait.

"The old hag! She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her."

"Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," said Harry.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind," said Harry.

"Well, here's a different solution," Mel started. "You go to her office tomorrow, you finish your detention, and then you keep your mouth shut for the rest of the year."

"You can't be serious..."

"I talked to Dumbledore the other day and–"

"And of course you're telling me this just now. What did he say? Surely he asked you to stay out of trouble–"

"He asked me to step in," Mel replied over his voice. "I should've stopped you from getting detention in the first place. I find it funny that exactly the same year I decide I don't give a flying troll about you, suddenly everyone wants me to defend you–"

"Well, I reckon you should —" Ron started, but the Fat Lady interrupted their chat.

"Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

[therainroguefanfiction]

📱 Find Me (Tooru Oikawa) #11; Triggering Kenma

📑 Table of Contents | ◂p r e v i o u s

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are enjoying this series ^^’ I’m a bit on the fence about it, honestly, and I hope you find it entertaining! You’re probably tired of not seeing Oikawa, but I promise he will be in the next chapter! Y/N and Oikawa are finally going to meet face to face!

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

Your eye twitched in annoyance as you stared at the K.O flashing across the screen. ‘Maybe I don’t deserve to be Kenma’s cousin… no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to beat Johnny Cage! This sucks…’

“Y/N!” Your younger brother stuck his head in the door, eyes slightly wide in surprise. “There’s a boy here to see you. Says his name is Watari Shinji.”

Glancing at the clock, you were surprised that it was late afternoon. That fact made you sweatdrop because that meant you had been playing Mortal Kombat for about six hours without stopping. And you still hadn’t made any progress toward beating the one you now called your mortal enemy. ‘Ha, mortal enemy.’ You snorted, making your brother give you an odd look.

“Soo~?”

“Oh, right. Coming!” You set the controller down and jumped up, wincing when your bones cracked, your legs on the verge of sleep. You stepped out into the hall, heading for the front of the house. Watari was waiting by the door, carrying a folder full of papers under his arm. ‘Jeez, he could have at least told the guy to have a seat or got him something to drink.’ You cleared your throat. “Hello, Watari-san.”

He smiled worriedly at you, taking a step forward. “Are you well enough to be out of bed, Y/N-san?”

“Yeah, I just got a bit of a sore throat, but otherwise I’m doing okay.” You rubbed the back of your neck a bit awkwardly. “Do you want to sit down? Or, umm, water?”

“If you don’t mind, some water would be nice.”

With a nod, you turned on your heel and headed into the kitchen, him following close behind as if he was worried that you could pass out at any moment. You pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and paused, glancing at him as he took a seat at the table. “You want ice?”

“Bottled is fine.”

You handed him the bottle and took a seat across from him, feeling a bit awkward as he set the folder onto the table. “I appreciate you bringing me the work. Not looking forward to doing it, though.”

Watari chuckled, sliding the folder over to you before reaching into his bag, which he had placed on the floor beside his chair. “I can help you catch up if you’d like. I made a copy of my notes for you, I hope you can read my handwriting, it’s not the best.”

Curious, you accepted the notebook he was offering you, flipping it open to a random page. If this were an anime, the pages would be shining a bright gold, reflecting off of your eyes as you looked down at them in wonder. His handwriting was pristine, each letter looking as if it had been printed by a computer. But, alas, this is not an anime, and it did not shine like a beacon of light within the dark.

Watari watched your expression carefully, cheeks dusting with pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “If you can’t read it, that’s fine. I can copy them to the computer, if you want.”

You frantically shook your head. “No, no, they’re perfect. Thanks…”

“You’re welcome!” He smiled brightly, tilting his head to the side. “There’s an English test tomorrow, but sensei wanted me to tell you that you can make it up next week. Even if you’re well enough to return to school tomorrow, you probably haven’t had a chance to study.”

“There’s a test?” You croaked, head lowering in distress. “Crap.”

“Ah, try not to stress too much!” He waved his hands, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “I’ll help you study, but you need to finish healing, first!”

“Yeah, I guess.” You frowned, glancing over at him. How had you not realized what a nice person Watari is? You had always been so content to keep people at arm’s length, content that most people didn’t seem to notice your presence. “Thank you… it really means a lot.”

Watari nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up the topic of Oikawa since you were still recovering, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about the situation between the two of you. Oikawa had gotten increasingly insufferable since you had cut off contact with him. Not only that, but he knew you had been missing school and when he found out that you were sick, he was determined to show up at your house. It took the team a while to convince him how bad of an idea that actually was.

“Y/N-san?”

“Hmm?” You sipped on your water and you leafed through the homework assignments, trying to decide which one would be easiest to start with.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pry, but… I really think you should talk to Oikawa-senpai. At the very least, tell him to his face that you don’t want to be his friend. It’s a bit cruel just to ignore him, don’t you think?” He kept his eyes on his own water bottle, watching as a droplet of water slowly rolled down the plastic.

Your body tensed up at the mention of Oikawa, the plastic crinkling under your increased grip. “That… sounds like a can of worms I’d rather not open. Sorry.”

He frowned, wringing his hands nervously. Should he tell you that Oikawa knows it’s you? He wanted to, he felt like he should but… he knew you would pull back even more if you knew. He remembered Iwaizumi’s words when he approached the older male for advice.

‘Let them figure it out themselves. Don’t get involved because Shittykawa will bring everyone down with him.’

“I respect that, sorry for bringing it up.” He smiled softly, hoping that he hadn’t overstepped. “Do you feel up to studying a bit?”

“I guess,” you mumbled, even though you definitely were not feeling up to studying.

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

You glanced up when your mom entered the kitchen, tired from a long day at work. You were still sat at the kitchen table, finishing up the essay on fifteenth-century Japan, which was the last bit of homework you were going to do that night. Watari had left about an hour and a half ago, but in the time he was there, he had helped you out a lot and you doubt you would have gotten quite as much done as you had if he weren’t there.

“Welcome home,” you told her before returning your eyes to the essay.

She huffed, falling into the chair that Watari had been occupying not too long ago. “How are you feeling, sweety? Up for school tomorrow?”

“Not really,” you answered honestly, propping your hand up against your cheek and tapping the pencil against the paper. You couldn’t help thinking about what Watari had said to you. Were you being cruel? Honestly, you thought you were just putting yourself first, knowing how complicated life would be if you brought him into your life. You still weren’t completely convinced he would even want you in his life once he got to know you.

She quirked a brow, leaning across the table to rest her hand on your forehead. “Your fever is gone and you’ve regained some of your color, that’s good. I’ll let you stay home if you want, but you better fix whatever problem you’re having at school over the weekend because you’re going back on Monday. No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Your eyes widened, snapping to her as she stood up and headed over to the sink to wash her hands before starting dinner. How had she known that you were avoiding school? ‘Moms can be scary. Oh, that reminds me…’ You turned in your chair to watch her. “Mom, Kenma is having a game on Saturday. Can I go watch it?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “You can go, but make sure you wear a mask so you don’t spread any germs.”

“‘Kay, thank you.” You filed the papers back into their folder before leaving the kitchen. You wanted to let Kenma and Kuroo know that you were going to be attending the game, after all.

Rolling your eyes, you plugged your phone in and set it on the bedside table before your mom called you and your brother to dinner. You weren’t sure why, but you were feeling kind of excited to go to the game and meet Kenma’s teammates.

You completely forgot who they would be playing against.

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

▸n e x t

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

Tag List: @the-broken-halo-writer​ @nekoma-hoe​ @iishoto-chan​

[stuck-in-jelly]

The Irony of Life (MP100|One-Shot| Fan-Fic Commission)

A short SeriRei one-shot that was commissioned

In which Reigen reflects on his 15 year old mindset and realizes just how wrong he was.

———————————————

When Reigen was 15 years old he accepted the fact that he was never going to have kids even if he wanted to. With a single glance to his parents, he doubted he would be any better than them and no child deserved a fate like that.  

Yet irony had a way of creeping into his life and taking away his choice, because by the time he was 30 he somehow amassed an army of children who all looked up to him and visited him often, none of which were related to him in any way.  

It had all started with one kid and just ended up snowballing into more and more children before he could even try to stop it. Half of the pictures he has on his clipboard in the office have turned into photos of him and the kids on outings; the time Teru and the Kageyama brothers joined them on their trip to the hot springs, his birthday party with all of them, Ritsu getting thanked by his first client, Rei doing a fortune telling, and so on and so forth.  

He hates to say it, but it’s starting to look like a mother’s scrapbook and he is neither a mother nor in possession of an actual scrapbook (though he has considered investing in one at this rate). And although Mob doesn’t visit the office often anymore, too busy focusing more on his studies and the Body Improvement Club, he accidentally ended up sending more kids his way to replace him.  

More specifically in the form of a bunch of rather loud girls that Tome dragged in hardly with his approval and his office had turned into their hangout spot (much to his dismay when he is trying to work).  

Even now, at the end of the work day, they lay sprawled all over the couch and chairs talking and laughing away as if he hadn't already turned off most of the lights and locked the windows in a subtle way to tell them to get up already.  

Most days Reigen was left alone like this– given that Serizawa typically heads off early for night school– however today was a lucky day and he didn’t have classes which is a godsend since Serizawa is much better with kids than Reigen.  

“Come on, girls. Pack up, we are closing soon.” Serizawa’s voice snapped the girls out of their conversation much faster than his ever would, it was a perfect mix of a stern yet gentle demand that sounded much more like a suggestion making it much more appealing to listen to.

With a ‘tsk’ Reigen looked over to chime in:  

“We are closed,” he sneered before snapping the blinds to the windows shut.  

Imminent whines traveled from the girls.  

“Come on, just a couple more minutes!” one of them pleaded dramatically. It was almost enough to make Reigen roll his eyes.  

“Do you want to be locked in the office?”

“Cool! Like a sleepover!”

“No, no sleepovers in my office.”

Tome leaps up, a tale tell sign she has an idea  

“What if you give me the keys?! I can lock up after we all decide to leave or we stay the night!”

“Absolutely not.” He doesn’t even need to think about that one

“What!? Why?! I'm super reliable?”

A smirk crept on Reigen’s face.  

“Ah yes, like that time you got lost in the cursed woods, or the time Dimple had to possessed you and punch your teacher, or that time you assaulted one of our clients, or when you-”  

“Fine, fine I get it!” the girls were giggling and Tome’s face had turned a bright shade of pink as she slumped in defeat.  

Before he could say much else Serizawa stepped in once again,  

“How about this: Tomorrow we have a case down at Cape Cop Avenue, if we head off now you can tag along for it.”

The girls cheered, accidently having adopted Tome’s curiosity for ghosts and other such creatures. With their minds satisfied somewhat with the idea of a new activity they began to gather their bags and the homework they hadn't even touched the entire time at the office.  

Usually Reigen would scold Serizawa for promising something like that, but the location was an apartment complex that Serizawa had scouted yesterday and as expected there weren’t actually any ghosts there. The scariest thing at the apartment complex was their plumbing system.  

Regardless, Serizawa would be sure to give them a show (thank god none of them were espers).

It wasn’t long until they all began piling out. Somehow it has become a habit for Reigen to walk the girls home and tonight was no exception, the only difference being that Serizawa decided to join them.  

The first destination was for Mika who lived only 3 blocks down from Reigen’s office, she gave an enthusiastic wave goodbye and promised to take a bunch of pictures tomorrow (even though Reigen tried explaining it would be hard to capture a ghost on camera).

Up next was their tall friend whose name Reigen hasn’t caught just yet. She seemed to stare a lot at them when they worked and doodle them but she was the politest of the bunch so Reigen didn’t mind her all that much.  

Then Tome, who groaned loudly as Keiko reminded her of the homework due tomorrow before sulking back into her house with a small wave. Misa lives just two houses down from Tome and jogged ahead since she forgot about the homework too.  

And then last but not least Keiko who without the company of her friends becomes rather bashful and shy only uttering small ‘thank you’s’ and ‘good night’s’ as she scurries into her house.  

With the girls all safely in their houses Reigen without meaning to let out a soft sigh as he stretched, finally allowing himself to relax away from the kids. Usually he’d keep on his facade for Serizawa but lately that illusion has been melting away and luckily, it’s been mutual.  

Serizawa has begun to relax too around him, being more confident and even being so bold as to tease him. They had also begun to work fluidly with each other, understanding what the other needed or wanted with simple quick glances and they practically danced around each other in their morning routines. Reigen even trusted him enough to give him copies of the keys to the office, it was nice to have someone to lean on when you needed it.  

Neither of them said a word but they both began walking in the same direction. Serizawa lived just a bit further from Reigen in a different and better apartment complex than his so it made sense they were sticking together.  

Nights like these were rare but appreciated, his whole life Reigen has always felt like he was supposed to be running just to catch up; but walking like this alongside someone you trust and care about is nice. It makes him feel like he can finally walk instead of run, like there is no rush.

And Serizawa is a good person and perfect company, initially Reigen assumed they didn’t have much in common but as time has moved on it turned out they do and they frequently found themselves talking each other's ear off. Mostly Reigen more than Serizawa but it’s a mutual exchange at least.  

Though right now they seem to appreciate the silence, the girls were a nice change to have in the office but they also tend to drain the two of their energy with how loud and energetic they get, not to mention the trouble and danger they seem to like to get into. The thought alone is already giving Reigen a headache.

“Reigen?” With the sound of his name, he snaps out of it quickly, looking up to Serizawa only letting out a small ‘hm’ of acknowledgement.  

Reigen catches the brief moment Serizawa was looking at him before staring forward instead.

“I know we’ve been busy lately but I was wondering if you would like to join me tomorrow for dinner at my place?”  

Now that was extra new, Reigen has never been over to Serizawa’s apartment. Something about it felt a bit too personal, maybe it's because he hasn’t been over to a friend's place since he was in middle school nor has he had guests over willingly at his own apartment.    

“What’s the occasion?”  

The question makes Serizawa visibly tense, although the man has become more confident in himself, he finds moments like these where he still falters in his choices.  

“Oh! Uh well I just um thought it would be nice to have some company over you know, I wanted to try out this new recipe and I thought it would be nice to have another taste tester and well I’m also trying to get used to having more people over at my place and I-”  

Before he could go on another list of excuses Reigen interrupts,  

“Sure, sounds nice. It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal anyways.”

The response seemed to calm him down, his shoulders untensing and letting out a not so subtle sigh of relief.  

As casual as Reigen is trying to act though he could feel his heart hammering in his chest in excitement. Every time he’s tried to have a moment alone with Serizawa one of them has always been either busy or with other plans so it would be great to finally have time.  

But Reigen isn't an idiot, he knows exactly why he’s excited for this. He’s noticed how things between them have changed recently and perhaps it’s wishful thinking but he’s noticed from Serizawa too, when his gaze lingers, when he relaxes into soft touches, and the change of his mood from around his friends as opposed to him.

Along with this came a new tension, and not the kind where you want to murder each other or fuck, no it was something different. It was the kind of tension where both parties are trying to read each other and think they know what the other is thinking but they don’t want to make any unwarranted assumptions.  

Reigen’s always been great at reading people, and usually he wouldn’t doubt himself but this is different in many ways. Serizawa is not only a friend but an employee, and he’s being reintroduced to the world away from all the hardships he faced and the trauma he’s brought along with him. If he is right about this, he needs to be careful.

Serizawa is perfectly capable of making his own choices but he needs to go at his own pace and to push anything onto Serizawa wouldn’t be fair.      

There’s another thing Reigen had accepted when he was 15 years old, and it was that no one could ever love him for who he truly is. And that is a firm belief he’s kept, even now as Serizawa leans to be closer to him and he leans back.  

But then again irony loves his company. So maybe 15-year-old Reigen could be wrong about that too.

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

If you enjoyed this fic please consider commissioning me or donating to my PayPal

If you want this posted on AO3 tell me and I’ll probably do it!! Thank you for reading

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 12

AO3 link here

Ricky’s dad has told him more than once to stay away from “those Carters” and usually he listens. Even though Nate Carter most often has excellent lunches, and sometimes he shares. Even though Ricky liked it when Mrs. Hawkins saw Nate handing in his biography report about Harriet Tubman and told him, “Nathaniel, this report is supposed to be about great American heroes,” and Nate just replied, “Yes,” and sat back down. Even though Ricky thinks that every once in a while he’d also enjoy just sitting on the side of the field and drawing or reading a comic book instead of needing to play football or baseball all the time because his dad always asks at dinner how many points he scored.

Once or twice he saw kids from their class bullying Nate, pushing him around or knocking his books out of his arms. Ricky’s never done that sort of thing, but he watched it. Usually they’d leave Nate alone after a few minutes when he’d say something quiet like, “I’d stop that if I were you,” and it confused them because he wasn’t crying or trying to hit back. But Ricky’s also seen Nate jam his elbow into big Kenny Keefer’s stomach - it didn’t even look hard, but Kenny fell onto the ground gasping for air.

Nate got left alone after that.

He’s friends with some of the girls and a particular few of the boys. Ricky thinks of those guys he spends time with as the Nice Boys. (Ricky’s dad would have a different name for them, so he’s just friends with the Boys.) The Nice Boys don’t yell. At lunchtime they eat and talk and joke with each other - no one throws food at anyone else, or does impressions of other kids that are supposed to be silly but Ricky sometimes thinks are pretty mean.

Once or twice, Ricky’s thought of what it would be like to sit with the Nice Boys, but his brother Tim might mention it to their dad. Tim is only in first grade - too young to know better.

Ricky’s only even talked to Nate once or twice, maybe a “hey” in the hallway or a question about the homework, and he isn’t planning on doing it today. But Ricky’s parents forgot that today was a half day, early dismissal for the Christmas vacation. Tim’s at home with a cold and Ricky doesn’t want to have to go to the office and call his mom, make her bundle a sick little kid into the car and drive over to the school, doesn’t want to have to sit in a chair beside the office door with his backpack at his feet while people walk by and realize that he’s been forgotten.

So instead he climbs onto the bus and tells the monitor that his mom said that he should take that instead. There must be a stop near his house. He’ll get off there and walk home, which his mom’ll like once he gets there because he’ll have taken care of this for her.

It’s a great plan, except that they drive away from the school and through town in a way that gets Ricky all turned around. It’s sort of cold and dark from the clouds that have been covering the sky all day, and nothing looks familiar. He holds his bag against his chest and tries to look relaxed as more and more of his friends get off the bus. He tries to think of a new plan.

“You should come with me.” Nate Carter pokes his head over the top of the seat in front of him. “My stop’s the last one. Get off with me and my dad will take you home.”

Ricky doesn’t even think to be embarrassed that Nate noticed that he was lost, that he hadn’t been able to get himself where he needed to go. He’s just grateful. “Thanks,” he tells Nate.

They get off at the very edge of town and Nate leads the way up a long driveway surrounded by trees and bushes and stuff. His house, when they finally get there, is big and blueish-grayish and kind of old fashioned looking, but probably the fanciest house Ricky’s ever seen in real life. Nate doesn’t even seem to notice. He checks the mailbox (nothing; Nate makes a “hmph” sound), turns the big shiny doorknob, and walks in, taking off his shoes and dropping his bag on the floor. Ricky copies him, trying to seem as if he’s comfortable here even though he really feels the way he does in the library, or when they went on a class trip to the museum, like someone’s going to come over and tell him he’s walking too loud.

“My dad’s probably in the kitchen,” says Nate, sliding a little on the shiny wooden floors. They pass by a few different rooms on the way which look pretty interesting at a glance, but Ricky keeps his head down and his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t want any of the Carters to think he’s being sneaky or nosy. If his dad somehow finds out about this, he wants it to seem as if this was just business, just about a ride and nothing else.

Nate’s dad isn’t in the kitchen when they get there, but a girl with curly blond hair who looks nothing like Nate is sitting at the table, reading a book and finishing off a piece of apple. The table is covered with food - a plate of carrot and celery sticks, one of sliced apples and oranges, a bunch of sandwiches cut into triangles, a pitcher of juice - which obviously can’t all be for this one girl.

Ricky holds his breath to try to stop his stomach from grumbling. They were let out of school before lunch.

The girl at the table - Nate’s sister? - glances up at them. She stares at Ricky for an extra beat, then looks over at Nate and, keeping one hand on the page, starts moving the other around in the air, fast, like code or a baseball catcher showing signals, not like she’s just making something up.

Ricky looks over at Nate to see if she’s insulting them somehow, only to see Nate moving his hands too, both of them. He turns to Ricky.

“This is Emma. She says our dad is doing laundry, but he’ll come upstairs in a minute.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ricky doesn’t know if he should wave, or if he can even look at Emma without seeming rude. He doesn’t want to look at the table because it reminds him of how he’d have sandwiches of his own if he’d just gotten home. He stares down at the floor.

“You can come sit,” Nate says comfortably, taking a seat next to Emma and pointing to another chair for Ricky, who complies. Emma gets up, though, pushing her own chair in. She goes over to the counter and takes a fresh cookie off a tray there, wrapping it in a napkin. Nate reaches up to pat her shoulder as she goes past and when she looks at him, he moves his hands at her again. Emma does it back, sticking her tongue out at the end and then biting smugly into her cookie as she leaves the room.

“I’m telling you, she’s going to get in trouble for leaving crumbs in the house,” Nate says, shaking his head even though he sounds like he finds it a little funny.

“Is that what you said to her?”

“Yeah. And she said that when you bake the cookies you can eat them wherever you want, but I don’t think Mom and Dad will see it that way. We have rules here.”

“Um.” Ricky looks down at his lap, then back at Nate. “Um, what was the stuff you were doing with your hands?”

“Sign language,” Nate says offhandedly, pulling the plate of sandwiches toward him to examine the different kinds. “Emma’s Deaf, so she only uses ASL.”

“How come she doesn’t talk?”

Nate shrugs. “How come you don’t sign?” He makes a face at a tuna sandwich, then turns the plate around so he can grab a chicken salad one instead.

“I hope you offered your guest some lunch, too.”

Ricky turns around to see a man standing in the kitchen doorway carrying a basket of laundry in his arms. The man comes in and says, “Hey, kid,” shifting the basket over so he can give Nate a little hug around his shoulders as he passes. He sets the basket down on Emma’s empty chair, then walks over and puts out a hand for Ricky to shake.

“I’m Grant Carter, Nate’s dad,” he says with a smile. Ricky tries not to stare at him.

One time Ricky’s mom hurt her leg and so she asked his dad to do the grocery shopping, and when the cabinets were pretty much empty, he finally did. When he came home, he’d said right away, “Guess who I saw? That weirdo Grant Carter. Apparently he’s over at Hillyard’s all the time while his wife’s out there like a bigshot. Yeah, he was just moseying through the aisles with his beard and his little basket over his arm, joking around with the meat guy and the checkout girl...What a—” And then he’d used a word that made Ricky’s mom say, “Earl, not in front of the kids!” (Ricky had been worried that his dad would start talking about how he can say anything he wants in his own house, but instead he just shook his head, put the bags down on the kitchen table, and said, “Jenny, can you take care of this stuff? I’m bushed, and you’re better at organizing it anyway.”)

So that’s what Ricky knows about Grant Carter.

“This is Ricky,” Nate fills in while Ricky does a quick handshake and lets go. “He needs a ride home.”

“Nice to meet you, Ricky. I’m happy to give you a ride.” He looks at Nate, who’s halfway through his sandwich, and says, “Get a plate, please,” and then looks back at Ricky. “Does your mom know that you came over here?”

“It was pretty sudden…” Ricky tries quietly, and Grant Carter says, “Sure. Well, if you know your number, why don’t you give a call so she won’t get worried? And if she says it’s alright, you can stay for lunch before I drive you over. There’s plenty.”

Ricky glances at the phone hanging on the wall. It’s across the kitchen, sure, but everyone will still be able to hear him, to hear him mumble to his mom that she’d forgotten about him, that he’d gotten himself into a situation.

“You know,” says Mr. Carter, “this phone’s actually been acting up. The one in the family room will probably be better.”

The family room has books all along the walls. There are stacks of board games on the shelves, and a million photos in different sized frames: Nate’s dad in a suit standing next to a woman Ricky assumes is Nate’s mom in a wedding dress, looking at each other instead of the camera, a group of grinning kids in bathing suits next to a giant sandcastle (Ricky can pick out Nate and Emma). There’s a thick carpet on the floor. Ricky curls his toes in it while he dials his mom. As soon as she hears his voice, she says, “Oh gosh, honey, today was an early day, wasn’t it?” He tells her that it’s okay, he came home on the bus with Nate Carter, whose dad offered to bring him home after they’ve eaten.

“Maybe I should come pick you up now. I don’t know if your father would like you being over there for any longer than you have to,” says his mom, considering. Ricky thinks about how Nate’s kitchen smells like cookies plus fresh laundry now, and how the chicken salad had celery and golden raisins and little chopped up nuts, the way they never have it at home because he’s the only one who likes it. He stays quiet until she adds, “Well, but, it’s probably rude to interrupt his lunch when he’s been nice enough to offer…” Her tone turns curious, her voice softer, like a secret. “What does their house look like? Describe it all for me.” He knows she wants to be able to tell everything to her sister Cheryl, who lives two blocks over from them.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he says quickly. He doesn’t really want Mom and Aunt Cheryl wondering to each other what it means that the Carters own both Slap Stick and Hands Down, or frowning as they think about all the writers with foreign sounding names on the shelves. “I have to go eat, Mom.”

Back in the kitchen, Mr. Carter has taken the laundry basket away and set out a plate for himself and one for Ricky too. The chicken salad, when he tastes it, is just as good as he’d hoped.

Nate, chomping through carrots, talks about school, and his dad asks questions: how does Nate feel after the geography quiz, does he have enough books to read over the vacation or should they go to the library? Every so often he’ll turn to Ricky and ask him something too, and Ricky ends up talking more than he means to. He tells them about how he’s read The Phantom Tollbooth three times but the school librarian had let him borrow From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler last year and he loved that too. He talks about his little brother Tim and how he knows absolutely everything space and wants to go there one day. He’s just starting to tell them about his top favorite Orioles players when the front door opens and then slams shut.

“You and Drea will have a lot to talk about,” Nate says, muffled into his cup of juice.

“—how it’s even allowed!”

Two new girls walk in. They are around the same height, although Ricky recognizes one - the skinny girl who is dressed in jeans and a plain brown shirt and has Nate’s same dark hair, the girl he’d see sometimes touching Nate’s hand when their classes passed in the hallway before she moved up to the junior high school - and not the other, who has light brown hair and big glasses and is wearing a shirt so extremely patterned it almost seems to come with soundtrack.

“What happened?” Mr. Carter asks, pushing out a chair with his foot. The skinny girl, the one who must be Nate’s real sister, collapses into it and rests her head on her folded arms.

“Her teachers gave her vacation homework and she’s been whining about it all the way home.” The other girl goes to the cabinet for a couple more plates before taking a seat too, pulling the sandwiches toward herself. “Drea, I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

Nate makes a little sound that Ricky can definitely hear is a laugh/snort, but when the girl with the glasses glares at him, he pretends he was coughing.

“I seem to remember someone last year calling homework during vacation ‘an Eighth Amendment loophole that will and must one day be closed,’” says Mr. Carter, raising an eyebrow as he finishes off his sandwich.

Drea lifts up her head, shaking back her hair. “Rose doesn’t have homework this year, so I guess she’s not bringing a Constitutional challenge anymore.”

“There isn’t any turkey?” says Rose, clearly pretending not to hear them as she devotes all her concentration to looking over the food options.

“If you’d like a turkey sandwich, everything you need is in the fridge,” says Mr. Carter, adding a couple of apple slices to his own plate and biting into one calmly. Rose sighs.

“Tuna’s fine.”

The front door opens then closes again, and Ricky wonders if there’s going to be another secret sibling wandering through, but Emma skids back in on stocking feet instead, waving a pile of mail, on top of which is a magazine. Ricky manages to read the banner text across the front: Course Catalog, Spring 1969, University of Maryland

Rose drops her tuna sandwich right back on the plate as she pushes back her chair to grab for it. Emma holds it close to her belly and Rose starts to tickle her so that she lets out wheezing laughter and drops to the floor, curling up to keep hold of the mail.

Mr. Carter sighs and stands, tugging the prize out from between them as he does more of the sign language with one of his hands.

Nate laughs and Ricky must look confused because he tells him, “Dad says that since he gets to pick three classes and we only get to pick one, he should get to look first because he needs more time. And also that it’s addressed to him.”

Emma and Rose stand up together, shadowing Mr. Carter as he sits back at the round table. Emma taps his shoulder, signing again, and then Rose does some too.

“What are they saying now?” Ricky asks, leaning over to Nate. He puts down his sandwich because he hasn’t taken a bite in five minutes, just watching all the Carters talking to each other, and it’s getting soggy from being squished between his hands.

“Emma says that because we only get one big chance, we should be allowed to see it first so we can make sure to pick right. And Rosie says that he’s the parent, so he needs to be a role model for sharing and...um, flexibility.” Nate flaps a hand to get their attention and adds something himself, then turns to Ricky and translates: “Also honesty, because when he started college, Dad promised we’d get to pick one class a semester for him and he shouldn’t go back on his word.”

Drea’s hands start moving too, and Mr. Carter rolls his eyes and says, signing along with the words, though not as quickly, “I’m aware that there’s only another three semesters before I graduate, which is why I want to make sure that my credits are all straightened out. Shouldn’t take longer to get through school than I already have.” But he looks around at his kids, their crossed arms and begging faces, and sighs again. He drops the course listing on the table and sweeps his arm over it. “Look at it calmly, please.”

Rose reaches over his shoulder, picks it up, and flips it open with a practiced hand. She starts reading aloud while Drea does what Ricky’s assumes is a translation because Emma is watching her hands. “Okay. American Studies. AMST 127: Culture and Arts in the Americas—”

Emma already has her thumb turned down; Ricky might not know sign language but he understands that one. But before he can hear exactly what the class is about, there’s a knocking on the door.

Ricky freezes even as Mr. Carter stands to answer it. He recognizes that knock.

“Can I help you?”

Ricky makes himself stand up in the space between Mr. Carter’s polite voice and his dad saying roughly, “I’ll take my boy back now, thanks, Carter.”

“You must be Ricky’s father. We were just finishing up with lunch—”

“As if I can’t feed my own kid at home. Even kids who make stupid mistakes get to eat.” Ricky’s dad snorts. It makes Ricky want to sneak back into the kitchen, to tuck himself between Rose, who has her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, and Nate, who has stood up from his chair too, looking serious. But he has already edged into the hallway and his dad spots him and crooks a finger. “There you are. Time to go.” He stares at Ricky the whole time as he walks down the hall. “Your mom told me about all the screw-ups today. Good thing I got home from work early.”

Ricky shoves his feet into his Keds. The backs fold against his heels. He ties them as quickly as he can, no time for double knots, even though that means that the laces might slip loose, which will make his dad say, “Jesus, fourth grade on my tax dollars and can’t even tie his own shoes.”

“Thanks for lunch,” he mutters to Mr. Carter as he walks toward where his dad stands in the doorway. Nate has come down the hall too, tucked watchfully against his father’s side. Ricky adds, not looking him in the face, “See you at school.”

“‘See you at school,’” says Ricky’s dad in a mocking little voice. “Yeah, that had better be all you do. No more visits to this freak show. Come on.” His hand comes out, and Ricky tenses his shoulders without meaning to. He can nearly feel the clawed fingers gripping into his upper arm, steering him back toward their car and their house and their life.

Mr. Carter’s hand catches his dad’s before it can land.

“Think twice,” he says quietly. “About saying things like that in front of my son, but especially about doing it in front of yours.”

Ricky’s dad is a big man. It’s a fact, his size, and he makes it obvious in the way he moves through the world. His chest is always pushed out. He is always ready to tower over someone who moves in front of him in line, to shove through a crowd, to bulldoze and bellow his way to what he wants.

When he’d heard that first story about Mr. Carter, Ricky had pictured someone skinny or old, and Mr. Carter doesn’t exactly look like a big person. He is not the type who shoves through crowds. He is dressed in a green and tan sweater with a tan shirt collar coming over the top and the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans. Ricky’s father would never wear something like that.

Mr. Carter’s face stays absolutely still as he squeezes Ricky’s father’s wrist. It wouldn’t even be obvious that it was happening, except that Ricky’s dad’s eyes go wide. He tries to pull away. He doesn’t manage it until Mr. Carter releases him.

He stumbles a couple of steps and then recovers, backing his way off the porch. “Come on,” he says again, gruffly, but it is not commanding the way it had been. Ricky lets himself give a little wave to the two Carters standing in the doorway, Mr. Carter’s hand resting on Nate’s shoulder, before he follows his father to the car.

Three days after New Year’s, Ricky goes outside of the school after the last bell to wait for his mom to pick him up. Nate passes by on his way to the bus.

“Here,” he says in a low voice, and hands over two pieces of paper. “My phone number’s there, in case you wanted it. And my dad drew you this.”

Ricky stuffs the picture into his backpack just in time. He keeps thinking about it but doesn’t risk taking it out until he is doing his homework alone in his bedroom later that afternoon.

Mr. Carter has drawn him precisely, but he stares at the image and almost doesn’t recognize himself. The illustrated face is just barely laughing, the hands cupped in front as if holding something. He knows that it’s him describing Claudia and Jamie taking the coins from the fountain.

He forgets, sometimes, that he has that inside of him. It is hard to remember beneath the blare of his father’s voice saying that he wasn’t looking to raise some reader.

He almost puts the picture beneath his pillow but he doesn’t want to crush it. He slides it into the drawer of his desk instead. As he falls asleep, he looks over at the spot as if he can see that image of himself through the wood, in the dark.

The next week, Ricky takes his time standing in the lunch line. His legs shake a little and he has to force himself to keep walking past his usual table. Even if Tim doesn’t say anything, Carl Tyler’s dad bowls with Ricky’s, and Kenny Keefer’s goes for beers with him.

He stops next to Nate and the Nice Boys anyway.

“Can I—” he starts, but before he can finish, Nate is giving him a smile, pointing to an open chair.

“Course,” he says. “Take a seat.”

More chapters here

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

chapter three. mdzs scum villain au. read on ao3 + end notes.  credit to @lee-luca, esp as another bit of the comic is mentioned here.  previous | first | next 

One hour, thirty minutes and two hundred rules into his punishment, Jingyi is as bored as he’s ever been in this life. To top it all off, the System isn’t responding to any of his pleas for company, only responding with oops ): something went wrong when he tries to ping it. Back home, this is about when he would have given up on homework and started scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, but there’s not much he can do without his phone.

Ugh, he’d kill for one of these crappy McDonalds games. Even a Kinder toy would make him happy right now. Instead, he doodles on his torn-up first drafts, on which the ink made blots from his clumsy first attempts to imitate the original text’s elegant calligraphy.

He silently adds bic pens to the ever-increasing list of modern appliances he misses.

When badly-drawn stickmen get boring as well, he starts to think about the original Lan Jingyi in his life. Maybe that’s how it works, after all. Mom sure would love someone who’d actually go to bed early when she tells him to. On the other hand, once he got over the initial shock of modern Jingyi’s life, he’d probably find it pretty dull. High school isn’t about to compare to flying swords and cultivation, that’s for sure.  

Opposite him, Sizhui is bent over his own stack of scrolls, poring over rows and rows of tiny characters and absent-mindedly running his fingers along the lines. From the way he hums to himself when he thinks Jingyi is too busy copying to care, he guesses they’re music sheets of some kind. Unlike Jingyi, he looks like he’s actually engrossed in what he’s doing.

Too bad. Jingyi’s reached that point of boredom at which he needs to talk to someone or else he’ll implode. ( Still, he promises himself he’ll stop if Sizhui shows even a hint of genuine annoyance. )

“Hey, Lan Sizhui ⎯ can I call you just Sizhui? Um, sorry I got you stuck here.”

To his relief, the other doesn’t look irritated, just surprised. “Sizhui is fine,” he ventures after a few seconds. A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good. I was afraid you were still mad me, you’ve been so awkward all day...”

Wait, what? Who’s angry at you? Someone who kicks kittens for fun, probably.

Oh right, me. Maybe he’s the one whose brain needs a reboot. How does he explain that it’s not him who’s mad? Hell, he doesn’t even know what the original is supposed to be mad about. For some reason, it feels weird to ask, just because it seems important enough that admitting he forgot would be insulting.

“Anyway,” Sizhui continues after coughing into his sleeve, “it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve got to go over these before tomorrow’s lesson anyway, I might as well do it here.”

“Inquiry?” Jingyi ventures, maybe-maybe-not because it’s the only title he clearly remembers from the ones canon mentioned.

“Oh, no. Asking very specific questions is still a bit out of my reach, but Fa...Hanguang-jun wrote down a list of phrases for me, so we’re going to try them tomorrow.” His face softens at the mention of Lan Wangji. If this was a fic, this would be when Jingyi keels over and presses his face into a pillow for a little while.   

The chat devolves into musical cultivation. Jingyi muddles his way through it the best he can, feeling like he’s bullshitting an essay out loud, but Sizhui doesn’t seem to find his vague answers all that off-putting. He still pointedly glances down at the stack of unfinished notes on the table from time to time, but since Jingyi’s calligraphy has been getting worse and worse the less attention he pays to it, maybe it’s for the better.   

When dinner time rolls around, they eat their bowls sitting on the steps leading up to the Library Pavilion, after Sizhui rightfully points out Lan Qiren would have their skins if they spilled even a drop of sauce on the sect’s precious texts. Gradually, Jingyi feels himself relax.

“So, are we chill?” he asks between two mouthfuls of rice.

Sizhui just stares at him.

Right. No slang. “...I mean, we’re doing good, right? We’re friends?”

Something complicated passes over Sizhui’s expression. It’s too fleeting for him to catch more than a glimpse of it, especially as it’s overridden by his usual calm smile before Jingyi can shove another rice ball into his mouth, but he could swear the other winced.

Well, ouch. It must show on his face, because Sizhui suddenly looks alarmed and adds : “Yes, yes, we are!” Another smile. This time, Jingyi can definitely see the strain. “We’re friends. You don’t have to doubt that.”

“Oh. Great!” Jingyi resists the urge to reach out and gently punch his shoulder. Who knows how it’d be perceived. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, if I’ve got to keep copying rules, so...I wanted to make sure.”

【OOC behavior detected : contradiction of backstory despite hints : -20 points. Current balance : 65 points. 】

Shut up! I want him to like me!

“We’re friends,” Sizhui repeats one last time, like he’s trying to convince himself. Then he reaches for Jingyi’s shoulder and gives his robes a tug. “We should get back in there. Two more hours before curfew, you can still get a few lines in. I won’t distract you.”

“Ugh.”

Jingyi makes a face. Sizhui laughs, and the tension from earlier dissolves. “Come on. The more you get done, the faster it’ll be over.”

-

It turns out they’re both severely underestimating the number of rules Jingyi can break without realizing, and therefore the amount of time they’ll be spending here.

Despite these setbacks, over the course of the next handful of weeks, Jingyi adapts to his new life the best he can. He finds out, with much relief, that even though he can’t access the original’s knowledge and memories, training since childhood pays off even after a body swap. He doesn’t have to think too hard about sparring, just keep a firm grip on his sword, and his muscles can apparently do the rest with minimal effort on his part.

It only works with the actual fighting, though. After going to bed feeling sore all over for a week straight, Jingyi gives up and gives the cold springs a shot. It freezes his limbs off, but the ache gets better after that. It even gets him about a dozen points, which he adds to the rest, gained through menial tasks across the Cloud Recesses and some well-timed mischief.

He also likes to think he gets some progress done with step one of his grand plan to survive this novel. There’s no undoing years of being a pain in everyone’s ass in a matter of weeks, but Jingyi still gives it his best shot - peppered with tasteful cursing at the System when it deducts points for actually following the rules or, you know, not being a dick to everyone he talks to. As a result, he goes from mostly being avoided by the other disciples to tolerated, even if no one but Sizhui goes out of their way to talk to him or invite him to join in on...whatever fun they have.

Jingyi doubts he’s missing out on much, at least where the Lans are concerned. But rumor has it some of the guest disciples snuck out into Caiyi to try some of the local wine, and he’s jealous of that, which is kind of irrational. He doesn’t even like the taste of wine that much, and besides, that may be too much of an infraction for a raised Lan, however prone to rule-breaking said Lan is supposed to be.

( He really can’t afford to slip up again. When he dared chop a solid forty centimeters off his hair after struggling to run a comb through it for the fifth time that week, the System’s alarm blared so loud he almost had an out of body experience. He’d felt the hundred points shaved off his score, though, even if he’d managed to negotiate half of them back. That was the spiritual equivalent of having a car zoom past right as you were about to cross the street, and Jingyi’s in no hurry to do it again...but with that said, it feels great not to have to deal with a bird’s nest every time he wakes up. )

-

Of course, he can’t just get comfortable with his new daily routine. Something has to happen. This time, said something takes the shape of a summon from Teacher Lan. Jingyi drags his feet over from the Library Pavilion and away from his sixth copy of Gusu Lan rules. His wrist is still complaining every time he bends it a little too far. Fuck corpse powder, it’s carpal tunnel that’s going to do him in.

Speaking of copies, maybe he shouldn’t slump this much. He’s fairly sure there’s a rule for that somewhere in the two thousand and nineties.

Given the circumstances, Jingyi fully expects another lecture from Lan Qiren the moment he sets foot in the communal hall, but quickly readjusts his expectations when he spots the small crowd of disciples gathered around their teacher. Most of them are familiar faces by now, except for the girls, who for some reason live in a completely different part of the Cloud Recesses. Still, he recognizes Lan Fan, the shimei who looks like she could bite your head off but actually gave him some pretty helpful tips on sword stances the other day, Tao Ming, the boy who’d seemed vaguely suspicious of him that first day, and of course, Sizhui in the forefront.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him as he hastily joins the rest of the group. “Late again, Lan Jingyi.”

“Sorry, Teacher. This disciple was busy copying rules when he heard.”

A few of his companions snort, the noise quickly disguised as a sudden and collective bout of coughing. Jingyi can’t blame them ; if he’d heard the same words everyday for weeks on end, he’d be laughing too. Lan Qiren gives a long-suffering sigh, but whatever he’s about to tell them must take precedence, because Jingyi gets away with what might otherwise have been considered cheek.

“Madam Mo of Mo Village has sent us a request for assistance.” Given their teacher’s expression, he might as well said that she’d beaten down their door in the middle of the night and let a donkey loose in the courtyard. “From the servants’ description, it shouldn’t be anything more than a few walking corpses. Nothing a group of juniors cannot handle.”

Yeah, right. Despite knowing he’s supposed to let canon run its course, Jingyi still feels a twinge of apprehension. Why, you ask? He can answer that in two points.

Things Jingyi knows : mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.

Things Jingyi doesn’t know : how to kill zombies with swords.

In theory, he did spend the last few weeks training, and he didn’t slack off either, thank you very much. Doesn’t mean he’s ever gone up against a corpse before. He’s a coward, okay? Horror movie night was hell, back in his own world. He’s in no hurry to experience it in real (?) life.

“Lan Sizhui will lead the group,” Lan Qiren continues. “I expect all of you to keep your behaviors appropriate and not bring shame onto our sect.” To no one’s surprise, Jingyi thinks, and throws the interested party a small smile. To his surprise, Sizhui blushes and looks down at his boots, looking both embarrassed and pleased. It’s an unfairly cute look on him, but again, most of his looks are.  

Right on cue, the System wheezes to life like it just crawled out of a computer from the nineties.【Beginning stage checkpoint mission assigned. Destination : Mo Village. Mission : ensure the protagonist, Wei Wuxian, makes it to Mount Dafan to meet love interest Lan Wangji. Please click to accept.】

Jingyi mentally slams the Accept button.

Ding!  【Mission successfully accepted. Please read the file carefully for mission details and make appropriate preparations. We wish you success. 】

OOC function, here he comes!

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Sober Truth

So, many many moons ago I received several ‘drunk/hungover Hardy’ fic prompts, including from but not limited to @hardycanyounot.  Thank you very much for the prompt, and this is what I was eventually able to come up with!  My beta (the lovely @stupidsatsuma) can vouch that I struggled with this fic.

Rated: T (mostly for alcohol mention/consumption, though only by adults)

The moment Ellie Miller opened her front door, she knew someone was in her house.  Throwing out an arm to keep Fred from darting around her, she gave Tom the high sign to take his brother back to the car and lock themselves inside.  As they crept away from the house, she pulled out her mobile and started to dial.

“S’at you, Millah?”

Her partner’s unmistakable burr came from the direction of her sitting room, and she groaned quietly, tension mostly easing as she cancelled the call to him and pocketed the device.

“You alone?”

“Course I’m alone, if I’m not with you I’m always bloody alone,” he grumbled, and she knew the coast was clear, relatively speaking.  His apparently sourer-than-usual mood promised to be a minefield though.

Leaning out the door she waved to the boys, gesturing for them to come in.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked as soon as he was in range, and she smiled apologetically for the worry still in his eye.  At sixteen he’d already been through more shit than was reasonable, yet he mostly soldiered on without complaining.  Michael Lucas’ arrest had apparently been the stark come-to-Jesus moment he’d needed to course-correct; he’d been on his best behavior ever since.

“It’s just DI Hardy, I didn’t know he was stopping by.  Everything’s all right.  Why don’t you go upstairs and start your homework, yeah?”

He nodded slowly.  “I’ll keep my door open.”

Still smiling, she waited by the foot of the stairs until both boys were out of sight before letting the grin fall.  Spinning on her heel she marched into her dark sitting room, throwing on the light.  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

What greeted her was a sad sight.  Hardy, suit somehow more rumpled than usual, was splayed out on her couch, limbs akimbo.  His overcoat and suit jacket were dumped on the armchair, shoes abandoned in front of the coffee table, and he was drinking out of a glass bottle hidden in a brown paper bag.

“Had nowhere else to go,” he lamented, taking another swig.

“How’d you even get in?”  Clearing a pile of old newspaper from the end of the coffee table, she perched on it in front of his head as she took in his miserable appearance.

“Key.”

“You don’t have a spare key.”

“Made myself one ages ago.”  He paused for a mouthful, and from this close she could tell it was scotch.  Fitting.  A scotch-soused Scot on my sofa.  Say that five times fast.

“You made yourself a copy of my house key?”

Hardy turned his head to stare at her, hand holding the bottle dangling off the couch.  “I’m fairly certain I’m the one plastered, so are you going deaf or something, Miller?  I just said that.  Why’re you repeating me?”

“Well, that’s enough of that.”  It was easy enough to pluck the bottle from his limp fingers, and even his yelp of dismay was weak.  She took a large gulp of the liquid.

“No- Millah ‘m sorry, please.”  Big, sad brown eyes pleaded with her, but she was unmoved, locating the cap and screwing it back on before setting it on the floor behind her, far out of his reach.

“Absolutely not.  Hardy, what in the hell are you doing drunk in my sitting room at half three in the afternoon?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he huffed, crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling, and she rolled her eyes at his childishness.

“If you don’t want to talk, why are you here?  You could’ve just gone to yours to sulk in silence.”

Hardy stayed silent, and the realization of why made her lips twitch, not that he saw it.

“Aah, I see.”

“See what?”

“You do want to talk about it!”

“No.”

She nodded vigorously, grinning at his sulk.  “Yes you do, that’s why you’re here!”

“I don’t,” he denied miserably, “I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

Well, that explained why he was on her couch.  Though he’d somewhat accepted Broadchurch as his home, he hadn’t exactly bonded with anyone else; now that Daisy was in London for uni, she was once again the extent of his social circle.

“Fair enough.  Want a cuppa?”

By the time she returned with a tray he was sitting up straight, tie fixed and shoes on again.  Settling on the sofa next to him, she handed him a pre-prepared cuppa with just a bit of milk.  “There you go, just the way you like it.”

He accepted the mug gratefully, before opening the bottle of scotch she’d forgotten to take with her and adding a healthy dollop.  “Want some?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes at him, glancing between his face, the bottle, and the closed sitting room door, before sighing.  “Why not?”

He poured some into hers before replacing the lid, and they took a few mouthfuls of their doctored tea before she turned to him.

“Right.  What’s going on?”

“Tess is getting married.”  Hardy stared into his mug as if it held the answers to the universe.  “To Dave, of fucking course.  The DS she cheated on me with.”

Ellie blinked, surprised not to have to drag it out of him.  He must really be devastated to actually tell me so easily.  She’d known him for an entire month before finding out he had a daughter and ex-wife.  “They deserve each other then.”

He snorted, lips twitching slightly before resuming their mournful droop.  “Aye, I suppose.  Still.”

“Are you still in love with her?” she asked quietly, hesitant of the answer.  Privately she hoped the answer was no after everything Tess had put him through, but braced herself for a ‘yes’ even as she ignored the way the idea created a vise around her heart.

“No,” he reassured her, briefly meeting her eye, “it’s been a long time since I missed her, but… we were- I was happy.  For a long time.  And sometimes I wonder… if she was ever as happy as I was.”

Ellie sighed, leaning against the sofa back and curling her legs under her, nodding in agreement.  “I know.  It’s like… was any of it ever real?  How did I not see it?  When did it go wrong?”

His head jerked up, several expressions flying across his face before reluctant acceptance settled there.  “Exactly.”

“You forgot,” she guessed, shaking her head fondly, “didn’t you?”

“I know yours was worse, but… betrayal is still betrayal.”  Gaze dropping, he poured more of the scotch into his cup.

The ghost of a grin flitted across her lips – some days, just for a little while, she forgot too.  She loved those days.  “Erm, are you allowed to be drinking like that?  With the pacemaker, I mean?”

“I’m fine.”  He pulled a few mouthfuls directly from the bottle, and she couldn’t help but be slightly transfixed by how his throat worked as he swallowed.  “Promise.”

“Good.  You’ve already died on me enough times.”

They drank in silence, Hardy staring at the ground as she watched him brood.  Once the tea was gone they kept passing the scotch back and forth, getting comfortably drunk together, though she was careful to moderate her own consumption, mindful of her children in the house.

Eventually he began to laugh, a strange, sad sound, as he settled his mug on the coffee table and put his head in his hands, hunching over.

“Hardy?”  Ellie set hers down as well in favor of putting her hand on his back, rubbing softly in the hope of offering comfort.  “What is it?”

“I don’t want to die alone.”  His voice was muffled but she heard him well enough, eyebrows jumping up in surprise.

“What?”

“I don’t want to die alone,” he repeated, raising his head to stare at the bookshelf opposite him.  “At least, I wish I had someone other than Daisy who would care.”

“I’m here,” Ellie reminded him sternly.  “I would care.  Do care.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, “we both know you don’t love me the way I love you, and that you only care mostly because I’m here, in your life.  If I hadn’t come back you’d have never thought of me again, and quite happily I imagine.  Don’t patronize me.”

All Ellie could hear was a dull roaring in her ears, as she wondered wildly if she was hallucinating.  “What?”  Surely he didn’t say he loved her…  Not like love-love.  Romance and relationships and… stuff.  Right?

“I don’t blame you,” Hardy said seriously, fighting valiantly to meet her eye, “I wouldn’t love me either under normal circumstances, let alone what I did to your family.  This isn’t about that.  Not really.  No woman I’ve ever loved has loved me the way I did them, and I’ve accepted that.  It just- in a moment like this, with Tess getting a new happy ever after with him, just pisses me right the fuck off.”

“Hardy- Alec-”

Before she could splutter anything else out, not that she had a clue as to what it might be, he slumped against the back of the couch and began to snore.

“Shit.”  Moving him around to make sure he didn't suffocate before throwing a blanket over him, she watched him sleep for a minute trying to process what he'd just admitted.

“Now what?”

They were halfway through dinner when a loud groan emanated from the sitting room, and wiping her mouth with her napkin, Ellie rose from the table.  “I’ll be right back,” she told her father and sons, detouring to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When she walked in Hardy was sitting up with his back to the sofa arm, legs splayed along the length of the couch, his head resting in his hands.

“All right?” she asked brusquely, holding out the glass as she sat on the table.

He groaned again, quieter this time, accepting the water with a muttered, “Thanks.”

She waited for him to finish before taking the glass back, setting it on the table next to her and folding her hands in her lap.

“What happened?” Hardy asked, glancing over at her.

Ellie tilted her head in consideration, adopting a bright and louder-than-necessary tone as she said, “Well, I came home to find you drinking on my sofa, we talked a bit, you admitted you love me, and immediately passed out.  That last bit was ninety minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.”  He sighed, rubbing at his temples, before his head jerked upright.  “Wait, what?”

“Which part, the drinking part or the you saying you love me part?”

“The- the- the second one!”  Spluttering, he looked as though he didn’t quite believe her, blinking quickly with unfocused eyes.

Keeping her expression bland, still uncertain of where her feelings lay, she merely shrugged.  “Your exact words were to the effect of ‘I’- meaning me- ‘don’t love you the way you do me’.  Or something.”

“Those were my exact words?  As a detective shouldn’t you be better at taking statements?” he snarked, turning around to sit properly on the couch before briefly closing his eyes, holding up his hand to stop her retort.  “Don’t- don’t answer that.  Actually, don’t say anything.  I’m going home, and we’ll never talk about this again.”

“Hardy-”

He stood, swaying briefly before getting his feet under him.  “Good night.”

Ellie rose quickly, hurrying after him though she had no idea what to say to make him stay – didn’t even know if she wanted him to stay.  Or to continue this conversation.  “Hang on-”

“DI Hardy.”  Tom appeared in the hallway then, just as Hardy fumbled open the front door.

“Hi, Tom.”

Her partner paused, watching her son carefully, and she suddenly remembered their few encounters over the years had all been some variation of painful, and she held her breath.

“We’re just having supper, there’s still plenty warm.  D’you want to join us?”  The teenager gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

Ellie and Hardy shared a brief what the fuck? expression before he very slowly nodded.

“I’d hate to impose.”

“Not at all.”  The two men faced off for a moment before her partner slowly shut the front door.

“Thank you.”

Tom led the way back to the dining room, continuing on to the kitchen to fix Hardy a plate while Ellie set a place for him between Fred and her father, who was at the other head of the table.

“Hi Alec,” Freddie chirped, ever the sociable one, and Hardy grinned even as he winced, likely feeling the effects of a wicked hangover.

“Hiya, Fred.  What’s new?”

Ellie finished drying the last of the dishes and put the plate away, turning to the door only to be scared half to death by her father’s presence.  “Dad! What are you doing there?”  As always, he had a knack for disappearing until the chores were done, and she once again wished for the day when she didn’t need his free-but-expensive childminding, and could ship him off to Lucy.

“Why was he here?”

“Hardy?  He got some difficult news, needed a friend.”  She busied herself with cleaning the already spotless countertops, hoping he would think work remained and vanish again to avoid it.

“I don’t like him here in the house,” David said sternly.

Biting back a sigh, Ellie glanced back at him.  “It’s my house, Dad, and he’s my partner – at work, I mean.  He’s welcome.”

“He accused Tom of murder!”

“That was a long time ago, and that was mostly to- I don’t need to defend him to you!”  What she would never, could never say, was that she had wondered too, had had the same questions as Hardy.  Had thought, just for a moment, that her eleven-year-old was capable of such a thing.

Little did she know how much worse the truth was.

David huffed, giving her a glare that hadn’t worked at fifteen and certainly didn’t now at forty-two.  “He’s a poor influence, on you and the boys.”

Ellie bit her tongue until she tasted blood, taking deep breaths to keep herself calm.  “I absolutely disagree, and as their mother, it’s my call. I have to go make sure Tom’s homework is finished, and put Fred to bed.  Good night.”

Holding her head high she swept past him, walking deliberately up the stairs to try to reign in her impulse to scream.  If anyone was a bad influence on her children it was him, but trying to run the household on her single salary was draining her financially and energy-wise.

Tucking her anger away, she rapped on Tom’s door and waited for the ‘come in’.  Once granted she stepped inside, watching him for a moment as he lay on his bed reading, holding up a finger in the universal one minute gesture.

“Hi,” he finally looked up, using a scrap of paper as a bookmark and sitting up.  “What’s up?”

“Homework done?”

Tom nodded, eyes narrowing.  “Everything okay?”

“Yes.  It’s just- yes.”  She nearly said I could kill Grandad, but had made it a conscious decision not to condone that sort of talk even in jest.  Especially in moments where it wasn’t so ‘in jest’.  “I thought it was nice of you, by the way, to invite Detective Hardy to stay for dinner.”

“I just figured he was already here,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “and you shouldn’t have to be stuck at work late to have dinner with your boyfriend.”

“Still, I thought it was- boyfriend?!”

Her son scoffed, giving her a look that clearly said I’m not stupid.  “It’s been five years.  You’re allowed to be happy.  Though all your lectures on the importance of honesty seem a bit hypocritical, considering you’ve never said anything.”

“I- that’s not- we’re not-”

“It’s really okay,” Tom interrupted, laying down again and picking up his book, “and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.  Just no sleepovers, yeah?”

And he returned to his book, ignoring her gaping mouth and feeble spluttering.

“Mummy!  Storytime,” Fred called from his room.  In a daze Ellie headed for him, trying to wrap her head around the idea that Tom was not bothered by the idea of her dating Hardy – not that she was or had any intention of ever doing that.

Really.

“Here.”

Ellie opened her eyes to see her husband standing above her, holding out one of the two fruity frozen drinks he held.  “Thanks.”  She took it as he settled on the lounge chair next to her, and they slurped in silence for a minute.

“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” he said once the drinks were half gone.  “We live half a mile from the water, but traveled three thousand miles to sit on a beach looking at the same ocean we can see from the office.”

“Because here I don’t have to cook, clean, or work,” Ellie said patiently, “there’s no children, no crime, no worries.  And sexy men in swim trunks deliver alcohol to me.”

He lowered his sunglasses to give her an even stare.  “You really telling me you’re not as bored as I am?”

“Not in the slightest.  This is paradise.”

Her husband sighed heavily, setting his empty drink on the cocktail table between them and lowered the top of his lounger to stretch out, folding his hands across his stomach as he settled down for a nap.  “We’re at least going to do the murder mystery dinner tonight, right?”

“Of course, dear.”

Ellie’s eyes snapped open, darting around wildly as she tried to reconcile her surroundings with the still-vivid image of her dream.

It felt so real.

Filled with restless energy she climbed out of bed, detouring to the bathroom before making a circuit of her house, checking on her sleeping sons and all the doors and windows to ensure they were locked before returning to bed, climbing in and sitting up against the headboard, adjusting the sheet over her just so.

Only once she was settled did she close her eyes to try to recall her dream.  The details were fading fast, but she rather thought she’d been beachside at a luxury resort, soaking up the sun and letting it melt her troubles away, alone with her husband.

Her husband.

Ellie’s eyes snapped open, heart stopping for a moment before galloping off.  Over the past five years she’d had dozens, hundreds of dreams of being married again, most at the beginning when her mind was still trying to reconcile her new reality with the peaceful happiness of the Disney trip just before- well, before.  Because that was the defining moment in her life, wasn’t it?

There had been other such moments, of course.  Before and after kids. Before and after becoming detective.  Before and after my husband turned out to be a pedophilic childkiller.

But in those dreams, always, the man beside her was Joe – the man she’d married, the version of him she’d married.  Kind, sweet, thoughtful Joe, who laughed at her jokes and treated her like a queen.

Tonight though… tonight was different.

Tonight, her leading man was none other than Alec Hardy.

I’m not in love with him though.  Am I?

She thought about how much he’d annoyed her in the beginning, how thoroughly his presence had disrupted her life even before she knew the truth about Joe.  She’d thought him a bully, a sullen job-stealing grump determined to humiliate her with his experience.

Now, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case, that his poorly-executed plan had been to make her a better detective, to prepare her for the next time such a terrible case arose.  Now she knew how that gruff, cold, distant presentation was merely a front, battle armor to protect a soul that had been trampled on, bruised almost beyond repair.  That inside of it beat a warm, caring heart that recognized it couldn’t change what had happened, but could instead devote itself to stopping it from happening again.

How funny, that in the end Joe turned out to be the heartless monster she thought Hardy was, while Hardy in truth was a decent, hardworking man who fought in the name of fairness, who cared so deeply he risked his health, his life, his family to bring killers to justice.

But did she love him?

It wasn’t like when she met Joe – no butterflies in her stomach, no gooey feeling if they happened to touch.  He didn’t occupy every thought, she didn’t dream of the next time she’d see him.

And yet… he was a steady constant in her life.  When she needed advice or just someone to listen, he was her first call.  That had been Beth, once, but after Danny…  They had repaired the break, but the scars remained – that bridge would never be the same.  With Hardy though…

She knew him.  Knew what made him tick – usually.  Knew the simple things, like how he took his tea and that he despised pears for no good reason.  And they were a team, a well oiled machine by now, able to communicate in fleeting glances, could practically read each other’s mind sometimes, especially but not exclusively while working.

But is it love?

Ellie huffed, determined to put it out of her mind and picking up the remote, flipping through the channels, never settling on anything for more than a minute.  On her third pass through she stopped on a movie.  Vaguely recognizing the older man in the shot, J something… R Ewing?  No. JK Rowling?  No, that’s the Harry Potter woman. was seated at a kitchen table working on some sort of mechanical repair.  Leaving the channel on but reaching for her phone, Ellie was reading an email about a budget meeting when the girl on screen spoke somewhat forlornly.

“I just- I need to know that it’s possible that two people can stay happy together forever.”

Ellie’s head jerked up, blinking at the screen.

JK Simmons that’s it! sighed, and based on the nature of movies, she knew some sort of slightly-patronizing, revelation-inducing soppy quote was about to spring forth from his lips, and rolling her eyes, she fumbled for the remote.

“In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with.”

Ellie’s heart stopped before taking off double-time, beating wildly.  She must have moved on autopilot, because one moment she was staring at the screen and the next she was standing in front of the sliding glass door at Hardy’s, hand poised to knock.

Eleanor, what are you doing here? she asked herself, even as she watched her knuckles rap on the door without her permission.  Go home.

Hardy appeared from the hallway then, yawning as he shuffled over and slid open the door.  “Something wrong?  Come to yell at me about something?”

She stared at him, taking in his sleep-rumpled hair and clothing.  He wore a tight tee and track pants, eyes warm and soft and sleepy, a hint of a smile at his lips despite his greeting.  For the first time, she looked at him and her belly swooped.

Reaching up she fisted his tee, pulling him down to her and pressing their lips together firmly.  She only lingered long enough to taste mint and a hint of spice before pulling back, instinctively licking her lips to savor the taste.  Pulling back just enough to speak, lips still close enough to brush with the slightest forward sway from either of them, she whispered as though the universe would doom them if she spoke any louder.

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I sure as hell want to find out.”

[scruffyhappaboreherder]

Rebelcaptain world bee day: activist AU where Jyn writes an article on Cassian’s bee colonies :D

Ahhhh that’s so much more wholesome than what I came up with.  Not exactly what you asked for, and not complete, because I need to throw them together at least one more time, but I’m getting sleepy.

High school AU, mention of canonical parent death, my weird headcanon that Cassian has (had :P) two dads

Jyn frowned, squinting against the sun.  The guy she had to interview had said to meet him at the west entrance after school, but the buses were all gone and the crowds had dissipated.  She checked the time again and sighed irritably.  She had promised Bodhi an article for the paper, one about bees to go with the warming weather.  She was glad to help Bodhi out, but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend forever waiting in the heat.

The door clicked, and she looked up hopefully.  Maybe that’s him.  Slim, dark-haired, not too tall, wearing a red t-shirt and striding toward her hurriedly.  Pay dirt, Jyn thought, relieved.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.  My friend wanted to ask me about our English homework, and it took longer than I was expecting.”

“That’s all right,” Jyn lied.

“I was thinking we could walk.”  Cassian Andor eyed the keys she was fidgeting with.  "It’s only a couple blocks, and I like to watch for bees along the way.“

“All right.”  Jyn pocketed her keys and followed him.  She dutifully took pictures with the journalism department’s unwieldy actual camera, and noted down the names of the bee species, and the bee folklore and trivia his brain was apparently filled with.  Napoleon had redecorated French chateaux with them as a symbol of industriousness; and in many European cultures it was customary to tell the bees you kept when a member of the family died.

“And here we are.”  Cassian pointed at an ordinary-looking house.  "But what you want to see is in the back.“

She followed him around the side to a small garden.  

"I’m sorry the garden isn’t much to look at right now.  Only the foxglove and the columbine are bloomng, since it’s May.  Have a seat,” he suggested, pointing to a wooden bench covered with an awning.  Jyn did, glancing around.  She didn’t see the large boxes covered in swarming bees that she was expecting, just a few old crates wrapped in chicken wire and filled with tubes.  "For mining bees,“ Cassian explained, following her gaze.  "They’re native, unlike honeybees, and they’re good bees for someone who doesn’t have much spare time.  Only a couple hours a year of work, total.”

“Wow.”  She’d read that honeybees were very labor-intensive, and wondered how he had the time.

“They make their nests in those tubes.  It’s better if you put some clay soil nearby.  They’ll use it as raw material.”  He pointed at the heap of dirt next to the tube-boxes.  "Oh, look, there’s one going in now.“  

Jyn leaned over hastily, hoping to get a clear shot.  She overbalanced, and found herself sitting on her ass on the ground.  The camera smacked her chest painfully, but at least it hadn’t hit anything hard.  "Shit.”  She clambered up, ignoring Cassian’s outstretched hand; he let it fall to his side.

“What do you expect to get out of all this bee stuff?” she asked.  Her tone was more than a little peeved; she couldn’t help it.  She didn’t think anything was seriously injured, but that fall had been painful.

He shrugged.  "My father and I used to keep this garden.  He died in a car accident last year.  Now it’s just me and my other dad.“

Jyn winced.  Great interviewing skills I’ve got.  "I’m sorry,” she said lamely.

“This is one of the ways I keep his memory alive,” Cassian continued stolidly, as if she hadn’t spoken.  "He used to point out that the way we keep paving over everything and planting non-native plants is going to mess up the ecosystem in my lifetime.“

"Not that we aren’t doing plenty to mess it up already,” Jyn muttered.

Cassian nodded.  "I want to save the bees.“

"That’s a tall order.”

“Yes.  But I’m not the only one who’s trying.  There are plenty of bee science programs, at universities and in backyards.  There is hope.”

Jyn pursed her lips.  Her mother had been a geologist, and tried, before she died of cancer, to make Jyn love the sciences and the earth.  Instead Jyn had clung as hard as she could to things that she could do inside, in any old room, no sunlight or special equipment required: reading, writing, math, programming.

“Hope,” Jyn sighed.  "That’s good.“  She was surprised that she meant it, even though the numbness that came over her when she thought of her mother was filling her chest.  She swiped angrily at her eyes.  She tried not to think of her mother, especially when other people were around.  "I’m sorry,” she said again.  "I have to go.“  She could cobble together an article based on her reading and this disaster of an interview, and Bodhi could fill the space with pictures if he had to.  She stumbled out of the garden, and back to school.  She sat in her truck for a long time, resting her folded arms on the steering wheel and crying into them, before she felt like she could drive home.

- - -

She wrote the article during her lunch break the next day, and turned it in to Bodhi.  He thanked her; she assured him it was no problem, and promptly forgot about it.  Until the day she found Cassian Andor hovering by her truck in the parking lot, clutching a copy of the school paper.  She stopped short and stared at him.

"Your article was good,” he offered, brandishing the paper.

“How did you know this was my car?”

“There aren’t too many turquoise pickup trucks with geodes hanging from the rearview mirror.”

Jyn grimaced.  The truck had been her mother’s; she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take the geode down.  The other half was on her keychain.

“Still doesn’t tell me how you know that this one’s mine.”

He sighed.  "There’s no way I can say this without sounding creepy.  You seemed … kind of messed up, when you left my house, so I followed you.  I just wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt or something.  Or too messed up to drive.  That’s all.  I’m sorry.“

"You followed me and watched me cry?  That is pretty creepy.”

“I didn’t get that close!  I just thought you were sleeping, and I left after a few minutes.  I swear.”  He was clearly struggling with curiosity now.  "Why were you crying?“

"We’re even now, don’t you think?  I was an ass, and you were a creep.  We both apologized, for what that’s worth.  Let’s not make this complicated.  I’d like to go home now, so please move out of my way.”

“Okay.”  He spread his hands and stepped aside.  "You’re not going to run me over accidentally-on-purpose, are you?“

Jyn snorted.  "No.  But maybe you should get on the sidewalk just in case.  Unless you want a ride home.”

He shrugged.  "Sure, why not.“

She’d been being sarcastic when she said that, for fuck’s sake.  But she couldn’t say that without feeling like an asshole.  She unlocked the car and waved him toward the passenger seat.  They were silent throughout the short drive.

"Thanks for the ride,” he said, when she pulled into his driveway.  "If you ever want to come over, the garden will be looking nicer in a few weeks.  It’s a good place to sit and think.“

"And get stung by bees?” Jyn inquired.  "Stimulating.“

He shook his head.  "Mining bees don’t sting without extreme provocation.  You’d be safe from that.”

“Fantastic.  Well, good luck with your bees.”

“See you.”  He climbed out of the truck, and waved once as she drove away.

[breeeliss]

[Chlonette Week]: If I Could Tell Her

yo if you’ve ever successfully completed all days of a fandom week on time, hit me up i need to pick your brain 

(for @chlonetteweek​ )

[Prev: What Is This Feeling?]

Link to Archive Of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: If I Could Tell Her Prompt: a day dedicated to some pining! What are some things they wish they could say to each other but don’t have the courage to? Summary: A day in the life of a lovesick Chloé Bourgeois

Day 3: If I Could Tell Her 

Chloé was sitting in the living room waiting for her driver to bring the car around when she finally checked all of Marinette’s 4am snapchats.

At a certain point, she had to appreciate the artistic appeal of watching Marinette’s sanity slowly slip away the further Chloé tapped through her story. By three in the morning, Marinette had her history textbook draped over her face while she blasted a Stromae album, rapped along horribly to the lyrics, and added the caption ‘ I’m dropping out of school and becoming an overnight musical sensation.’ It was amazing how something could be tragic, beautiful, and hilarious all at the same time but she supposed if anyone was capable of pulling it off, it was a sleep deprived Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Honestly, Chloé still hadn’t figured out what on Earth kept Marinette so busy that she was consistently staying up until sunrise to finish her assignments. Procrastination and Marinette didn’t go well together which meant she had to have been living some kind of double life as a model. Or an actress. Or something. Whatever. Chloé would look into it. Must be pretty important to be worth showing up to school late so many days in a row.

Speaking of which…

Chloé made a quick phone call while she waved her butler over and quietly asked, “Could you put some coffee in a thermos for me? I don’t want to feel sluggish during class.”

She was sent to voicemail three times before a confused, groggy voice finally answered the phone. “ I didn’t fall asleep! I was just resting…”

Chloé let herself smile now that no one was looking. “You do realize it’s eight o’clock, right?”

“ Chloé?” Marinette mumbled. “ What the fu — how did you get my number…wait, what time is it?”

“Yes it’s me, watch your language, snooped through Adrien’s phone, and it’s half an hour before school starts.”

Chloé heard a scream, a thud, and a burst of running water. “SHIT! How did I sleep through my alarms, I set like seven of them!?”

“Listen, if you’re late to class one more time, you’re going to get sent to the principal’s office. Which means you’re going to miss first period. Which means that I can’t copy your notes and do my nails during class. So hurry up.”

“ Stop nagging me so I can get ready. And what do you mean you copy my notes? Are you serious?”

“Chop chop, Marinette! We have maths first. You better be on time.”

Chloé added a splash of milk to her coffee thermos and stole a leftover croissant from breakfast this morning before meeting her driver downstairs. She thought about stopping by the Dupain-Cheng bakery and waiting downstairs with an obnoxious countdown clock on her phone to really rub it in, but Chloé was pushing it with the latenesses herself and she wasn’t sure if offering to drive Marinette to school after that would be a weird thing to offer. Too soon probably. Something to work up to. Good thing that Marinette could bike to school in under ten minutes when she was motivated by the possibility of being late.

After Chloé and Marinette had an extremely lively argument about the answer to a maths equation the class was tasked with solving, their maths teacher thought it best to seat them next to each other for the rest of the year in order to help them get along. The fight really wasn’t that big of a deal. Rivals had to keep up appearances, and sometimes that meant getting a little overdramatic. Although Chloé admittedly did take it too far when she threw that stapler. But then again, Marinette threw a tape dispenser so it was even blame at the end of the day.

Anyway, the point was the seating arrangements were unnecessary because Chloé and Marinette didn’t need to learn how to get along with each other. They got along pretty okay now that they were older and Adrien no longer needed to blackmail Chloé into being passably courteous to her classmates. However, getting to sit next to Marinette in class now gave her a subtle yet foolproof excuse to talk to her at least once a day which was always a win in Chloé’s book.

She was fixing up her makeup by the time Marinette dove into her seat three minutes before the period bell rang.

“You’re a walking disaster,” Chloé commented, squinting into her mirror as she touched up her brows. “How much sleep did you get?”

Marinette winced. “Uh, three…no two…wait, no. I think I just power napped. And maybe had a lucid dream in between homework assignments at some point. I don’t remember. Wait today’s Thursday, right?”

Chloé leaned away from her. “Good lord…” She pushed the coffee and croissant across the table. “Eat. Caffeinate. Seriously. You’re creeping me out.”

Marinette slowly opened the thermos and sniffed the contents as if she were afraid they were poisoned. “You got me coffee? That’s something you know how to do?”

“It’s fairly easy to obtain coffee, Marinette.”

“Wait, I can just have this? And the croissant?”

Chloé winced. “ Weeeeelllll …”

Marinette’s face fell. “Oh come on, what is it?”

“Let me copy your test corrections. I forgot to do them.”

“No way! Do you know how long I spent on those? I’m not going to let you just copy them.”

“I’m getting marked down in this class enough as it is. Just let me sneak a peek for two minutes. I’m a quick copier.”

Marinette pulled her books away from Chloé. “Coffee and one croissant is not enough for test corrections.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll buy you two croissants.”

“Nope. Still not good enough.”

“Well damn, woman, what do you want?”

Marinette tapped her chin and let her eyes fall on the tube of lipstick that Chloé had lying next to the brow palette she was using. “Is that Lancôme?”

Chloé’s eyes flew open. “Stop it! It’s new! I haven’t even used it yet.”

“I really love that color.”

“Marinette come on! ”

“Class starts in less than a minute. Better do this before the teacher comes in.”

“Agh, fine!” Chloé slapped the tube of lipstick in Marinette’s hands and quickly took her test corrections before she changed her mind. “You better take care of that! It’s matte. And very expensive.”

“I’m gonna dump it in the sink after class.”

“Marinette please .”

She laughed as she blew over the rim of the thermos and took a deep sip of her coffee. She furrowed her brows and looked at Chloé. “You put milk in this.”

Chloé nodded and straightened the notebooks on her desk so that Marinette wouldn’t catch her smiling. “Yeah, that okay? That’s how I take my coffee,” she lied.

“No it’s perfect. I love when it’s got milk in it. Good guess!”

Chloé winked at her. “What can I say? Good instincts.”

In actual fact, Chloé had bullied Marinette’s favorite coffee order out of Alya a couple of days ago, but Marinette didn’t need to know that. Chloé had also done her test corrections last night while she was FaceTiming with Sabrina and didn’t really need to copy anyone’s answers after all, but Marinette also didn’t need to know that. Instead, Chloé pretended to copy over Marinette’s answers while she subtly glanced at Marinette happily enjoying her breakfast.

She wasn’t aware of how long she was staring until she felt someone kick her chair from behind and shock her back into focus. Chloé looked over her shoulder and glared when she saw Adrien fluttering his eyelashes and making obnoxious kissing faces at her while Alya cackled under her desk next to him. She waited until the teacher was turned to the board before she crumpled up a piece of notebook paper and threw it right in Adrien’s face so that he’d shut up and leave her alone.

Oh. Yeah. She forgot to mention that part. Sitting next to Marinette was great, but sitting behind the Smug Duo over here was a nightmare.

“You know instead of pretending to bring her coffee for the sake of a bribe, you can just invite her out to coffee instead,” Adrien told her after class. “It would definitely be a more straightforward option.”

Chloé started scanning the tags on the lockers and trying to find which one was Marinette’s. “That would involve telling Marinette how I feel and I’d rather shave myself bald.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so overdramatic.”  

“Do you understand that the likelihood of Marinette liking me back is like less than one percent?” Chloé explained. “You don’t date someone you have history with, it just doesn’t work that way.”

“Says who?” Adrien asked.

“Says me.” Chloé found Marinette’s locker and carefully slipped in the textbook that she had accidentally left on her desk before she raced out the classroom to head for her studio arts class. “If I tell her that I like her and she says no, it’s just gonna make things awkward between us. We’re finally getting along after like five years of knowing each other and I’m not messing that up by telling her anything.”

“Why are you so sure confessing is going to mess things up between you two?” Alya asked. “Trust me, I know that girl inside out. She’ll be more likely to feel awful that she can’t return your feelings then try to make you feel bad for having them.”

Chloé let out a fake sob. “Ugh, that’s almost worse…”

“You’re functioning under the assumption that it’s impossible for her to like you back,” Adrien said. “Is it so hard to believe that she could possibly have a crush on you too?”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m serious. That girl wears her heart on her sleeve. It’s hard for her to hide her feelings.”

“That doesn’t mean she likes me. I’m not getting crush vibes from her.”

Alya shrugged. “I mean, they may not be full on crush vibes. But I feel like the old Marinette would’ve been weirded out by you bringing her coffee and being her wake up call in the mornings. She seems to roll with it just fine and actually enjoys it. If she isn’t crushing on you yet, she might be getting there.”

“Which is why this is the perfect time for you to confess!” Adrien grinned. “Let her warm up to the idea.”

Chloé pushed passed them and started to walk to her next class. “I get that you two are bored or romantically unfulfilled or whatever it is that makes people meddle in other people’s love lives, but I’m seriously good on the romantic advice front. I know what I’m doing.”

Alya frowned. “So you’re fine just…being nice to her and not letting things push past that point.”

Chloé groaned as she paused in the doorway. “You guys make it sound like I’m miserable trying to keep this a secret. I’m fine, okay? Totally, one hundred percent fine with how things are.”

Adrien worried his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Look I’ve gotta go to class, so can we do this later? And if either of you dare tell Marinette that I was the one who returned her book, I’ll start a smear campaign on both of you!”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“No. In fact it isn’t extreme enough. So be grateful for my mercy.”

For once, Chloé wasn’t lying. She truly didn’t mind not telling Marinette anything. She was big enough to admit that Marinette was so beautiful, kind, and popular that it was hard to not let that jealousy manifest into outright hatred. But hating her wasn’t nearly as satisfying as becoming friends with her. Just in the past couple of months, Chloé had been able to tease out charming little bits of her personality that she hadn’t known about before. Like the fact that she was wickedly sarcastic, quick to anger, and loved arguing with people just because it got her blood pumping and she found it fun.

She could no longer resent Marinette’s ability to make everyone fall in love with her because Chloé had fallen into the same trap in almost no time at all. It hurt to know that she’d wasted so many years being cruel to her, and all she really wanted to do was act like a friend to her. Chloé often didn’t think about dating and kissing when she thought about Marinette. Not that she would ever be opposed to that happening, but it wasn’t the reason she liked being around Marinette. She liked making her smile. She liked being the reason Marinette could be happy for just a few minutes out of the day. Undoing all of the damage she’d caused this wonderful girl was all Chloé really wanted, and she didn’t need anything in return for it.

Chloé didn’t see Marinette again until the lunch pause. Her study block was over, and she was about to leave the library before she saw Marinette passed out on one of the study tables. Chloé leaned down and jostled her shoulder until Marinette slowly blinked her eyes open and yawned. “Hey Chloé.”

“Coffee wear off?”

She nodded sluggishly and started to fall back asleep. “Yeah I think so.”

“You need to eat something,” Chloé said. “I get you’re tired, but you can’t skip meals.”

“I forgot to grab lunch this morning,” Marinette said. “And I don’t have time to go out and get something. I’d rather sleep.”

Chloé started to collect all of the homework that Marinette didn’t get a chance to complete last period. “How about this? I just ordered some sushi. Delivery guy should be here any minute. I’ll split my lunch with you and then we can go nap in the park or something.”

Marinette rubbed her eyes and gestured for her bag so that she could zip it up herself. “Why the park?”

“Figured it’s more comfortable than crouching over your desk like this. Seriously, you’re too pretty to grow up with horrible posture. How are you going to look as amazing as I do in strapless stuff?”

Marinette snorted and started to roll back her stiff shoulders. “Compelling argument.”

“Come on,” Chloé said. “I was gonna do some online shopping done in the park anyway. Plus, I think I ordered two lunch boxes by accident and I can’t eat it all by myself. So I hope you like chicken.”

“Isn’t ordering takeout to the school against the rules?” Marinette teased.

Chloé flicked her forehead. “Don’t nag me, Class Rep. Be happy I’m sharing my food with you.”

“No, no, I am happy! That’s…really nice of you Chloé. Thank you.”

“You were drooling on your desk. That’s embarrassing. I can’t be seen with people who drool on their desks, so I figured I’d come rescue you from making a fool out of yourself.”

“Oh shut up. I’m up late a lot, I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, about that. What is it with you and staying up so late all the time? What do you do all day?”

“At night, I become a masked superhero who fights evil and runs around in spandex.”

“Hilarious. And unoriginal.”

“Hey, what happened to being nice to me? I liked that earlier.”

“I’m physiologically incapable of being nice for longer than sixty seconds. I’m seeing a doctor about it.”

“Oh, how absolutely awful.”

“It really is. I’m trying to raise awareness about the disease.”

Chloé pulled a blanket from her locker and walked them to the park a couple of blocks away from the school where other students were lounging in the sun, playing games, and catching up on homework. Marinette practically attacked the carton of food the minute Chloé handed it to her and started muttering something about definitely paying Chloé back because she simply couldn’t accept this without making up for it somehow. Chloé gracefully ignored the offer and made it a point to keep an eye for any money she may soon find in her locker of her notebooks so that she could return it to Marinette later on.

They weren’t at that point where they were particularly chatty with one another. Marinette asked Chloé about how studying for exams was going and Chloé remembered to ask whether Marinette was having any luck figuring out what fashion school she might want to start applying to next year. The conversation pretty much fizzled out after that, but Chloé didn’t mind. Chloé was fine turning on some music and catching up on her literature homework while Marinette ate next to her and laughed at the two three year olds playing tag only a few feet in front of them.

Marinette finished eating long before Chloé did, so Chloé grabbed her bag and shoved it underneath Marinette’s head so that she could have a pillow to lean on while she slept. She told Chloé to wake her up in ten minutes because she needed to start her homework early, but Chloé merely pretended to set the alarm and decided to let her sleep for the full two hours. She needed to remember to find a concealer in Marinette’s skin tone and figure out a subtle way of giving that to her. Poor thing was going to need it if she kept showing up to school running on fumes.

Chloé kept doing homework until she got bored and pulled out her tablet to get some shopping done. It didn’t take long for Marinette to knock out and start lightly snoring next to her. Chloé laughed through the short video she took of the sight and texted it to Marinette before indulgently smoothing the hair away from her sleeping face.

“Yup. Definitely a walking disaster,” she whispered as she played with Marinette’s bangs. “You need to sleep more, you idiot.” Marinette shifted in her sleep and hugged Chloé’s bag closer, still trapped in a deep sleep that Chloé felt guilty breaking her out of.

Chloé really wasn’t sure how crushes worked. Or rather, she didn’t know where friendships ended and crushes started, or whether they were really just one and the same thing with only subtle shades of difference separating them. Marinette coming to have lunch and nap in the park with her seemed like a huge step for them. They weren’t close yet, and Chloé wouldn’t have been offended if Marinette had said no to her invitation. But Marinette did say yes, and it was hard to figure out whether the excitement Chloé felt was because of a progressing friendship or because of the lingering shreds of a stupid hope that Marinette secretly felt the same about her.

She hated entertaining that hope because it wasn’t important to her. It really wasn’t. Chloé could die happy just being Marinette’s friend because that all by itself was a beautiful thing. But god, how perfect would it be to have Marinette look her in the eye and tell her that she liked her back? To call things like these dates? To not have to pretend that her gestures had ulterior motives?

Chloé sighed and let her thumb brush over Marinette’s cheek before she turned back to her tablet and tried to let Marinette sleep. It was probably just her touch starved brain talking. Maybe if she went to Adrien’s house after school to study and watch movies, it would help stop her brain from lingering on silly thoughts. Marinette was probably having a hard enough time learning how to be friends with Chloé after everything they’d gone through.

It would be selfish to demand anything more than that, and Adrien had been telling her for a long time that Chloé needed to stop being so darn selfish.

[lavanderstarcatcher]

At the Beginning || SeungChuChu Childhood AU || Part VI

A guide how to be lazy, the author? Me. Sorry, this part refelcts a few of my opinions on books and movies (and I hopefully don’t offend anyone (to be sure, check warnings).

Warnings: there is cursing, there is mention of 16-year-olds watching porn (only mention, there is no context, at all, surrounding porn), there are very vague spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince,  Mark of Athena and House of Hades but won’t spoil the book for ya if you want to read it.

Life is a road, now and forever, wonderful journey

I'll be there when the world stops turning

- Anastasia - At the beginning

 They had an important test upcoming Monday. Seung-gil had studied, and biology was one of his best subjects. Phichit, however, hadn’t studied yet and his biology grade was cry-worthy. So, Seung-gil was supposed to tutor Phichit and save his sorry ass for flopping the upcoming test. However, Phichit had different priorities.

 The library was pretty much empty. The few people who were there were studying, the rest had opted to go home. After all, it was well past four on a Friday. Everyone had something better to do — Seung-gil included. His newly released copy of ‘Fearless’, which was the second book in the series, was lying on his nightstand, ready to be read. That thing was actually the reason Seung-gil had bothered to study in advance, now he had the entire weekend to read the book. But he couldn’t let Phichit fluke his test, it wouldn’t sit right with him. Prioritising his best friend over a book used to feel wrong — he wouldn’t have done it years ago, but nowadays. No, he couldn’t, taking into account how much Phichit meant to him.

 “I don’t like him,” Phichit said as he peered over his study book.

 Not bothering to hide his gaze like Phichit, Seung-gil watched the only other duo in the library. They were sitting pretty close to each other. A bit too close his mind supplied, but Seung-gil ignored it. He wasn’t Phichit — he could let go.

 “Leo is a good guy,” Seung-gil said, pushing Phichit’s head down so he was eyeing his notes instead of the other students. “And he’s Guang Hong’s tutor. If you were better in Spanish, you could have done it. But your Spanish is cry-worthy.”

 Phichit let out a scandalised gasp. “You think my Spanish is bad — have you ever heard your own?”

 “I have, and it’s terrible, but I no longer have Spanish classes. However, we have a biology test coming up, and someone hasn’t studied yet.”

 Thankfully, Phichit looked guilty.

 “Fine — still, if he dares to break Guang Hong’s heart—”

 Seung-gil swatted the back of Phichit’s head. “He’s fourteen, leave him be.”

 “Really? You aren’t rooting for him to get a boyfriend?”

 “No, not really,” Seung-gil lied.

 It was a bit of a lie. Seung-gil wasn’t rooting for Guang Hong to get a boyfriend per se, but he had approved of Leo. The extensive Facebook stalking had helped, a lot. Not that Phichit knew that, and Seung-gil had strategically erased all evidence (aside from his notes on Leo — also known as Leo de la Iglesia — who he had stored in a folder called ‘porn’. There was no porn in that folder, but nobody would look at a sixteen-year-old weirdly if they had a porn folder. He knew Phichit had one). So, yeah, he cared about his friend’s happiness, but he wasn’t going to meddle with it like Phichit was planning on doing.

 “So, you’re telling me that you don’t know anything about Leo, at all? I mean,” Phichit grinned innocently. “I know that he is a second-year student — but he looks a bit old. Our age at least. So do you think he’s held back a few years?”

Seung-gil had little redeeming qualities and a tonne of issues — and one of those issues was that he was a know it all. He was willing to fight anyone to get thing his way, especially if his way is correct. Another issue is that his brain-to-mouth filter, at least around Phichit, was shit.

 “He’s fifteen — second year. Not held back a single year. He is an average student, he mainly has female friends and is openly bisexual, and he isn’t too old for Guang Hong for gods’ sake — please focus on your homework. We have a test next Monday, and I want to finish my book.”

 And he had just run his mouth, and Phichit was going to have a field day. Because he basically admitted that he had Facebook stalked Leo — which showed he cared.

 “Knew you cared,” Phichit said gleefully. “Actually knew it beforehand, but I like to rile you up. You know, I was curious what kind of porn you watched — turns out you hide all your dirty secrets in your porn folder aside from actual porn.”

 Shit. “How did you know my password?” Seung-gil asked, feeling fear coursing through his veins. It was Phichit’s birthday — which friend has their best friend’s birthday as their password? None. But the count of people who had their crush’ birthday or name as their password — oh dear. He was screwed.

 Phichit’s grin was a bit forced. “I didn’t, you forgot to sign off.”

 Thank gods.

 “Yes, fine, I care. Now, study.”

 It didn’t work — but hey, Phichit was willing to do anything to avoid having to study, so Seung-gil shouldn’t have been surprised.

 “I’m studying,” Phichit said, staring at him with a big grin on his face. “I’m studying you, or more like how you are still single. The older girls — the one who actually are looking for a stable relationship — like sensitive guys. The ones that won’t make fun of girls their feelings, or who don’t judge them for dying over the Hunger Games movies and the hotshot actors.”

 Liam Hemsworth was pretty handsome, his mind kindly supplied. On the other hand, Thor.

 “I don’t care that much about the movies — the books are better,” Seung-gil said, ignoring the urge to mention that yes, there were some hotshot actors. He hated puberty, and Phichit’s voice narrating his thoughts. Gay thoughts. He really should consider coming out because this was getting annoying. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lose Phichit. The closet was a pretty safe place.

 Phichit rolled his eyes dramatically. “Not all book-based movies are bad. The Harry Potter movies are pretty great.”

 “The Harry Potter movies are okay — but you were there, you’ve seen the animosity that was the Percy Jackson movie — I can’t believe they’re making another one.”

 Softness and comfort smoothed out Phichit’s teasing expression. “I know — but you’re biased. I only have seen you throw a book twice — which both were a Percy Jackson and Harry Potter book might I remind you — and I lost count of how many books you’ve read.”

 “Well,” Seung-gil crossed his arms and glaring at Phichit. “Some books are meant to be thrown with. The Half-Blood Prince still has scarred me for life and—”

 Phichit nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that one was bad, but it was nothing compared The Mark of Athena. Your bloodcurdling scream when you threw the books across the room is still etched in mind. I thought the main character died, at best.”

 “They might as well have died,” Seung-gil said, feeling himself tear up a little. He hated that book — it taunted him, and he seriously wondered how he had resisted the urge to set it on fire. “I hated that ending.”

 “Hey, at least be happy that nothing happened to him. I know you’re attached to him.”

 Wiping away the dampness before they could start to form tears, Seung-gil smiled thinly. “Don’t jinx it — there are still two books to go.”

 A loud cough burst their happy little bubble, causing Phichit to yelp, nearly toppling off his chair, and Seung-gil instinctively checks the clock. It was well past five — his parents would kill him if he missed dinner.

 “Guang Hong,” Phichit wheezed, voice high-pitched and filled with guilt. “You gave me a near heart attack.”

 A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t look this done with his life. But Guang Hong did look like that, tired, a little frustrated and annoyed — if frustration and annoyance were even two different things.

 “Phichit,” Guang Hong mimicked. “I’m the mean one? You are distracting Seung-gil, who is willingly tutoring you. You know how he gets when you talk about his books."

 Phichit shrugged innocently under Guang Hong’s accusing gaze. It shouldn’t make sense — as Guang Hong clearly wasn’t blaming him — but Seung-gil felt himself grow flustered, a healthy dose of shame washed over him. He was so predictable, one word about his precious books and he was gone.

 “Yeah, well, you were more distracting,” Phichit argued. “So, you and Leo?”

 “Oh seriously,” Guang Hong sounded annoyed, looked annoyed, and he was also flustered from head to toe. Poor guy. “Leave me and my love life alone till you get your head out of your behind and fix your own.”

 Seung-gil hated the meaningful look he got from Guang Hong — because he somehow knew. Like, Seung-gil had never mentioned he is romantically interested in Phichit. On the other hand, after knowing each other for almost ten years, being joined at the hip and Seung-gil being very, very gay, this conclusion wasn’t too farfetched. (It wasn’t hard to figure out, considering the fact he never really liked women, at all. He just hadn’t come out of the closet yet).

 “My love life is perfectly fine,” Phichit grumbled. “I have a hot date with biology and maybe this guy,” he gestured to Seung-gil. “If he’s still willing to tutor me.”

 Rubbing his eyes, Seung-gil let out a deep sigh. “More like torture you, but fine. Just don’t whine when I call you out of bed at 2:00 in the middle of the night after finishing a book.”

 Phichit beamed. “Deal.”

 ~*~

 “We have a test tomorrow,” Phichit used as his greeting.

 He loved Seung-gil, he really did, but it was well past midnight, he had been sleeping just fine, and tomorrow they had a test early. This wasn’t the time for a phone call.

 “Technically today,” Seung-gil answered, voice filled with emotions that had nothing to do with the upcoming test. He sounded like he just—

 “Are you okay?” Phichit asked, flicking a light and sitting upright in bed. “It sounds like you have been crying.”

 Seung-gil sniffed, followed by a muted noise that most likely was him blowing his nose. “Regretfully started the book today,” Seung-gil explained.

 Oh. Okay yes, that might explain a lot.

 “Did they die?” Phichit asked.

 “No,” it was odd to hear Seung-gil talk with a tight, emotion-filled voice. “It’s something else — but that doesn’t matter. I have to tell you something.”

 Phichit hummed as a go-ahead. It wouldn’t be the first time Seung-gil had stopped mid-book and ranted to Phichit about whatever was bothering.

 “I’m gay.”

 Phichit seriously wondered where he learnt that many curse words, but that didn’t matter because right now he was mentally cursing up a storm. Because he didn’t see that coming — which made him a horrible friend. An awful friend. Because Seung-gil was his best friend and he never had realised it, though it all made sense.

 “I’m sorry,” Seung-gil said, voice shattered into many delicate pieces. “This must be awkward for you, but I decided that you deserved to know, you’re my best friend and—”

 “I should be sorry,” Phichit blurted out, effectively cutting Seung-gil off. “You’re my best friend, I should have noticed, but I didn’t. And the sad part is that everything makes sense — the fact you never liked girls to begin with,” taking a deep breath, he forced a few tears back. “I shouldn’t even be allowed to call myself your best friend.”

 Seung-gil sniffed, which was followed by a chuckle. That Phichit was surprised was an understatement — because he heard Seung-gil laugh and cry within ten minutes and it was like an early Christmas miracle though they didn’t really celebrate Christmas.

 “You don’t mind?” Seung-gil asked. “Me, you know, liking men?”

 Phichit snorted. It was such a stupid question. Ten years of friendship weren’t going to be ruined by the fact that Seung-gil came out as gay. Heck, Phichit was actually happy Seung-gil confessed. Because suddenly the puzzle that was Seung-gil made a lot more sense. The interest in men, the support he offered Guang Hong after coming out, his crush on several fictional characters, always male characters. Phichit honestly wondered how he could have been so blind.

 “Mind? Seriously, I’m actually happy that you trust me enough to tell me — what prompted you, to know, confess?”

 “I’m glad,” a brief pause. “It’s well past two — do you really want me to keep you awake for much longer? It will be a long explanation.”

 Sleep sounded tempting, though, on the other hand, it was Seung-gil they were talking about. Seung-gil had sacrificed so many things for Phichit’s sake, so he supposed that he could return that. “Sure, tell me.”

[wwonderstruck]

in exactly one week’s time, on friday 8th june 2018, i will be in manchester UK, at the etihad stadium, sitting in way in the back in BK 315, Row U, Seat 409, in my little rainbow dress, finally seeing my idol TAYLOR ALISON SWIFT on her reputation stadium tour, after 10 years of dreaming of even being in the same presence as her and I. AM. SO. EXCITED!

i know the chances of me getting to meet taylor are astronomically slim with me being sat so far away and not exactly being super active in the fandom, but i have waited for this night for so so SO long and i just know that i’ll be spending half of the show in tears at being so overwhelmed that i’m finally seeing taylor live. all i really really want is for her to at least see this post and know that she means the WORLD to me because she deserves all the love in the universe! please help her see my letter to her!

dear taylor,

my name is inas. i’m 22 years old. i’m happy, free, confused, and lonely in the best way. i live in the UK. my boyfriend, who got me the tickets as a graduation gift and will be sat next to me, has a heavy yorkshire accent, and he takes it as a compliment that i make fun of the way he talks. i’ve been your fan since the moment i first heard love story when i was 13 years old. and all these years until now, i’ve felt like you were my friend. like you were another big sister. like you knew exactly what i needed to hear at the exact right time.

in 2008 i would flick through all the music channels hoping love story would be playing. i watched through probably hundreds of overly saturated, bright and obnoxious, youtube lyric videos, just so i could sing along to all of fearless. i realised some of the girls i hung around with at school knew all the songs from your debut album and from fearless too. we ended up sitting next to each other in every class we shared and had so much else in common. they’re two of my bestest friends til this day.

in 2010 i sang your songs with my friends incessantly. we took every opportunity to bring up your lyrics in conversation. there was one magical time when we sat til 11pm on a school night, sitting in my friend’s garden shed (it was basically a bedroom) getting overly emotional listening to your full discography, crying and singing along, and talking about our dreams and fears. i listened to speak now every morning on the way to school. it was the first album i ever bought with my own money. it’s still my favourite album of yours, both for the sentimental value, and cos i’m a sucker for dreamyness and sparkle. enchanted is my favourite song of all time. i love that, even though it’s a somber song, my birthday (july 9th) is mentioned in last kiss. i still have my wonderstruck perfume bottle, even though it’s empty. my mum was always complimenting your lyrics, how talented you are, how inspirational you are, and how she loved that i had such a wonderful role model to look up to. my little brother would tease me for being so obsessed with you. my two older sisters thought it was cute.

in 2012 i always had red playing in the car. i loved wearing my thick framed glasses and sundresses and red lipstick. i had grown a lot, much like i felt you had in between speak now and red. i’d gone through a tough break up. i was having a tough time coming into my own again. but some things never changed - i was still idly writing your lyrics in my notebooks, on my hands, on my homework. i would still listen to all your songs on the way to school. i still got giddy if your music video came up on a music channel. and then i saw love begin again.

in 2014 i was old enough to travel to one of your shows myself. i had started university, and the dates of the red tour clashed with my lab sessions. my lab partner was missing and i found out the next day that he had ditched to go to the red tour. i found it so funn that i couldn’t be mad, and we were quickly becoming best friends anyway. he always puts red on in his car when i’m in it. i started doing acoustic duets and medleys of your songs with another friend of mine that i met in an acapella society. he was just as obsessed and we essentially became a taylor swift tribute act, or at least that’s what we’d joke to the audience. for my 19th birthday, my sister got me all the physical copies of your albums. later that year i added 1989 to the collection. by this point, i was single for the first time in what felt like forever and i was living my best life. new crowd, new friends, new hobbies, new romantics. weekly heartbreak was my national anthem.

in 2016 i didn’t care about the he said she said. i defended you against anyone who had a bad word to say, to the point i’d sometimes be in tears. through everything that happened, i never forgot that you were the source of joy and understanding for so many people. that your songs were coping mechanisms, a way of healing. or even just something to dance to. i felt all your light, dreamy lyrics about falling in love and i understood why you spent your whole life trying to put it into words.

and now in 2018 i finally get to see you live on the reputation tour and i’ll dance and sing and cry and i wont want to let it go. i’ve spent the whole winter listening to reputation everyday. i can relate to the true, lasting love, that you so fully deserve to have. taylor, you’ve been such a huge part of my growing up, and you’ve helped me learn more about myself. most of all, you’ve always made me smile. you always make me feel so happy.

thank you so much taylor, for 10 years of bringing me such simple, pure, and honest joy. thank you for leaving me wonderstruck. thank you for the music. thank you for the laughs. thank you. i love you.

@taylorswift @taylorswift @taylorswift @taylornation @taylornation @taylornation

[deliverydefresas]

come over and start up a conversation with just me

So... I could swear I did queue this for earlier today yet I can’t see it nowhere??? Can anyone confirm I’m not crazy???

As I said before (maybe) I had one of the shittiest weeks ever but at least I managed to do something with this. Yay me.

ps. when I said this was an AU, I really meant AU. Also: this is still a mess but I still hope you like it.  here’s part 1 in case you missed it/can’t remember what’s about lol 

That’s all, ily.

Stares.

She could feel them from all over the place; some heavy and lingering and some flittering, quick ones. Was there something on her face? On her clothes? Had she mismatched her outfit? Ámbar frowned before looking down at her white shirt and blue skirt, checking to see if everything was in order, but nothing was out of place. She wasn’t going crazy, she knew that. They were definitely, shamelessly, staring at her.

She huffed, glaring and rolling her eyes at everyone who was looking on her way to one of few the tables available; her mom had borrowed her car that morning without notice, leaving her to take public transportation to the faculty, which made her arguably late for her first class (she was ten minutes early for her teacher to arrive, but she was late to grab one the best seats in the room) and annoyed with the world.

She tried distracting herself by pulling out her cellphone to check the Fab and Chic’s comment’s page; Delfi and Jazmín’s interviews with Simón and his band had been posted the night before, making the blog explode with views, likes and comments. Ámbar had to admit she was not expecting those results; she had barely heard about the guys before she met Delfi and Jazmín in their Digital Communication class last year, their constant humming to the RB’s latest single was all she could hear when they studied for an exam, and it was so catchy even her mom became a fan that day.  

She, however, never really saw the appeal. Sure, 2/3 of them were good looking, and they weren’t talentless, but there was nothing about their music that made them stand out for her then. Even after seeing them two nights ago, she still couldn’t fully comprehend it but she’d be lying if she didn’t say there was something about their guitarist that made her curiosity peak.      

“What are you wearing?” Gastón’s voice sounded from her right, making her turn around quickly, tearing her glance away from her phone. He had a funny look on his face, his mouth forming a funny ‘o’, his eyes glued to her head.

“Clothes,” was her obvious reply. She arched her brows, daring him to clarify his point.

He took a couple of seconds to respond, - “no, no, no. I mean, what’s with the beanie?” he pointed to her head, where the black beanie she had decided to wear this morning was currently on. She knew she could’ve easily put it in her purse and keep it there until she saw Simón later that day, but she had tried it on after getting dressed and her judgment told her it looked cute enough to wear it for the day. So, she did.    

“What do you mean?” Ámbar tried her best to sound as nonchalant as she could, even if her brain was sending warning signals all over her mind, which was very ridiculous, honestly, since there was no way Gastón or anyone for that matter, could relate it back to Simón since only Delfi and Jazmín appeared in the video the latter posted (Jazmín had been very careful not to mention her in any way, shape or form, still bitter about her 1 on 1 with her favorite band member).  

“It’s spring, Ámbar.”

Ah, so that was what the stares were about.

“So?” she shrugged.

She wasn’t as strict with fashion as Jazmín was, which was why she barely posted on the Fab & Chic after their A was granted last year; and even then, she didn’t give it the same attention as her casual friends did, since the class had been an optative one for the Law student that she was, instead of a required one for their Communication career.  

Gastón’s voice was disbelieving, “so you wear warm hats in a warm weather, now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry mister I-wear-Leatherman-jackets-in-summer, I didn’t know it was illegal to wear warm clothing after winter. Are you going to call the police on me?” her tone was sweet, yet coated with sarcasm. Gastón raised his arms in mocked surrender.

“Point taken.” Ámbar rolled her eyes, but made no further comment. The teacher was to arrive any time soon, and she didn’t want him to give her any negative attention; the old man would surely put her on the spot at a point in the class, most likely to answer a question only he knew the answer to; he was that kind of asshole. Her stupid friend didn’t get the memo, because just as their teacher was walking in, he decided the blurt the most incriminating words one could say in a classroom. “Let me copy your homework?”

Professor Asshole’s glare was enough to make her groan in frustration.

It was going to be a long day.

Lunch couldn’t have come soon enough.

Professor Asshole not only embarrassed Gastón and her in class, but refused to grade her homework too. She protested -quite loudly, actually- and it got her another essay due before the end of the week, as if the four she had already for Thursday wasn’t enough. By the end of the reprimand, she was ready to kill Périda the next time she saw him; the idiot was smart enough to flee as soon as the teacher dismissed them.

Her next class wasn’t as bad; however, her mood had been ruined already and couldn’t pass as quickly as she hoped it would. By now she was hungry as well as pissed, and in need of a cup of coffee and a sandwich to at least calm one of her burdens.

“Well, don’t you look dandy, my love.” Her best friend greeted her as soon a she stepped in front of their table, smiling sarcastically when she responded with a scowl.

“I’m in no mood for that shit, Em.”  

“I can see that. Are you even going to tell me, or should I ask my crystal ball?” Emilia arched her left brow, sipping her cup as soon as she asked her question. Ámbar flipped her off.

“Mom took my car this morning, I had to take the stupid bus and was late for my first period, Gastón was a dick on Roman’s Law class and got me an extra essay for Friday. Happy?”

Her friend nodded, “I am, actually, because my day has been fantastic, thank you for asking. Yours, however, sounds shitty as fuck.”

Ámbar rolled her eyes, “don’t remind me, I still have IPL to go through; but whatever, I’ll survive. What about you? Didn’t you have a test today?”

“I did, and I totally murdered it. Wanna go with me and Benny to celebrate after class? He brought his car today, we can pick you up and drop you off, too.”

“Can’t. I have a thing to do for Fab & Chic after class.” Ámbar took a bite off her sandwich, ignoring when Emilia almost choked on her bagel.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ámbar shook her head, “you already accompanied them to that stupid bar on Saturday, what more do those pink princesses need from you?”

“They? Nothing. This is all me.”  

Emilia scoffed, “stop talking on riddles, A, what are you planning?”

She took a sip of her coffee, “you know how we met that pop band at the bar and Delfi and Jazmín interviewed them, posted the video last night?” Emilia nodded, “well, I met the guitarist and got him to agree to give me an interview today. I’m meeting him after class at the same bar.”

“Why?”

Ámbar could tell her friend was confused. Truth be told, so was she. Journalism was nowhere near her ambitions -or dreams-, but something deep within her thought it was a good idea. She always followed her instinct, and most of the time (if not all, as they have never failed her) she was right, so this wouldn’t (couldn’t) be an exception. She was more than confident that this would benefit her somehow.

Who knew, maybe this would be what could finally put Fab and Chic (and consequently Delfi and Jazmín) up there in the spotlight of Journalism.

“Publicity, attention. This could benefit me in the future, y’know.”

“Your future isn’t in Journalism, though.” Emilia pointed out, arching her left eyebrow again.

Ámbar shrugged it off, “my name would still be out there.”

“If you say so. Well, are they giving you a ride?”

“Who?”

“Jazmín and Delfi, duh.”

She sipped on her coffee, “they don’t know anything about it. I told you, this is all me.”

Emilia’s face was disbelieving, “so you’re meeting this guy, alone?! What the fuck, Ámbar?”

“The guy is a softie, Emilia. Honestly, I don’t think he’d hurt a fly, he seemed very… I don’t know, weak?”

“As do most serial killers, Smith.” Emilia rolled her eyes, not yet convinced that it was a good idea. Ámbar waved her off with her hand.

“I’ll text you if it makes you feel better.”

Her best friend huffed, “fine. Now, why in the fuck are you wearing a beanie?”

If she hadn’t been pissed before, she certainly was now.

Not only was he 20 minutes late, but the stupid bar that had taken her one full hour to get to was closed. Had the idiot had really dare to trick her? Who the hell was he anyway? A stupid, barely talented guitarist and singer from an even stupider, not even that famous wannabe boyband. He couldn’t have stood her up. She was Ámbar Smith, not once in her 21 years had she been stood up in a date- appointment before. And she wouldn’t allow it; if she had to search for his stupid ass all over the city and drag him to make sure he kept his word, she would.

That insensitive, stupid, good for nothing of an idiot. The nerve of-

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m so so so so so so so sorry I’m late!” the idiot wheezed out as soon as he was near, almost knocking into her when he stopped running, “Nico forgot to do the laundry, so I had to do it myself since my clean t-shirts were -1 and then Pedro kind of made the microwave explode when he put a metal spoon with his popcorn, not sure how that even happened to be honest and then-”

“I don’t care! Do you know how frustrating it was to endure one freaking hour in public transportation to be here in time and then wait half an hour more to wait for his majesty to arrive?! And for what? The stupid bar is even closed!” She was fuming, gesturing wildly to the building.

“Well, what did you expect? It’s 16:30, bars aren’t usually opened until 18, the earliest.” His words only infuriated her more.

“Then why are we here?!”

“It’s middle ground for both, and there’s this really good Mexican coffee shop around the corner I really like.” He shrugged her anger off, and Ámbar swore she was surpassing a level of anger she had never felt before.  

“I was wrong, you’re a dick dressed in virginity.”

He blinked a couple times, not quite getting it. “What?”

She huffed, “nothing, whatever. Where’s this coffee shop you’re talking about?”

Simón looked at her for moment, but ultimately shrugged again and motioned for her to follow him. The coffee shop was around the corner, not really hidden but not in the spotlight as it was the bar; but it was pretty. It wasn’t stereotypically decorated as some of the Mexican restaurants she’d been before, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was Mexican-influenced. It gave her the vibe she’s get when she visited Emilia’s or that one time her dad took her to Cozumel for winter vacations when she was 17. The big Mexican flag behind the bar was a clear telling, too.

“What do you want? It’s on me, don’t worry.” Simón asked once they found a booth in the farthest corner from the door. She wasn’t sure if it was conceited or smart of him to do so, but he was paying and, y’know, doing her this favor so she couldn’t really complain. Not that it’s ever stopped her before.

“What’s good? What are you having?”

“Everything, really. I’m ordering the largest hot chocolate and a couple of conchas, though.”

She scrunched up her nose, “a couple of what?”

He laughed, “it’s a type of sweet bread, and it’s delicious. I could give you a taste of mine, if you want.” He offered, but Ámbar shook her head in negative. It really didn’t sound appetizing to her.

“Is Mexican coffee any good? I’m more of a coffee-type of girl.” Again, he shrugged. Either it was some kind of habit, or he really wanted to push her buttons, because it was annoying her to no end at this point.

“Mom loves café de olla, that’s all I know about it, to be honest. Coffee and I don’t get along.”

Ámbar frowned, unsure if she should really order it. She was super picky about food in general, and his unconvinced ass wasn’t any reassuring. “I’ll have a medium of those, then.”

He nodded, “do you want anything to eat? You can ask for anything, remember I’m paying.” Simón joked, shaking the wallet he held in his hand slightly. Ámbar scanned the menu written on one of the near walls, searching for something that could be safe to try.

“Tres leches cake, please.”

Simón saluted her, and went to the bar to order. It appeared he was somewhat of a regular, or that the boy behind the counter was a fan; because he greeted him all excited and not all dead like sometimes baristas did. She sighed, and decided to text Emilia and her mom that she was with him already, adding to her mom that she would probably not be hungry for dinner, and to cook just for herself. If she ended up hungry afterwards she’d make herself a soup or something. Instant ramen could do the trick.

Before she knew it, he was back with their drinks, the barista behind him helping with their desserts, saving him the double trip. Simón thanked him once everything was set on the table, tipping him extra five dollars before he took a seat in front of her.

He smiled at her once the boy was gone, “so, how was your day?”

“Shitty. How was yours?”

“Ouch, I’m really sorry I was late, seriously. It wasn’t intentional, I swear.” He apologized profusely, she just sipped her coffee. And damn it, it was delicious. “My day was mostly unproductive, except maybe for the laundry part. But I slept like a baby until noon and then had to save the apartment from Pedro’s unusual cooking disasters, so could’ve been better.”

She sighed, “it’s okay, it’s just that I hate taking the bus and then this asshole put me in trouble with a teacher and now I have double the work in that class due on Friday.”

“Double the ouch. Don’t you have a car, or couldn’t you take a cab?”

Ámbar arched her eyebrows, “my uni is forty minutes away, a cab would have charged me a fortune. I do have a car, but my mom took it this morning, so I had to take the bus.”

“I’m sorry, again,” he cringed, “I can give you a ride home after we’re finished here, I can’t send you home alone.”

She thought about it for a minute, before nodding. A ride sounded much better than losing over $20 for a cab or the bus. Plus, free things were always nice.

“We should start, then. I have a paper to start for past-tomorrow and I’m sure whoever cares about you won’t want you coming super late.”

“Alright, but I do have a few rules.” He parted one of his conchas, before dunking it in his hot chocolate and biting it, “nothing about relationships and all the questions are a game.”

“Hiding a girl, are you?” she inquired, sipping once more on her coffee. Simón winked at her.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Fair enough.” She nodded. “What’s the game about, though?”

He took another bite of his bread before answering, “you have to guess the answer to each question, and I’ll confirm or deny. If you guess right, you can ask another question and this time I’ll have to answer.”

“Are you kidding me? What kind of game is this?” she huffed, angrily taking a bite of her cake. She was almost too mad to not notice its deliciousness. Almost.

“One you have to play with me since I’m helping you and feeding you, for free.” Simón arched his eyebrow, she merely shrugged. It’s not like she was forcing him to pay, he was the one to offer it, anyway; “and plus, it’s gonna be more fun for both. I know it.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” Ámbar sighed. His smirk kind of gave her the creeps, “what?”

“Don’t you want to know what happens if you’re wrong?”

She looked at him dubiously, “you’re not going to ask me to do anything illegal, are you?”

Simón laughed, “no. You just have to answer the question you ask, and I get to ask one that you have to answer.”

“But you won’t answer it correctly?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.” He shrugged, “you can start now.”

Ámbar sighed, and took out her phone to start a voice recording, because she was too lazy to film it or write it all down in paper. She was going to keep it easy on him, to give herself time to think of some-what-safe questions.

She had to give it to him; he wasn’t stupid at all. This little game of him would make it practically impossible for her to guess correctly on deep questions, ultimately turning them on her. The guy wasn’t dumb at all.

“I don’t like you anymore, just so you know.”

“Ah, so you liked me before?” She almost rolls her eyes.

“Your favorite color is blue?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Would you say fame is what you expected?”

“You won’t hold back, will you?” she guessed it was rhetorical, so she didn’t say anything. “It wasn’t. There’s many shades to fame that I never thought existed, that’s all I’m telling you for now.”

Her curiosity was dying to ask what he meant by that, but chose not to dive into it yet. She didn’t think he’d answer, anyway.

“You’re a dog person?”

“Another yes. You know me so well!” he joked, finishing the last piece of his first concha; sipping his hot chocolate afterwards.

“What can I say? I’m a great guesser.” Ámbar was very thankful she’d googled him before coming, “does it bother you when people put you in a category just because of how you’re positioned in the industry?”

“I loathed it. There’s more of me than what I choose the media to see, more than what I let other people around me see.” Simón frowned, his hold on the bread getting too tie and crumbles of the shell (she guessed that’s why they were called conchas) falling down on his cup, “but I’ve thicken my skin, and now I mostly shrug it off.”

“Uh, your best friends are your band?”

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief; “not quite.”

“What? But goo-” she almost slips it out, “then who?”

“Nope, you don’t get to question me, it’s my turn now.” He teased, shaking his head, “have you always wanted to study journalism?”

She cocked her brow, “I’m not studying journalism.” He seemed to be thrown off by this, and his face was so funny she almost laughs in it. “I’m a law student. A junior, actually.”

“Then why- what?” Ámbar shook her head.

“Nah-uh. My turn. You own a dog?”

“Nope, mom does.” He looked smug, now. “Why did you want to interview me if this has nothing to do with your career?”

Ámbar sighed, annoyed with herself for trusting a stupid google interview. Either they were lying, or Simón was twisting the truth. Whatever it was, she wasn’t happy at all.

“The Fab & Chic was a project I had with Jazmín and Delfi last year, it was an optative class and we had to create a blog to practice our writing, photography, programming and editing skills. I didn’t help that much back then, and they were cool with it, since it wasn’t a main priority for me or my career. I guess this interview is a way for me to pay them back. And, well, it might help me get some recognition later, if it does what I’m expecting it to be.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t you know the rules to your own game?” she snapped at him, making him frown and match her own.

“The game is off, now we ask whatever we want as long as it the other is willing to answer. Now, what are you expecting to happen?”

“It’s my turn.”

Simón shrugged, “so?”

“You’re infuriating.”

“On the contrary, I’m told I’m a very lovable person.”

“By who? Your mother?”

“And my grandmother. And my friends. And my fans, which are at least a million.”

“Well they’re lying to you.”

Simón leaned over the table, and got close enough so that she could see a small acne scar above his eyebrow. Such closeness made her a little uncomfortable, but couldn’t really move. Instead, her eyes were hooked to his.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”