#free tickets through the college is.... Nice I will. Admit

[sunb0ts]

AUGH hello hi! very sleepy we just saw live music but Doing Fine

[shattersstar]

Please use this as a free pass to write "admiring them from afar" with anyone you want :^)

the hellcat spangled shalalala

pairing: college!au jason todd x reader

prompt: blossoming romance - admiring them from afar

warning: harassment mention (in joking context)

a/n: more college basketball au bc i say so! seriously tho thank u for the request it worked out as a great free pass ☺️ this can be read as a stand-alone or taking place after drawstring. comments r appreciated and i hope y’all enjoy ! and expect another part soonish <3

—

shot at the night series.

—

when your judgment’s on the run, and you’re acting like a stranger cause you thought it looked fun.

The morning sun casted a milky glow, pouring in through the windows and lighting up the store as clouds moved on. Summer began to roll through, exams a thing of the past as Gotham hummed with warmth. You were going to the beach sometime next week, even if it was over a two hour drive away, you were beyond excited. It had been easy to forget all about school, despite the fact the summer term was coming up and you were taking a course. On top of working at a cafe during the week, the gas station on weekend mornings, and still unpacking your new place, you were surprisingly busy.

It was why you hadn’t really seen Jason. Or at least what you had told yourself. You two were in a confusing place, you both knew you liked each other, had worked through some things, but you wanted time. To figure out how genuine your feelings were or if they were just because Jason admitted to liking you. It was nice to be desired, to be sought after, but you didn’t want to string Jason along.

Even if Jason took forever to tell you how he felt and handled it like an ass, he didn’t deserve that.

No one did.

The thought made you sigh as you looked over the columns of scratch and lotto tickets. You had never bought one when you turned of age and always wished you did. It seemed fun, if a bit pointless. You were engrossed with the paper coated in gossamer film that glimmered in the sunlight when the bell above the door rang. You peered through your lashes at whoever came in, heart skipping a beat as the object of your affection breezed through like an early morning fantasy. Jason sent you a quick smile before ducking towards the fridges in the back and scanning through the drinks.

You watched his tall figure from where you perched behind the counter. Elbows resting on the plastic case holding the tickets that no longer occupied your attention. His broad shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, black waves brushing the back of his neck. He was in track pants that hung low on his hips, shirt partially tucked in and giving you a chance to take in how his waist curved and held muscle and fat you could only imagine the delicious sight of.

“You guys don’t have anymore Propel?” Jason called, looking over his shoulder.

You nearly fell over being caught staring, opting to scrunch your nose at the question. “Unfortunately not sir. They don’t sell well because, personally, those drinks are grossly sweet.” You said in your best customer service voice, a grin pulling at Jason’s mouth as he turned back to the fridge.

“Uh huh. Thank you for your input.”

“I live to serve.” You chimed, loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the fridges and the quiet playlist you had put on. Jason snorted from the distance, prompting you to steal another look at him before you busied yourself with refilling the lighter display, which you had abandoned in favour of zoning out earlier.

You had always told Jason you were tired and bored on shift, opening at 5am most weekends. It had become a habit during the school year for him to stop by, usually on a run, but today with a bag slung across his body, you were sure he was heading to the gym on campus. Off season practice you supposed.

You also realized it likely meant when Jason moved off campus, it was still nearby if he was able to stop by before heading to campus. That or he went out of his way to see you, which made your heart skip another beat. You looked back over to Jason at the sound of the fridge door closing, trying to keep your eyes low as you followed his footsteps. He walked up the furthest aisle than down the one closest to the register, lingering while you shifted behind the counter.

“Anything I can help you find?” You called, sweetly.

Jason shook his head no, looking over at you that crooked smile. “Nah, I don’t think you guys carry what I’m looking for.” He opened the energy drink he picked, taking a sip while you smiled in return.

“Yeah unfortunately we don’t carry steroids.” You shrugged. Jason nearly spat out his drink as he laughed, and you were unable to contain your giggles from behind your hand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, picking up a bag of chips before turning towards the cash. Jason placed both his items on the counter and tossed a granola bar there after pursuing the treats that sat below the register for a minute.

“That’s all.” He said, while you pointed at the drink.

“In future, we ask customers wait till purchase before opening food or drink.” You said, the playful air in your voice still there.

“Oh give my apologies to the owner.” Jason remarked, while you scanned his items.

“Will do…its been a while since you came in. And you didn’t get a patty today.” You muttered, looking at the screen. You had become used to your early morning meetings, even if exams and everything that happened between you two had kept Jason away since the term ended. It didn’t make it hurt less, but it wasn’t because of him. You knew you were the one putting up distance when he finally opened up to you.

“You remember all your regulars that well?” Jason asked tentatively.

“Only the cute ones,” You said, tapping the screen before adding, “Like that redhead you used to come in with whose dropped dead gorgeous. You ever give out his name or number?” You teased, Jason was well aware you knew Roy and his number.

“What does he normally get again?” Jason countered, and you pulled your lip between your teeth as you met his gaze. You stayed silent before raising your hands in defeat, you knew when you lost your battles.

The computer beeped at you for taking too long, and you chuckled awkwardly before pressing a few buttons. You could feel his eyes taking in your side profile as he often did. You wondered how you didn’t know Jason’s true feelings before when you caught him admiring you so often. And worse, how could you think your feelings were anything, but genuine when every time Jason did something like that, your heart raced.

He was so beautiful and could have anyone, a sentiment you felt tenfold when you learned he played for the university’s basketball team, but Jason chose you. He looked at you and made you feel like no one else did and you had been foolish to deny that for so long.

“It’s 9.55.” You said, as he handed you cash.

“You can keep the change.” Jason said, shoving his snacks into his bag.

“I definitely don’t get paid enough so thanks.”

Jason hummed, fiddling with the lid on his drink, and despite the platform the counter sat on, he was still taller than you. You were almost eye level like this, but Jason still had to glance down as he spoke his next words. “You called me cute earlier.”

“Oh I did?” You played dumb and Jason’s jaw shifted, but you knew he wasn’t angry. The ease that normally flowered between you two took over your conversation as he nodded.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well if you wanna file a harassment claim, it’ll be with the owner you owe an apology too.”

“Maybe that makes us even.” Jason said, quiet.

“Maybe…or you could pick me up after my shift if you really wanna square things. I finish earlier today.” You said, gaze flickering between the lotto tickets and Jason’s face. A boyish grin took over his expression as genuine excitement seemed to fill him.

“Fuck yeah—I mean yeah, that’d be great. What time?” He reeled himself in while you toyed with his receipt.

“Noon instead of three.” Jason nodded, that wild glint in his eyes spelt trouble in the best way. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and while distracted, you placed your palms flat on the counter and pushed yourself to his height. You pressed a quick kiss on Jason’s cheek before settling onto the stool behind you. Jason nearly dropped his bottle as he processed what you just did.

“See you later Jason, I’ll save you a patty if all the construction guys don’t get to them first.” You promised, as he headed towards the door, running his fingers through his hair and looking back at you with indiscernibility. It was shock and awe you supposed.

“See ya baby!” Jason called as he left, dazed tone and pet name threatened to set you on fire as a group of kids barrelled in and darted straight to the freezer. You paid no mind to their yells and counted the hours till Jason picked you up for your first date.

shalalala.

~

title/lyrics from the hellcat spangled shalalala by arctic monkeys

more reading: college/uni hcs + jason todd

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part six] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, swearing, mentions of sex, simulated sex (18+ mdni), menstruation mentions

word count: 5.2k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!! ; i know minho is the chef of the group but just suspend your disbelief for this series and pretend it’s jisung

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Tickets are seventeen euros.”

You patted your back pocket instinctively in search of your wallet before remembering it was in the backpack Jisung was carrying.

“Nice try,” he said smugly and turned around so that you couldn’t reach the zipper. “You’re our guest on this trip, remember? Everything is already paid for.”

You didn’t need reminding. You knew you were tagging along for free- it had been one of the ways Jisung had convinced you to come, but you still felt guilty. It felt like you were taking advantage of the Hans, even if you were doing Jisung a favor.

You stuck your bottom lip out in a pout, catching the attention of Minho who chuckled at your pathetic little display.

“That’s cute, but our parents are both earth signs. Stubbornness runs in the family.”

You cocked your head at Minho in intrigue. “You know your parents’ zodiac signs?”

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason, I just think that’s interesting,” you hummed. “Out of curiosity, do you know your rising sign?”

“Scorpio. Why?”

You turned and gave Jisung a look. He nodded in confirmation and you both mouthed whore at each other. You turned back towards Minho and smiled fakely.

“Again, just curious.”

“Here are your tickets, kids,” Nikki announced from her spot at the ticket booth, ushering the four of you forward. “We’re giving you two hours to explore. You can go off by yourselves or stay together, but your father and I are going to start with the sculptures.”

“That’s their way of telling us they don’t want to hang out with us,” Felix whispered loudly.

Nikki gave her son a cold glare and shook her head at him. “Not funny.”

“I thought it was pretty funny,” he pushed.

“And you wonder why we don’t want to hang out with you guys,” Dom said pointedly.

All three of the boys groaned or rolled their eyes at their father and swiped a ticket from their mother. Your little group made their way over to the security line while Nikki and Dom split off in another direction.

“They’re already embarrassed to be seen with us,” Jisung scoffed.

“They’re just getting coffees,” Minho assured him, nodding in the direction of the café where they were standing in line.

“They never drink coffee,” Felix said, “so they are definitely embarrassed of us.”

“I would be too,” you sighed, already tired of them. It wasn’t even noon yet.

“Well you’re stuck with us.” Jisung smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned.

He dragged you by the hand behind his brothers to the back of the line, where you waited patiently to be admitted into the museum. They had you empty your pockets and place bags on a conveyor belt to be scanned like they did at the airport. Jisung explained that security had been upgraded in the past few years as France didn’t have very many… fans internationally.

“You colonize a few dozen countries and run their economies into the ground and suddenly you’re the bad guy,” you said sarcastically, earning a shush from Minho at the front of the line as he approached the security guard.

“How many are in your party?” the man asked.

“Four.”

He eyed your group in a bored sort of manner and motioned you forward one at a time through the metal detector. Once through, you followed Jisung and his brothers through the main hall and up an escalator into one of the galleries.

It wasn’t nearly as crowded as the lobby had been, and it was much quieter. Visitors meandered around the room in small groups or solo, admiring the paintings on the walls thoughtfully.

Minho and Felix moved further and further ahead of you and Jisung as you walked through the gallery. They were clearly less interested in the art than you were, but you didn’t mind. Jisung stuck by your side, but you knew he was only doing so to humor you. He didn’t care about some old fucking paintings and he didn’t give a fuck about the “pretentious white men” who painted them. You didn’t know much about art, aside from the one art history class you took your sophomore year, but you still enjoyed looking at the pretty pictures.

You had never had the opportunity to see history up close like this, and it captivated you. Each brush stroke was discernible, individual. You could reach out and touch the canvas if you wanted to, though you would certainly be kicked out on the spot.

Jisung hung back, a few paces behind you. You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, observing you observing the art. You tried not to linger too long in front of each painting, not wanting to lose Minho and Felix completely.

As you made your way through the gallery you noticed a woman with long black hair perched upon one of the velvet benches with a sketchpad in her hands. She was drawing a replica of the piece in front of her, a painting by Lorenzo Pasinelli titled Sainte Cecile chantant. You watched the woman with the sketchbook trace careful lines on her paper with a chunk of graphite. She etched the portrait quietly, leaning around onlookers who blocked her view. You were in awe of her. The way she effortlessly copied the painting onto paper, the way she was in her own little world, unbothered by the crowd around her.

“C’mon, baby,” Jisung urged gently with a nudge of his elbow. He waited until you were out of the woman’s earshot to mutter, “you were into her, weren’t you?”

You pushed him off of you in annoyance. “So what if I was?”

“I’m your boyfriend, remember?”

“I was just admiring her art,” you said defensively.

“Uh huh, you were admiring something all right.”

“I hate you.”

“Remember our list of rules?”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your voice to a whisper. “I wasn’t going to hook up with her. I doubt I even know enough French to ask her if she likes girls.”

“You did see her earrings, right? They were strawberries.”

“You’re not allowed to say things like that, okay?”

“It was just an observation!”

“A stereotypical one.”

“All I’m saying is she would’ve been into you, given the chance.”

“Do you want me to remain abstinent or not?” you huffed in frustration, “because you’re giving me mixed signals.”

Jisung shook his head, double stepping to catch up with you and grab your hand in his own. “Sorry, old wingman habits die hard I guess.”

You chuckled and let him lead you back behind his brothers despite your longing glances towards paintings you merely passed by. Minho and Felix were bickering about something when you rejoined them at the end of the hall, but you couldn’t be bothered to ask what. Jisung, on the other hand-

“What are you guys fighting about?”

Minho turned sharply on his heel to face his younger brother, causing the two of you to nearly crash into him. “We’re not fighting.”

“Okay, what are you guys talking about,” Jisung amended.

“Trying to decide where to go next.”

“And what are you debating between?” you asked.

“Minho says we should go see the Mona Lisa next since there’s always a line and we only have a couple hours here, but I think it’s a waste of time,” Felix explained. “The Mona Lisa is just an overrated painting that brings in tourists.”

“We are tourists,” Jisung pointed out to his twin.

“And y/n’s never seen it before, dumbass” Minho added. “It wouldn’t be fair to deprive her of that.”

“We don’t all have to go together,” you said hurriedly. “Your parents said we could break off into groups.”

The boys seemed to give your suggestion a moment of thought before Minho spoke up again. “Well I kind of want to see it too,” he admitted.

Felix rolled his eyes. “You could’ve just said that, idiot.”

-

The line for the Mona Lisa was long, as Felix had predicted, and you had to trek all the way back out into the lobby under the glass pyramid just to be admitted into the gallery it was held in.

“It feels like we’re in line for a rollercoaster,” you said offhandedly when it had been silent for a bit too long.

“Trust me, this is much less fun than a rollercoaster,” Felix grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be a dick,” Jisung chided.

“I was just being honest.”

“Be a little less honest then.”

Silence fell over the group again and the four of you traded wary looks, shuffling forward when the queue moved every so often. It was still only ten a.m. and you felt like you needed a nap. You tried listening in on the conversations around you, but couldn’t understand any of them. The couple in front of you was speaking French much too fast for you to keep up with and the family behind you was joking in German.

Jisung nudged your shoulder gently and gave you a look that you understood immediately. You cleared your throat and took a minute to think while Jisung held up all ten of his fingers.

“Never have I ever missed an exam because I was hungover.”

“That’s targeting! That’s not fair!” Jisung protested.

“No it’s not! How am I supposed to know if you’ve ever done that?”

“Because I called you about it immediately when it happened.”

“Oops, must’ve forgotten,” you lied, trying to hide a smile.

“You wanna play like that? Fine, never have I ever blacked out on a first date.”

You narrowed your eyes at your fake boyfriend and begrudgingly put a finger down.

“What are you doing?” Felix asked suddenly, leaning over to watch.

“Playing Never Have I Ever. We play whenever we have time to kill,” Jisung said.

“Wanna join?” you offered. Minho and Felix shrugged and held up their hands. “Okay, but we’re starting over to make it fair.”

“And this time no targeting,” your best friend sneered, glaring at you.

You held up your hands innocently. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Go ahead, babe, you start,” Jisung prompted you, winking.

You knew you had to tread carefully in front of Jisung’s brothers so you started with an easy one. “Um, never have I ever been in a fight.”

You looked around the circle expectantly, but the only one who put a finger down was Minho.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Really? When have you been in a fight?”

“He’s probably lost count by now,” Jisung whispered not so quietly.

“It was only a couple!” Minho said defensively. “Anyway, never have I ever been to college.”

“I think that counts as targeting, but whatever,” you muttered to yourself as you and Jisung put a finger down simultaneously.

Jisung took his turn next. “Never have I ever flirted with someone to get something for free.”

You and Minho both sheepishly put a finger down while Felix shook his head in judgment. He was the only one with all of his fingers still up. You, on the other hand, were tied with Minho for the most fingers down.

Felix took a second to think about it before taking his turn. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

You pursed your lips and lowered a finger while Jisung’s brothers looked at you in shock. They both turned back to see if Jisung had put a finger down too, but he hadn’t, leaving them to draw their own conclusions.

“It was before we started dating,” you supplied, not offering any other details. Your fake boyfriend’s brothers didn’t need to know that you had actually had more than one, and that the last one had been just three months ago, or that it was at a sorority party. You were in deep enough as it was.

The game stopped there as you were finally let into the gallery where the Mona Lisa was on display. There were a couple more rows of the queue to get through, but it appeared to be moving fast. The security guards were urging the crowd along, scolding anyone who lingered in front of the painting for longer than a couple of seconds.

You tried peering over the heads of the people in front of you, but they were too tall. You were forced to wait patiently for your turn to see her like everyone else. The pathway widened a little when you got to the front, allowing for more people to pass in front of the glass case and take pictures. You pushed your way to the front of the little section and pressed yourself against the metal bar to get a good look.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Felix was right. The Mona Lisa was overrated. And tiny. The painting was beautiful, that much was true, but you knew the only reason it was hailed as a masterpiece was because it had been stolen over a hundred years ago and then miraculously recovered. You still remembered that bit of trivia from Art History 101. Your professor would be proud.

You leaned closer and snapped a picture with your phone to commemorate the experience. You had seen it, the most famous painting in the world, with your own two eyes and now you could mark it off your bucket list.

“Keep moving!”

You jerked your head in the direction of the voice and locked eyes with a security guard who gestured for you to get out of the way. He had probably already yelled at you in French and when you didn’t realize the order was directed at you assumed you were an ignorant American- which you were, but you were still offended.

You turned around to look for Jisung, but he wasn’t behind you. In fact, none of the Hans were. You double-checked and then triple-checked, but they were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they were waiting for you at the end of the line…

But when you made your way to the end, they weren’t there either. You tried not to panic, they had to be somewhere close by- they wouldn’t just leave you, right? It wasn’t like you could call Jisung either because your data plan still wouldn’t be activated for a few more hours. A brief search of the gallery turned up nothing. They were gone.

Now you were beginning to panic. You hadn’t discussed a meeting place if one of you were to get lost. Even if you had, you wouldn’t know how to get there. The palace was fucking huge, and Jisung was the one with the map.

You followed the flow of traffic through the big arched doorway at the other end of the hall that led into yet another gallery with plum-colored walls. You were breaking the number one rule of being lost, which was to stay where you were, but you were feeling desperate. You felt like it was your fault you got separated from the group so you needed to be the one to find them. The paintings and artworks on the wall were a blur, you barely paid attention to them as you searched the exhibit.

On the verge of tears, you trailed behind a group of visitors down one of the main staircases, watery eyes frantically searching the crowd until you recognized a familiar face staring back. Minho was standing on the staircase opposite to you, frozen in place, eyes wide in relief.

Immediately he began pushing through the mass of people, fighting against the tide to get to you. You did the same and met him halfway where he crushed you into a hug.

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded, arms still around you.

You stiffened in his embrace, unsure of what to do. Do you hug him back? Do you push him off? You didn’t know. You decided to settle for what you hoped was a middle ground.

“Are you happy to see me or not?” you asked, getting mixed signals from a Han for the second time that day.

Minho let go of you finally and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m happy!” he assured you, “just don’t do that again, okay?”

You nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“C’mon, let’s go find the twins. They were looking for you in the atrium.”

You walked alongside Minho in silence as you navigated the winding halls of the Louvre together. You wouldn’t let him go ahead of you. You were too afraid to lose him again.

“How long have you and Jisung been dating again?” he asked suddenly.

“Since November,” you answered automatically. “So a little less than a year. Why?”

He shrugged. “I was just curious. I know you guys were best friends before and it just makes me wonder how much changed after that transition.”

“What do you mean?”

Minho paused to gather his thoughts like he was choosing his words carefully. “Just that, you guys still seem like best friends, you know? Like you’re best friends first, in a relationship second. It’s really nice.”

You expected a ‘but’, you could practically hear it dangling from his lips- he stopped there, letting whatever he had been about to say dissipate in the space between you.

Your mind began to race. Did he suspect your little act? Was he unconvinced or did he know something? You needed to get back to Jisung.

Luckily when you turned the corner the stairway opened into a large room that you guessed to be the atrium. It was mostly empty, save for a few large marble statues and planters commanding the attention of all the nearby patrons. A sectioned glass roof hung overhead, bathing the room in natural light.

Jisung was standing a few meters away next to Felix with his hands in his pockets. You were running towards him before he even saw you. You grabbed him by the shoulders and threw yourself into him. He stumbled, but caught you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You didn’t let him get the chance to speak before you were kissing him. It was more passionate than usual, more than just a peck on the lips. You didn’t know if it was because you were so relieved to see him, or if you were trying to prove something to Minho.

He broke away and gave you a quizzical look.

“We need to have sex,” you whispered.

“What?” he hissed back, looking at you like you were crazy.

“Not for real- we just need to make them think we’re having sex,” you explained. Jisung followed your gaze over to his brothers. Felix had joined Minho by the entrance where they were now deep in discussion. “Minho isn’t convinced.”

Jisung nodded at you like it was decided and took a deep breath. “So, how are we going to do this?”

-

“What exactly did Minho say?”

You looked up from where you had been pacing in front of the bed. “What?” 

“What did Minho say? About us.” 

“He said it seems like we’re still best friends.”

“We are best friends.”

“But he said it like, we’re best friends first, dating second. And he said he wonders how much changed about our relationship after we started dating.”

“What did you tell him?” 

“Nothing, it was more like he was talking to himself. He asked me when we started dating and then mentioned it offhandedly.”

Jisung rubbed his hands on his jeans nervously and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Why does he care?”

You shrugged and sat down next to him. “I don’t know. Maybe he was just trying to be a protective big brother?”

“Well he needs to mind his own business,” Jisung muttered. 

“C’mon, Ji give him a break! He’s trying to save you from getting your heart broken by an immoral, scheming harlot like me.”

Your best friend gave you an unimpressed look. “A harlot? Since when do you have the vocabulary of a fifteenth-century pirate?”

“Just thought I’d spice things up.”

“Promise me you won’t use it when we have pretend-sex in a couple of minutes?”

You frowned. “You mean you don’t want me to call you ‘matey’ in bed?”

“Absolutely not. Us fucking is already weird enough.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” you insisted. “Anyway, Minho was probably just looking out for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said doubtfully. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” Jisung brushed it off with an abrupt subject change. “Now about us having sex… what’s the plan?”

“We just… do what they did in Easy A. Hotel walls are thin, right? They’ll be able to hear us.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

Jisung sighed and ran a hand through his hair, further emphasizing his disheveled appearance. You put your hand over his and laced your fingers together. 

“Should we start like… now?” Jisung asked, checking his watch.

“Maybe wait a few minutes?” you suggested. “It’s kind of early. We could start at eleven.”

“Wouldn’t they think it’s weird that we’re having sex at eleven on the dot?”

“Fine then, eleven oh two.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” Jisung joked, causing you to yank your hand out of his in disdain. 

While you waited for the scheduled time to roll around you got ready for bed. You showered the day off, letting the hot water ease some of the tension from your sore muscles. You knew you’d be worse off in the morning, but you hoped that a steamy shower would at least help a little. Jisung showered next as you slipped into pajamas and went through your nightly routine. You were never very good at remembering to moisturize, or do any skincare for that matter, but you were determined to make it a habit by the end of the summer. 

You scrolled through your phone anxiously while you waited for Jisung to get out of the shower. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, this wasn’t even the most intimate thing you’d done together. You’ve kissed dozens of times before by now- you’d watched porn together for christ’s sake. Why was this the breaking point?

The couple glasses of wine you’d had at dinner to hype yourself up for tonight were starting to wear off. The pleasant buzz was gradually fading and being replaced by sober realization. Jisung’s brothers weren’t your only neighbors. Other guests were staying on the opposite side of you as well. They would surely hear you if you were going to be loud enough for Minho and Felix to hear you- was it even worth it? To put some poor strangers through your improv act? No, you were already too far in. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it. Literally. 

Jisung emerged from the bathroom with a towel in his hand, using it to shake his curls dry. He’d changed into his version of pajamas- a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and grinned when he saw you were wearing pretty much the same thing. 

“Ready?” he asked, tossing the towel to the side.

“Wait, Jisung, I just realized-”

“What is it?”

“I’m still on my period.”

“So?”

You blinked. “So… it wouldn’t make sense to have sex?”

“Why not?”

“Because it would make a big mess!”

“I’m still not seeing an issue,” Jisung said matter-of-factly. “Have you never had period sex before?”

“Have you?” you countered. 

“Yeah, you haven’t?”

You shook your head. “No, none of the guys I’ve been with were down for it. And I was too nervous to ask the girls.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you only date losers,” he quipped with a smirk. 

“Need I remind you who I’m pretend-dating right now?” 

Jisung pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at you. “I doubt Minho even remembers you’re on your period,” he pointed out. “And if he does he won’t think anything of it. Period sex is normal.”

“Fine, okay. What time is it?”

“Eleven-oh-four.”

“Shit, we better get started then.”

Jisung just nodded and joined you on the bed. He kneeled in front of the headboard and wrapped a hand around the frame. You looked to your best friend for the go-ahead and winked when he gave you the thumbs-up. 

You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly aware of the echo in the otherwise silent room. You weren’t even naked, but you felt so exposed. For someone who prided themselves on being so sexually expressive you were choking. But Jisung was looking at you expectantly and the clock was ticking so you mustered up what little courage you had and let out a soft moan. 

“Louder,” Jisung urged. 

You shot him a dirty look but did as he instructed, raising your voice an octave. Jisung grinned in approval and gestured with his hand, encouraging you to continue. 

“Why don’t you have a turn?” you demanded. “Making your girlfriend do all the work? That’s not very gentleman-like.”

“In my head, this is just foreplay, so I’m like fingering you or something. We’re not actually having sex yet.”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize our porno had a narrative,” you hissed.

Jisung rolled his eyes at you. “Just keep moaning.”

“Ji,” you whined loudly, unmoving on the bed where you were flipping him off. “Fuck, Jisung! Feels so good!”

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, finally breaking his silence. 

“So good,” you repeated breathily. 

Jisung released his hold on the headboard so that it could start to knock against the wall you shared with his brothers as you both rocked your hips to simulate the pace of sex. 

“Fuck,” Jisung grunted and you’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist at that. 

You supposed this was the part in the storyline where you were actually having sex, so you tried to make yourself sound as needy and desperate as possible. 

“God, Jisung, don’t stop!”

Jisung rammed the bed frame against the wall even harder and groaned your name, clapping a hand to his thigh to make it sound like he was slapping your ass. You continued to beg and plead for a few more minutes before you both decided to kick it up a notch. Jisung put a hand around his throat, motioning for you to act like you were being choked. 

How did he know you liked to be choked?

Lucky guess.

You took his suggestion and closed a hand around your throat to muffle your moans. You were out of breath, for real now, from all of the flailing around and jumping and choking yourself that you were just about ready to wrap it up.

“Should we cum now?” you whispered.

“How long has it been?”

“I dunno, like five minutes?”

“You think I’d only last five minutes?” Jisung accused.

“I think five minutes is being generous,” you scoffed. 

“Fine, but you first.”

You sighed tiredly and prepared yourself for the crescendo. You stretched your arms above your head and moaned in relief as your muscles tensed and relaxed, arching your back off the bed dramatically. 

“Fuck, Ji. Right there right there right there,” you cried, loud enough for the whole fucking city of Paris to hear you. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

“You look so fucking hot like this, y/n,” Jisung praised, catching you by surprise. 

You whipped your head over to stare at him, but he wasn’t even looking at you. He was scrolling through Twitter with one hand while rocking the headboard back and forth with the other. 

You rolled your eyes at his multitasking and continued moaning obnoxiously like an amateur pornstar. You “finished” first with another string of curses and Jisung’s name and he followed shortly behind you, voice wavering as he slowed the motion of the bed. 

Jisung flopped back on the bed next to you wordlessly. You were both still catching your breath and processing everything that had happened. You pressed your fingers to the pulsepoint on your neck and began to count. Out of all the walking you already did today, faking sex with Jisung was the most cardio-heavy by far. 

“I think that was my best performance ever,” you said proudly once your lungs didn’t feel like they were burning from the inside out. 

“What are you comparing it to?” Jisung asked, turning his head to look at you properly. 

“My third grade VBS concert, my entire high school theater experience, telling customers it was a pleasure to serve them, faking orgasms with frat guys, do you need me to keep going?” 

He chuckled. “You were an excellent co-star.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself. Do you think they’ll buy it?”

“Definitely, but if you want to seal the deal I might have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“I give you a hickey.”

You bolted upright. “Are you serious?”

“Not an obvious one, it’ll be easy to hide.” 

“Then what’s the point of having it in the first place?”

Jisung shrugged. “You cover it with makeup in the morning, but not so much that it’ll wear off later in the day when my parents aren’t around. If Minho is really as nosy as we think, he’ll definitely notice it and stop asking questions.”

“You don’t think it’ll just lead to more questions? Who’s to say he’s going to be looking at my neck anyway?”

“Oh he will be,” Jisung said confidently. 

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” 

“Fine, fuck it,” you groaned, giving in. “Go easy, though, okay?”

Your best friend smirked. “No promises.”

You pushed down your shirt to expose more of your neck and shoulders and scooted closer to him on the bed. You rolled your head to the side to give him easy access. He brushed your hair out of the way and leaned down so that he was just inches away from your collarbone. His breath tickled your skin as he hovered above you, deciding where to mark you. You flinched when you felt his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your jaw. You held back a yelp and tried to relax, but the sheer absurdity of it all was getting to you. And it tickled. Jisung licked the spot he had just bitten and then began to suck on it, eliciting a sheer squeal from you. 

“Shh!” He had broken away to scold you. 

“You know I’m ticklish!” you argued back defensively. 

“Try to stay still.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Jisung placed a hand on each of your shoulders to hold you down as he went back to work. By the time he was finished your neck was sore from holding it in an uncomfortable position for so long and your left hand had fallen asleep. 

“There,” he said finally, satisfaction clear on his face. 

You got up to go look in the mirror in front of the bathroom to evaluate his artistry. Right on your neck in plain view was a fresh bruise, blooming purple underneath your skin. 

“Jisung, this is huge!” you complained. 

“It’ll go down in the morning!” he insisted. 

“I know how hickeys work, genius. It’s still fucking giant.”

“It’s not as bad as you think it is, okay? Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

iou tags: @sluttywoozi @gimmeurtmi @phobia0325 @fwess @hipsdofafangirl @galaxleeknow @urmomma0324 @bangmechanpls @102598s @farfromsugafanfic @ritzy-roo @dimpledsatan @bvselines @wonderfulshinee @imwithurmother @smollquokka @rosexjimin @skizzel @endzii23 @lady-lena @kwanisms @ch4nniebang @lilramennoodle @babyphotos0325 @dearalice @sojohns @mistlitmoonlight @yoontaethings @babebatter @mal-lunar-28 @shy-kisu @zerefdragn33l @downbadreading @sana-within-you @saquso @bunnispaces @reianagarcia @hyunehans @imtoooyoungforthisshit @i8rsie @honeslykindahorny @214racha @hgema @chillllllli @vixensss @smhlino @feiyaa @borahae-reads @bigbearenergy @hoodiesandicedcoffee @darkacademic2512 @y00nzin0 @i8yul @shinypieceofgarbage @woozarts @just-a-little-delulu @djeniryuu

add yourself to the taglist here!!

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

'Shit Happens'

This is a post about parenthood and life philosophies and moral codes and how childhood experience (read: trauma) informs all of this stuff. It's also just an anecdote about Shit Happening yesterday. I know I always make this disclaimer, which is probably also born out of Childhood Experience, but I still feel compelled to, so...it's gonna be another rambler.

So I'll start way back in the day, when J and I were growing up. We were both poor. I mean, I didn't really register 'poor' when I was a kid, because everyone around me was also in the same socioeconomic place; my whole extended family; all the kids I went to elementary school with...because it was a small town/neighborhood school. But then we moved to a bigger district where there was a broader range of kids, which was good in some ways (more ethnic/racial/religious diversity; more resources because it's bigger and has more taxpayers paying in and some of those taxpayers are outside of 'poor working class'...), but that was when it became apparent to me that I was a poor kid. I lived in an apartment; the friends I was making in honors classes all lived in single family houses with yards and some of them had campers or boats parked around extended driveways and some of them even had in-ground pools in the back yard. Even if my emotional situation was better at home with my parents, I admit I'd have still been wary if not outright ashamed to invite my friends to my house (apartment), because they all lived in what I considered at the time practically mansions in nice neighborhoods (they lived in neighborhoods similar to the one J and I live in now, in homes like the one J and I live in now, and we have a camper now, and we're still not anywhere near 'rich,' but just for some realistic perspective removed from scraping by youth). J KNEW he was poor from his first sentient memories. His family used public assistance. He got free coats from charities at Christmas. He started working on his sixteenth birthday because he had to help his family, not just to save up for a car or work his way through college (which he did both those things, but I'm saying...J paid utility bills in high school). We both did without a lot of stuff as kids/teenagers. I remember when I got invited to Junior Prom (I know it was a pity date, because my friends who had dates for some reason wanted me to go, so a friend of one of their boyfriends asked me...like...I should have probably just stuck to 'no' but c'est la vie), I went shopping for a dress with my mom (I had to buy a dress; Pity Date bought the tickets and flowers and paid for dinner; we didn't get a limo of anything weird like that; he drove his dad's 1987 dark brown Cutlass), she said, "Jesus Christ, are they all over $100?!" I found a subdued, modest black dress for like $79 off the sale rack and wore it to every dance I got invited to, including the first company Christmas party I went to at my first job out of college. J never went to a prom. I didn't go to any extra-curricular stuff at school until I worked to pay the $2 admission tickets and $.50 Cokes in foam coffee cup concession prices myself. J didn't even do any of that. And when something happened that was largely or entirely out of our control that cost money (car accident, health problem, technology need for school like a scientific calculator, unexpected need to borrow a car/get gas, etc.), even though it was accidental or unpreventable or otherwise not really 'our fault,' there were consequences for us. I felt guilty when I was five and I broke my arm because I tripped over an untied shoelace. It was 'my fault.' I was careless. It cost my parents time and money going to an emergency room for x-rays and a cast. If J dropped his scientific calculator for high school higher math, and it broke, his choices would be to do without one now or find a way to fix it himself. We wouldn't get to borrow the car or the extra gas. If there was a problem that it took money to fix, it probably wouldn't get fixed, and if it did, we'd have been punished in some way for it; making up the expense somehow with work, hearing about it constantly up to and including verbal abuse.

Which brings me to yesterday. Our son's cell phone fell out of his pocket at school drop off yesterday morning. He didn't notice it. I didn't notice it. The school traffic monitors didn't notice it. Until our son was inside school. He called me on a friend's phone to check the car for it and please bring it to school for him. It wasn't in the car, or at home. It hit the ground in the parking lot, in the path of the line of drop off cars. It got run over at least once. Hell, I may have run over it myself. So The Boy spent yesterday at high school without a phone. J bought him a replacement and I picked it up for him during the day, so by pick up time, he had a new phone. And this conversation happened:

Boy: You and Dad already got me a new phone?! I should take the money (saved Christmas and birthday money for several years) in my wallet and pay Dad.

Me: No you don't. It's fine. You don't owe Dad for a freak accident.

Boy: It fell out of my pocket so there should be consequences.

Me: Not when it's not your fault, kiddo. ❤️

See, J feels good based on who he is and how he grew up that he could just take care of the problem for our son. And based on who I am and how I grew up, I wanted my son to know we're here to support and help him, especially when, as J says, 'Shit happens,' but even when he actually has made a truly careless or intentional mistake. We have made a lot of deliberate parenting decisions to try and spare and protect our son from taking too much responsibility or feeling guilty for things that aren't in his control...like accidents and the actions and behaviors and feelings of other people. But I realized that in spite of the choices we've made, our son can't help but have learned to model our own behaviors...where we take a lot of responsibility for not only ourselves, but events beyond our scope of control and the actions and behaviors and feelings of other people.

So now we're down to trying to help our son cope with and understand his tendency to do that while simultaneously dealing with understanding why we do it and coping with our tendencies to do it.

[neoheros]

moving in — seijoh 4 x gn! reader

it’s been exactly two weeks since you’ve made the decision of moving in with your best friends, and so far, everything’s been a bit better than you expected.

when the idea was first pitched to you, you admit, you thought it was a very poorly written out joke shared over a few beers and the pitiful nostalgia of graduating— you were wrong.

they were alarmingly serious about this.

“just a few months ‘til we all head off for college.” hanamaki told you, his arm casually over your shoulder and you’ve known him long enough to know that pushing him off is futile.

“then do it without me.” you said, a lazy smile on your face as you continued to walk. “i’ll visit literally every day.”

“no, you won’t,” matsukawa said, his words laced with a soft chuckle, “you don’t ever go anywhere without being physically dragged off.”

“you don’t understand,” you smiled, “i have such a lovely room.”

iwaizumi fell next to you, his voice blunt, “you can have the biggest room.”

“that’s not entirely better.” you shrugged.

“at least think about it,” oikawa told you, his charming smile coating his tone and you found a bit of warmth in the reserved gaze you realize he only had for you, “for me.”

“as if that’s the selling point, shittykawa!”

“i am always the selling point, iwa-chan!”

you ignored their usual banter, moving away from the four as you quickened your steps and you sighed. “i’ll think about it.”

you don’t miss the shared grins they all give each other, knowing you well enough to understand that they’ve successfully wore you down and before you knew it, you were signing a lease to a four bedroom loft that you were lucky enough to afford.

it didn’t feel weird or anything, you’ve known these guys since forever and more, really the only problem you’ve had with this was the fact that you knew how much of a slob they’d all be to live with — not that you were any better — but hey, surely you were neater than four sweaty athletes.

which brings you to where you are now; just a few weeks after graduating from aoba johsai and barely even a few days since getting comfortable in your new temporary apartment.

you figured it was better than you expected.

hanamaki’s nice to keep around. he’s almost always just lounging in front of the tv, sometimes a controller in his hands, most of the time, his fingers running through his short trimmed hair as he shifts over numerous college application essays.

you’ve found yourself waking up at three am a few times to get yourself a cup of water only to see him to have fallen asleep on the coffee table with folders and envelopes around him.

sometimes you’d sit with him, sometimes you’d wake him up to help him trudge to his bed. either way, he’d always end up pulling your head close, giving you a quick kiss on the temple as he sleepily mumbles something along the lines of “thank you” or “good night”.

iwaizumi’s somewhat the same; buried in college prep and sorting through plane tickets as he made the ever so impressive decision to take his future abroad. you’d told him numerous times how proud he made you and he’d always give you back the warm grin he seemed to have reserved just for you.

he isn’t the last one you see off to bed, but he’s always the first to get up in the morning. no matter what time you wake up, he’s already there in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee (much to your dismay since his blend is a tad bit bitter to your liking but you’ve never had the heart to tell him that).

(though truth be told, ever since iwaizumi found out you woke up at the crack of dawn, he’d begrudgingly fallen into the habit of waking up before you just so he could make you coffee before seeing you off for the day.

he hates waking up that early.

but he does like the smile you give him when you walk out the door.)

you spend the most time with matsukawa. his schedule was freer than the rest of the boys so if you ever needed to go anywhere, he’d already be there to insist that he came with you.

he’d pick you up from your day job, a lazy grin encasing his face the minute he sees you from the car window— you looked tired, worn out from the ruthless retail, and though he couldn’t say that to your face, he sure is glad he’d have an excuse to take you for coffee before heading home.

oikawa’s the busiest. his taxing schedule now so much worse after his decision to go to argentina. (you told him you’d miss him, he told you you didn’t have to, and begged you to try and fit in his luggage.) all that aside, you barely got to see him; you’d wake up finding him already gone for the day, and come home to him passed out on the couch.

some nights he’d come home later than you, too tired to know which is left or right, and more than once, he’d end up in your room, clocking out the second he crashes on your bed.

you don’t push him off, you never had the heart to. you missed him. not that you’d ever say it to his face, but he hasn’t even left for college and you were already missing him.

it’s a sunday morning— one of the few times a week all of you had a free day, and normally you’d all just end up sleeping in, most days you’d get up and enjoy breakfast with the other four, but when the bed felt too warm and too peaceful, you’d rather just waste the day away in your room.

a pair of arms pull you out of your sleep, your head softly falling against someone’s chest and you blink— you went to bed alone last night.

“what the hell, shittykawa!” you yell, sitting up and pushing him off of you.

oikawa groans, having just been brutally woken up, he pouts, “... you spend too much time with iwa-chan, you sound exactly like him.”

“go sleep in your own room!”

“but — you have the softest bed!”

“no?” matsukawa says, leaning on your door frame looking like he’d just woken up. his voice is groggy, almost annoyed, “i have the softest bed.”

oikawa pushes you away, ignoring your groans as he laid back on your mattress and he says, smile wide, “that’s not true— feel this.”

matsukawa narrows his eyes, walking up to him without even acknowledging your constant complaints of ‘no! do not feel this, go away!’

he sits on the edge of your bed, taking a second before falling on his back and taking in your white comforters.

“what the fuck?” he says, “what the hell, why do you have the softest bed?”

“because i’m me.” you tell them both, rolling your eyes as you realize that you probably won’t be getting your bed back anytime soon.

hanamaki walks in barely a moment later, his hand tiredly rubbing his left eye as he yawns away the last of his sleep.

he blinks, unsure what to make out of the scene in front of him. matsukawa and oikawa pulled on your duvet, pushing each other off every second as they fought on who got a bigger part of the blanket, and you, well — you had your head propped up on your headboard, muttering under your breath as you tried to push the two off your mattress.

“what’s going on?” he asks, a smile already forming on his face as he recognized the early morning chatter.

you look up, eyes brightening at the sight of hanamaki, he was going to help you.

“makki! my love!” you yelped, “get them out of my room, please.”

“no. makki will not.” matsukawa grins, “did you know this is the softest bed in the apartment?”

hanamaki frowns, “i have the softest bed in the apartment.”

oikawa grins, “feel this!”

you take it back. oikawa tooru might not make it to argentina after all, not when you were going to kill him in cold blood after this.

before you could even protest, oikawa pushes you more to the side, clearing some space for hanamaki who (so traitorously) plopped down on his side beside you.

“what the fuck,” he says, eyes widening as he moved around for a more comfortable position.

matsukawa nods, “that’s what i said too.”

“why do you have the softest bed?” oikawa groans, “we’re the ones who play volleyball— we’re basically sore all the time.”

you blink, “i was sleeping.”

they ignore you.

“you want the bed?” you ask, getting up from your mattress, and you glare. “fine. keep it.”

“wait, we were just joki—”

you ignore what they were going to say, slamming your door on your way out, and you curse under your breath every step of the way to the room right across from yours.

iwaizumi’s room. somewhere cold, peaceful, quiet. you ought to remind him to keep his door locked, but right now, as you stood by his doorway, drowsy and almost desperate to go back to sleep, you’re thankful he doesn’t.

you don’t say another word, walking directly up to his bedside and plopping down on the open space next to him.

he stirs, and you take his movement with a sigh.

“move.” you tell him, a pillow in hand and he looks up at you with sleep plastered on his face.

iwaizumi does as you say, moving deeper into his side and he yawns, “what’re you doing?”

“we are going to sleep.” you tell him, snuggling deeper in his covers as you got yourself comfortable.

you look at him, “unless you want to join those three idiots outside.”

iwaizumi ignores the warmth coming up on his face, pushing his pulsing heart aside, he shrugs, throwing an arm over you, and he mutters, “not even gonna ask what happened.”

(you fall back asleep quick after that, but that doesn’t last long as iwaizumi’s door opens again, oikawa going on and on with complaints about how iwaizumi was obviously your favorite, matsukawa barely caring as he pushes past him and just crashes in between you both and hanamaki declaring a dog pile as he so ruthlessly jumps on top of you.

it was horrible.

you wouldn’t have it any other way with them.)

[random1amfics]

Demon Tyrant of France (2)

Lila had a great week. The class was wrapped around her finger and that baker's girl can't do anything about it as Adrien seemed to be keeping her in line with that promise. Poor girl was desperate to do anything for her crush. Today, she will spin some tales of how Marinette was really mean to her offer of friendship and maybe get her so call 'friends' to punish her bad behaviour by destroying the girl's phone for her awful texts. As she skipped to the school, she didn't notice the tense air the other students seemed to have. She saw Alya, her ticket to increasing her fame, arguing with her boyfriend, Nino. He could be useful when she needs music for a party.

"I don't care if this Demon Tyrant person is powerful. We don't need another Chloe Bourgeois in our class. I am not going to stand for her tormenting us."

"Babe, listen, the Demon Tyrant will mostly ignore us because according to her, we are just mere insects. As long as we don't provoke her or anger her, we will be fine. The only thing I am worried about is whether or not you would get into trouble, you did some bad things to her recently and I really hope she is feeling generous."

"I couldn't have done things to someone I have never heard of until today."

"Oh, she had been in our class for the past 2 years. Apparently, she and a friend of hers had a bet on who can be kind for the longest. The bet was over last night. Chloe sent us about it last night."

"I never read what Miss Bully says."

"Excuse me," Lila cuts in, "What are you talking about? Who is the Demon Tyrant? She sounds bad."

"I will tell you on the way. Classes are about to start. But whatever you do, under any circumstances, do not, I mean, absolutely DO NOT talk to her unless she permits it."

The more Lila hears about the Demon Tyrant, the more she begins to envy the power she has over the school. Lila wondered which of her classmates was the Demon Tyrant. Could be Chloe but she can't be it, she had not been nice to their classmates at all. The one with the Roller Skates? She seemed to fit the Demon Tyrant name with the pink hair and roller skates but sometimes she didn't act nice. The Pink Blondie? She acts so nice and sickeningly sweet that she wouldn't be surprised if it was a facade.

She walked into the classroom, as confidently as she can to impress the so-called Demon Tyrant. Whoever she is, might want connections to spread her sphere of influence and they can rule together.

Lila and Alya saw Marinette with a complete makeover wearing a golden 'crown' that looked legit, looking down on the class like they were peasants from her high seat in the back. Their mouths hung open as Kim and a few others came, bearing offerings which they presented to her.

Lila gritted her teeth. Of course, that goody-two-shoes were the Demon Tyrant who ruled the school. At least now it will be easier to take all her friends away. She plastered a concerned face.

"Marinette, what are you doing? Demanding things from your friends? Friends shouldn’t expect things from their friends like that, especially something as expensive as that crown.” “First of all, Rossi, don’t call me by my name, I only allow certain people to call me that and you are not on that small list. Second of all, I didn’t ask for anything from them. They are called gifts. It was rather hypothetical of you to tell me not to expect free stuff from ‘friends’ when just last week, you basically demanded free pastries from the bakery. And lastly, this diadem ”-she gestured towards it-“is actually mine. I paid for it full price with my hard-earned money. I have a receipt if you don’t believe me. Since you are still new, I shall let it pass this time. But you will not speak to me unless necessary or with my permission.” Marinette said with a cold, icy voice.

“I can’t believe you are so mean to me. I just want to be friends and I am so worried about you when you are dressed like that.” Lila faked a few tears to sell the act. It’s perfect. She didn’t have to try so hard now that Marinette is doing a nice job by herself.

“I believe I have told you not to speak to me. Another word to me and I will make you deeply regret it.”

Alya spoke up, not liking Marinette’s new attitude, “Girl, Lila was just looking out for you. Don’t brush off her concerns and stop being so mean. I will admit I am worried about this new look too.”

“Cesaire, I will give you the same warning as Rossi there. You aren’t allowed to speak to me unless I say otherwise. Why should I change based on some people’s opinion of me? I am not mean, I am indifferent and cold to people. Haven’t you heard I am the Demon Tyrant? It’s part of the package. Life isn’t a fairytale and they all live happily ever after. Lila should be used to hearing cold, hurtful truths. After all, the famous deal with them all the time.” Marinette said with a bored expression on her face, already deeming this a waste of her breath.

Lila burst into tears and Alya was the only one to comfort her as the others were frozen in their seats and made no moves. Terrified for the backlash of helping the 2 girls. Even Nino, who loved Alya very much but prayed to every deity he knew to grant his headstrong, stubborn, justice-seeking girlfriend some common sense. She was playing with fire now and she was going to get burned badly.

Lila sobbed loudly, ”But I am not lying.”

“Marinette! Stop this at once. You can drop the act now. I don't know what you are trying to prove. Being a better Chloe? And we are best friends, we don’t need permission to speak to each other. Lila doesn’t lie. How could you say those things? Just because you are jealous, doesn’t mean you should do it. She is very sensitive.”

The Demon Tyrant grinned. It instinctively made everyone move away from her and Alya, who took a step back.

“Oh. Alya. Alya. Alya.” The first name means that the reporter had poked the Demon too much and now, she was annoyed. The Tyrant walked down, towards the two girls.

“You poor naive girl. With your strong sense of Justice and morals. I thought that we could have actually been friends. But you chose the wrong side when the time came. You should have listened to your boyfriend’s warnings when you had a chance. Let’s hope this one will get through to you. When I started this year of college, I had put up the perfect act of a sweet, kind and selfless girl all for a bet. You saw Chloe bullying that girl whom you protected and befriended. I remember many of our classmates pulled you aside to warn you of my true nature to spare you the heartache when the time came. I also told you one myself. That girl back then was not me at all and I tried to ease you into understanding that. But you were too excitable. You immediately put yourself into the category of ‘my best friend’ even though that title already belongs to my dear thief. You saw the various pictures of Gabriel’s design with Adrien as the model on my wall and decided that I have to get together with him when my heart had already been stolen by another. (Chloe fist-bumped the air. It was confirmed that her ship had sailed.) When Lila Rossi came with her grand stories, you chose to believe her over me. I will usually not admit something like this because I am too proud but it hurt when you went to her instead of me. The point is that you never stopped and listened, just going on ahead. Because if you did, you would have known that I was never your best friend. That I was never jealous of Lila over Adrien because I don’t even like him. That Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t even my real name and she doesn’t exist. And the lying. I haven’t accused her of anything like that. I am just calling her out for assuming the worst of me.”

The Demon Tyrant’s voice was like snow. Soft and melted easily. And so very very Cold. So much of it will knock one’s breath out. The room felt colder after the speech.

Alya stood as still as an ice statue, face-to-face with the Demon Tyrant. Her eyes averted as the blue eyes were so piercing like it could tear her soul to pieces. Lila had stopped her fake crying, thinking about who exactly had she declared an enemy of. She didn’t know if she wanted an answer or not.

“Cesaire, Rossi, I have many connections before I was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have even more now. With a word from me and your careers will be destroyed before they even take off. If you have common sense, you will stay out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?” Lila asked.

The Tyrant lets out a laugh and meets their eyes, “No. It’s a promise.” She turned around and walked back to her seat like a regal Empress after giving out an execution order.

[chrizbang]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ONE SHOT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* CHAN X FEMALE READER ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* SMUT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Warnings: mature content, penetative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, swearing, drinking.

Word count: 2.535

Author’s note: so, english is not my first language, there might be some grammar mistakes dhuofdsjojd I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear your feedback!

It was Jeongin’s idea, of course it was. Going to a party in the middle of the week. You had just arrived home from work, you showered and were ready to put on your pajamas and go to sleep, before Jeongin, your friend and roommate, stormed into your room. “You need to relax, you’re too stressed,” he said to you, dragging you out of your bed so you could get changed. He was right, you knew that. All the work you had from college and your job, was draining all of your energy. As much as you were tired, you decided to give it a chance. You chose an outfit that would be casual, but not too much, a white cropped with long sleeves, a black leather skirt, stockings, and your boots. Underneath you had cute pink lace lingerie, just in case.

You left the house and took a cab to a club, you never been to that place, but Jeongin looked like he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t worry, I paid for our tickets online,” he said.

“You’re too kind,” you answered, feeling butterflies in your belly. Once you were inside, you took a look at the place. You never went to many clubs before, but this one looked fancy. It had a nice decoration and everyone inside look very well dressed, you were starting to regret choosing a casual outfit.

“Let’s get some drinks,” Jeongin screamed at you since the music was loud. You grabbed his wrist and followed him to the bar. He calledone of the bartenders and ordered two margaritas. Once you had your drinks, he dragged you to the dance floor. You must admit that you were having a good time, dancing with your friend and enjoying the party. Until you saw that Jeongin seemed apprehensive, he was looking around, like he was looking for something. Suddenly, a man in a suitapproached him and said something on his ear, eventuallylooking at you. You couldn’t hear what he was saying because of the music, but you started to feel concerned. Jeongin nodded at the man and made his way at you. “Follow me,” he said, smiling. You were confused, but he didn’t look scared like something was wrong. Jeongin held your hand and both of you followed the man. After scanning a card, he opened a door at the back of the club, the door led to a corridor with an elevator at the end. He pressed the button and waited for it to arrive. You looked at Jeongin and he had a smile on his face, he looked very excited. The elevator door opened, the man gestured for you to step inside. You guys entered the elevator, the man following behind. He pressed another button, and the elevator started to go up. Once you were on the second floor, the man left the elevator and you went after him. There was a white hall with a big, red door in the end. The man unlocked the door, looked at both of you, said ‘have fun’, and left.

“Jeongin, what’s going on??” you had no idea where you were and what was happening. “Look, I chose this place because this is different from the others,” he told you, holding the door handle. “Before I open it, I need you to know that we can leave any time you want” You looked at him completely confused. “This place… it is special. They have this thing where they choose random people to join a more intimate party if you know what I mean” he smiled at you, a dirty one, and you were almost understanding what he was trying to say. He opened the door and there was a reception. A lady was waiting there, wearing a black pencil skirt, a black blouse and heels.

“Welcome to the Slumber Party, please follow me,” she said. She took you to another door, this one smaller. “Please, enjoy your time here”, the lady said. She opened the door, and it led to another elevator.

“Is this a joke?” you asked Jeongin.

“We are almost there,” he answered.

You took the elevator and went to another floor. “This is the last one, I promise,” Jeongin said, once you were in front of another door. “Look, like I said before, we can leave whenever you want, okay?” “Okay,” you told him, feeling apprehensive. He opened the door, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. The place looked beautiful, with fancy furniture. There was a living room with some people inside, you couldn’t count how much but it looked like less than 15. Some of them were kissing, some were talking, some were having sex, some were masturbating. You looked at Jeongin and he was already talking to a girl that approached him. “An orgy,” you thought. You never knew Jeongin was into this kind of stuff. You saw there was a kitchen nearby so you decided to grab a drink. You grabbed a cup and started pouring whatever drink you saw in front of you.

“Hey baby girl,” a man said, getting closer to you. He looked tipsy, he had his shirt open and looked way too happy. “Hi,” you said, not interested. “My name is Dylan,” he said, while putting his hands on your hips and getting you closer to him. You were starting to feel uncomfortable. He was good looking but you definitively weren’t feeling attracted. “Hey!” Another man shouted. “Leave her alone!” “I just trying to get to know her, dude,” Dylan said. He saw the look on the man’s eyes and decided it was for the best to leave. You finally took a look at the other man and you were dumbfounded. He was handsome. He had dark hair, he was wearing black leather pants, a white shirt, and boots. He had some rings on his hands. He looked breathtaking. “Sorry for him,” he said. You looked at him. He had an intimidating look. “I-it’s okay”.

“Is it your first time here?” He asked you, pouring a drink into the cup he was holding. “Hm, yes. My friend brought me here,” you were looking at the floor, avoiding his eyes. “I can tell,” he laughed. “Do you… do you come here often?” you were feeling shy but you were too curious not to ask. “Uhm” the man smiled “I’m one of the owners, so I don’t have a choice”. “Oh…” you thought for a moment “you must get your dick wet very often then.” It was almost like a whisper, but he was able to hear it. He laughed, throwing his head back. “You are adorable,” he said, tilting his head while he looked at you. That man was way too charming, it was almost illegal. You took a sip of your drink, feeling your cheeks burning. “My name is Chan. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“That’s a pretty name,” he said in a lower tone. The way he was looking at you was making you go crazy, it was like he desired you, like you were the prey and he was going to hunt you.

“Come here,” Chansaid, leaving the kitchen. You followed him while he took you to a hall with several rooms, he opened the first one. It was a bedroom, with shades of red. There was a king-sized bed in the middle of it. It looked fancy like the rest of the place.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing to the bed.

You sat a the edge of it, looking at the floor. He was standing in front of you, he held your chin, forcing your face up so you would look at him.

“You are free to leave whenever you want,” Chansaid.

“I know.”

He ran his thumb through your lower lip before sticking it inside your mouth. You could feel that your panties were soaking wet because of the way he was seducing you. You sucked on his thumb making him bite his lips.

He took his hand out of your mouth and started to unbuckle his belt. “You are gonna give me a nice blowjob, princess”.

He pulled his pants down with his underwear, letting his dick free. It was veiny, above average, with a pink tip. It was gorgeous like everything about him. He got closer to you, standing between your legs so it wouldbe easier for you to do it. You heldhis dick and started delicatelypumping it, feeling it in your hands, he was so hard and warm, you felt your mouth salivate. You started to lick him from the balls to his tip, slowly. Chanhissed, without taking his eyes off you. You took the head of his dick in your mouth, sucking it before twirling your tongue around it while pumping the rest with your hand. He used his hands to hold your hair, making a ponytail, and while one was holding it, the other went to the back of your neck.

“That’s it, take my dick like a good girl,” he groaned, moving your head up and down. You felt his precum in your mouth, the taste was bitter but it only made you hornier.

He fucked your mouth a little more before taking his dick out of your mouth. “I would love to cum in your this cute mouth of yours,” he looked in your eyes “but I would rather do it inside of your little pussy.”

You gasped, finally realizing that this man was going to fuck you. This extremely attractive and charming man was going to be inside of you.

Chan held you by your waist and gentlythrew you in the middle of the bed. He took your cropped off, making you raise your body to slip it off, when you laid down again you noticed he was looking at your boobs like he was mesmerized. “Itlooks cute on you,” he said, before taking off your bra. He massaged your breasts making you bite your lips to hold a moan. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting itwhile playing with the other.

Then he started to unbuckle your skirt before taking it off. He took your boots off and pushed your stockings down, leaving you with only your panties on. You whined, upset that he wasn’t taking his clothes off, only with his pants and underwear down for when you sucked his dick.

“What is it, baby girl?” He asked, running his hand through your body, sending shivers through your spine.

“I want you to take your clothes off,” you answered, making an innocent face.

“Anything you want” He started to take his shirt off and you felt like you could explode because of how horny you were. His body was so muscular, without overdoing it, making him look delicious.

He reached for the bedside table and opened a drawer, taking a condom from inside of it. He put the condom on and got between your legs. He took your panties off and started to run his dick between your folds, you couldn’t control yourself anymore, you were dripping and he was teasing you. He saw your face and couldn’t hold his grin.

“Beg for it baby girl.”

“P-please, please fuck me” you moaned, looking into his eyes. You felt ashamed but it was too late for it now, you just wanted him inside of you.

You held on to his arm while he entered you slowly, he would go inside and out so you would get used to it. Every time he would go inside of you again, he would go a little deeper. Once he was fully inside, he held on to your waist and started to fuck you, his thrusts slow and deep. At this point you couldn’t control your moans anymore, you couldn’t decide if you should close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of him inside of you or if you should stare at him dumbfoundedly.

“Fuck,” Chan grunted. “You are so tight.”

“Please don’t stop.”

He started to go faster, sliding his hard member into you with ease because of how wet you were. The sound of skin smacking was almost as loud as your moans. He held your arms over your head. You had your eyes closed because everything started to feel overwhelming. “Look at me” he demanded. You tried hard to keep your eyes open, your cheeks burning from seeing the lust on his face.

“I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you pretty slut”, you moaned loud after hearing him talking to you like that, you were close, you could feel it.

“Are you gonna cum for me, huh?” he whispered in your ear.

“Y-y-es. Yes.” you could barely answer him, feeling your high approaching. Chan started to play with your clit and it wasn’t long for you to cum on his dick. Your moans were loud and you were quivering, feeling the best you’ve ever had.

Chan turned you around, putting you in all fours. You had your head on the mattress as he started pounding on you, reaching for his own orgasm. You wish you could live in this moment forever, feeling him inside of you, hearing him moaning like that. He was amazing.

“I’m gonna cum” he said, before exploding inside of the condom. He kept lazily thrusting on you for a while.

“Fuck…” you said, tired and satisfied.

He laid down by your side, looking at the ceiling.

“By the way, answering your assumption,” Chan said, “I don’t get my dick wet often.”

You felt embarrassed, you completely forgot you made this comment.

“This business was my friend’s idea. Changbin, you probably saw him in the middle of the people in the living room,” he said humorously.

“With that being said, can I have your number?” Chan asked, smiling. You noticed the adorable dimple on his cheek.

“Oh,” you smiled at him. “You definitely can.”

You chatted a little before both of you decided to put your clothes on. You held your phone, and after saving his number, you saw that Jeongin sent you a message and you had two missed calls from him, which you didn’t hear since your phone was on vibrate mode.

“I guess I’ll have to go,” you sighed, feeling an ache on your heart. You didn’t want to leave.

“Let me walk to the door” he said, holding your hand.

He accompanied you to the living room, where you saw Jeongin sitting on a couch. Everybody was getting ready to leave, either putting their clothes on or already fully clothed. When Jeongin saw you with Chan, he didn’t had to ask questions, he just gave you a side smile.

Chan kissed your hand. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

“Me too,” you said, smiling at him. Chan turnedaround, looking and smiling at you and went to talk to a guy, probably Changbin, as you thought.

“I guess somebody had fun,” Jeongin said, as he was leaving the place with you.

“I guess so,” you tried to play it cool, but you couldn’t stop smiling, leaving with the hope that you would see Chan again someday.

[scarletwidowaf]

broadway, baby. (part 1)

Florence pugh x female Reader

Summery: reader is a singing waitress in a new York restaurant (like in glee) where many famous people go to, and one night the little women cast are are there and R is their waitress.

Warnings: there's some cursing and harassment. Its not revolve around it but its there.

A\N: im soft for florence pugh and this is a complete shit.

masterlist

Credits: Glee Gif Credit • Florence Gifs Credit

“I'm just a Broadway Baby, walking off my tired feet, Pounding Forty Second Street to be in a show. Broadway Baby, learning how to sing and dance, waiting for that one big chance to be in a show.” - Cast of follies

Life can be hard and some days can be rough, especially in your line of work where people competed for the spotlight on a daily basis. but that's life and that’s the road you chose to walk through.  And it's alright, after all, what's life without a spark? A movie without a breaking point? or a shift at Clayton's without drama?

This was one of these days, the kind of days who kept you on an edge as your body and mind both ached for a break.

'Just roll with it. just a few hours for your day off.' You silently said to yourself.

Being a young artist in New York was a challenge you’ve taken on yourself, luckily for you working at "Clayton's" was a good way to start a career.  most people who started working there were young talented artist who were determined to make an impression over the industry. The place was always packed with many famous people, from actors to singers and producers. So, in many ways, working in "Clayton's" could be a ticket to Broadway or the music industry. And that was the reason you moved there in the first place.

You tried the traditional way, but after months of trying to get into college and fix your past mistakes, like your high school career, you decided that this path wasn’t for you. no matter what you did or how hard you tried your ADHD still managed to kick your ass. So, that’s how you ended up as a singing waitress in NY. You liked your job, truly. You liked singing and dancing and meeting cool people along the way, but sometimes it was just too much.

"You look like shit" Aaron said from his spot at the bar.

Aaron was a sweet guy and probably the only straight person in your group of friends. He was charming and talented and most importantly; he was the first friend you got in NY.

Aaron pulled his long brown hair into a bun as he chuckled at you. You huffed in frustration in return.

"Thanks" you muttered as he passes you a mug with coffee, hoping to help you get a grip before the restaurant opens.

"You need to rest" he said. "properly" 

"that’s overrated" you joked and took a sip.

You felt an hand on your shoulder and you turned around to meet your friend's stern gaze. "You, okay?" she asked

"Always" you answered Mackenzie's question and she raised her eyebrow, knowing full well you were lying. 

"we should sing as a warm up!" David, another one of your coworkers and Aaron's twin brother said.

"Let's not" Aaron said as he rolled his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm. 

You laughed quietly as the two started bickering. Mack and you glanced at each other knowingly. Both of you already know who will win in the stupid argument.

15 minutes later, after a group warm up and Aaron's dramatic sighs 'Clayton's' was open for business.

It was a nice evening, not too full, not too loud. And most importantly, not too many known faces.

Of course, you liked to have famous people on your shifts, and it could obviously be a game changer for you but it can get intense at times and you want in the mood. Seriously, how can you be the only one who found singing "defying gravity' in font of Idina Menzel as a very stressful experience?? You were terrified by the idea you'll fuck up in front of the original singer- and make a total fool out of yourself. 

When 10 pm rolled around, every opinion you had about the evening flew out the window. at this point, the restaurant was full with costumers and some known faces as well, and you found yourself holding every inch of you together as you approach the table who was occupied by the one and only Meryl Streep, and some fellow little women cast members.  

 *rule number 1 of working at Clayton's: don't make costumers feel uncomfortable. Don't annoy the costumers, don't ask for autographs if they're famous and generally treat them as normal and respectfully as you can. *

 "Hello, my name is Y/N and ill be your waitress for tonight" you introduced yourself with a small smile. The women smiled at you brightly.

"How does it work" Meryl held the tablet with a puzzled expression. "Am I that old?" She joked

"Barley" One of the other women, Emma fucking Watson, said. 

"I know it looks complicated-" you told them as you took the tablet from Meryl's hand."-But it's pretty simple, actually, I promise. As you can see the top part of the tablet is divided into two sections: The right one who says 'ask for a waiter'- which means that your waiter- which in this case, me, is busy- probably performing at the moment, and you can ask for a different waiter." You said with an ease, knowing the explanation by heart.

"The left section says 'ask for my waiter' which is a pretty simple one to understand... I guess- if you'll need me for whatever reason, you can press it and it'll page me. Feel free to use it."  You said with a smile as you scanned their faces, making sure they understand the first part.

"And the bottom section?" Saoirse asked. 

"The bottom section is the 'refill' sections. It will get into validation only after ill place your order in my own tablet and send to the kitchen." You explained as you gestured to your own tablet. "It's pretty useful, the point of it is that you can ask for a refill without having to social with me. Its awesome"

You noticed one of them, Florence pugh, scanning the tablet with a small smile- as she listened to your explanation. She was absolutely a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure.

"Thats pretty cool" she said and you nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I got really excited over it when I started working here" you admitted awkwardly "most importantly- When a section isn't relevant its will be grey instead of in color so you won't get confused. Like, for example - if You haven't ordered anything yet you can't get a refill, for the obvious reason. or if I'm not performing you can't ask for another waiter... which means you're stuck with me for the time being" you finished with a small chuckle.

"I don't think any of us mind that" Florence smiled and the others agreed. The blonde smiled at you again and you blushed slightly. "You're singing, right?" she asked out of the blue, just when you were about to leave and let them look through their menus. 

"Yeah, i do. In a few minutes, actually" 

"Thats cool! Good luck" she smiled and you wondered if Emma, who set the closest to you, could hear how fast your heart's beating. 

"Thank you" you said with a smile and turned around to the stage. 

__________________

"you paged? I'm guessing you guys ready to order then" You said as you approached their table after your performance. 

"YOU WERE SO GODD!" Florence said excitedly.

"Thank you" you blushed slightly. 

What. The. Fuck. Y/N?! You scolded yourself.

The others joined into the conversation with their own compliments and you thought you'd die when Meryl Streep, the legend herself, complimented you.

After another few moments the conversation calmed downed and moved to the next, and most important topic: the food. You tried your best to not blush under Florence's soft gaze and keep your focus on the other members of her table as they consulted you about the dishes, but damn, that was hard.  luckily for you it didn’t take long and a few minutes later, their order was sent to the kitchen. 

 The next hour and a half weren't much different. you sang and placed orders, you smiled to costumers and even pretend to laugh at some old man's joke. And maybe (just maybe) you glanced over to Florence every now and then.

The thing about Clayton's is that apart for the famous people who visit there frequently, it also contains many of the rich and the snobs of New York, so you weren't surprised when you got paged from a table who was occupied by two guys with fancy clothes and their parents credit card.

"Hey" one of them said to you as you approached them. 

"hey, welcome to Clayton's! You're David's table, right?" You said and pointed at your friend who started his own performance.

"Yeah, the fag one" the other guy said and your smile fell.

Take a deep breath, Y/N. It's not worth it. 

"I see you guys already ordered a few minutes ago" you said as you checked your tablet.

"Yeah" the asshole confirmed. 

"Okay, in that case, how can I help you?" You asked politely as you could. 

"we would like to get the check." The first guy said politely as he pulled out a few bills from his wallet. "Keep the change" he said as you took it and made sure it was enough.

"Thank you" you smiled politely and made a mental note to give David his well-earned tip.

"my brother want to know if you're single" the asshole said and the nicer guy looked at his with his eyes wide.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, I'm in a relationship" you lied after a moment, hoping the lie will spare both his feeling and any more questions in the subject.

The guy nodded in understanding but on the other hand, the other guy didn’t seem to get the massage.  

"I'm sure he won't mind sharing" the asshole said and you felt sorry for the poor guy for being related to this ass.

"What the fuck Chad" the nice guy said as chad smirked at you.

"yeah... that’s not going to happen." You glared at him "have a great weekend tho" you gritted out and turned around to leave.

you were taken by surprise when you felt chad's hand on your ass. Again, what the fuck?!

"What the fuck is wrong with you' asshole" you gritted out and moved away from him. 

Don't make a scene. He's not worth it. 

"C'mon-" he started to say as he got up. You moved away, knowing you were cornered since the place was full, the lights were deemed and the music was loud. 

"Don't touch me" you said and moved away; you're back hitting an empty table who stood nearly.

"Hey what's going on here?" You heard and turned to catch Florence walking to you.

If a look could kill chad would’ve been dead. that’s for sure. It's like the sweet and excited Florence had left and a different, intimidating (and hot) version of her took her space and so help you god, you were glad she was on your side.

"Nothing! we were just leaving, really" Frankie said.

"None of your business" brad said and Florence raised her perfectly shaped eyebrow, daring him to cross her.

"I see" she said "well, I'm sure y/n won't mind my intruding" 

'Thank god for Florence Pugh.' You thought.

Before chad could press the subject any further David, who just finished his performance, got there. You were sure he noticed that something was happening.

"what's going on here?" he asked after he scanned the situation quickly.

"nothing as I said to your friend, we were just leaving" Frankie said again. 

he didn’t want to draw any negative attention, just like you, and thankfully for the both of you, not many people noticed the situation.

This time chad didn't answer, he just glared at Florence and you while his brother pulled him away from the place.

"so, are you going to tell me what happened?" David asked Florence and you after the two left.

Florence looked at you, waiting for you to answer him. 

"Nothing" you lied. "it's okay David, you can go" you promised your friend. David looked at you with his 'I done believe you' expression, but he didn't press it any further. He just nodded before he turned around and left. 

 Rule number 2: do not make a scene under no circumstances. At Clayton's, everything you do while you're on the clock is practically showcased. You slip? you fall? you sing out of tune? Its under a spotlight, everyone can see that and everyone will have something to say about it. Thats the thing about this place.  most people who started there and moved on to bigger things as Broadway or Hollywood were practically trained to keep their best poker face, act on the demand or pretend that everything is okay when it was clearly not. 

 "You should go back to your table" you said to Florence 

she looked at you with an unreadable expression before she went back to her table. You didn't have much time to read into it since a few minutes later you found yourself at her table, printing their check and having a small friendly conversation with the women. You smiled at them as they left before you turned your tablet off and went to cover for Aaron at the bar.

 "I thought you guys left" You said with a smile when the blonde approached you a few minutes later. 

"Why did you lie?" Florence asked with the same unreadable expression from earlier.

Okay. No smiling then.

"I didn’t" you pulled out two shot glasses and filled them with tequila. The blonde gave you a 'are you kidding me' kind of look and you couldn't help but to chuckle. "I didn't see a reason to make a scene over nothing" you explained and downed one of the shots.

"It wasn't nothing Y/N" she said before taking the other glass. 

"its fine. I'm fine. He didn’t do anything " you said as she downed her shot.

"Yeah, because I was there" she argued.

"I can handle guys like him. Seriously, at this point it might as well be a part of my job" 

"you're not helping yourself"

"I liked you better smiling" you chuckled as she glared at you.

"I'm sure you did"

"shut up" 

"How's your back?" She asked/

The blonde definitely didn't seem convinced about the chad situation but you were just grateful for the change of subject.

"It will be alright"

"Good"

"I appreciate your worry, truly. But I'm fine and I really don't want to hold you back here over it" you said  

"Who said I was worried" she smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, you don't?" You played along 

"Nope"

"Then why are you still here? Its almost 12 am, don't you have something better to do" you teased her 

"no. Do you?" She turned the question and you laughed. 

"I guess not - considering the fact I work here and I'm still on clock"

"Oh, please we both know this place is about to close" she argued your logic

"True" you admitted

"So, if you have nothing better to do, and you don't, would you like to go out with me? You kinda owe me after I saved your ass earlier"

"Uh, and here I thought you did that as an act of kindness" you joked. A small smile playing on your lips.

"Ew no" she said and You laughed. "Well?" Florence pressed with a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, why not. It's not like I have something better to do" 

"Just what I wanted to hear" she joked.

[welllpthisishappening]

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

[puckngrind]

Leave Her Wild: chapter 3 - N. MacKinnon

Summary: MacKenzie heads to Washington and cashes in her bet with Nathan.

Warnings: swearing, fluff and stuff

Word count: 2,565 (swear they will get longer)

Series masterlist / Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Washington.

The two texted back and forth over the week. Mostly randomness with a splash of real life. A friendship was blooming with the text conversation but what else could come of it? Neither one seemed to want to touch the subject. Kenzie wasn't even sure what to make of the attention from Nate. She threw herself into work as she normally would.

MacKenzie spent a few days in Colorado Springs for work but took advantage of her time off by hiking the Garden of the Gods. She was was halfway through Palmers trail when she feels her phone and decides to stop for water and take in the view plus check her phone thinking it was work. She laughs to herself realizing it was in fact not work.

Nate: how’s Colorado Springs?

She snaps a picture of her view and sends it.

Kenzie: gorgeous as always

Nate: holy shit are you hiking alone?

Kenzie snaps a selfie where you can see she’s alone and sends it.

Kenzie: don’t worry not anything too dangerous today. Lol

Nate: ok… not worried. Anyways, thought maybe dinner could be in DC since we will both be there next week.

Kenzie thinks about it and starts walking again. She realizes dinner out of town may in fact make things less awkward.

Kenzie: depends on my schedule but that should work

Nate: good. Enjoy the rest of your hike.

MacKenzie did just that. One thing most people knew about her was she loved adventures and trying new things. She rarely goes to the same vacation spot twice. Always wanting to try new restaurants and really only frequents Gus’s place in Denver. She liked to be free which drove her mother insanely crazy but MacKenzie didn’t seem to care. Her dad was her biggest supporter. Constantly sending her wanderlust Instagram posts after she taught him how. At least her mom had home in Kenzie’s brother, Cameron. Cam was doing everything he was expected to do including recently proposing to his high school sweetheart which Kenzie thought was dumb as seniors in college. His life was his life that was for sure, well and maybe their mother's life too. She couldn't control Kenzie which meant Cam got all of her energy.

The flight to D.C. was a breeze but busy would be an understatement as MacKenzie met her client at the end of the week. The demands were insane in the time frame. She spent almost all weekend in her hotel room working and talking with her team back in Colorado.

Nate: would you want to come to the game? I have tickets.

Kenzie: I would love to but I don’t even know if I can do dinner I’m so swamped

Nate: you need to eat right?

Kenzie: I mean, yeah. I’ll order in

Nate: how about you come to my hotel, we have an amazing restaurant here. You can work and eat

MacKenzie thought it over as she looked out her window. Walking the block and a half to Nathan’s hotel tomorrow night seemed doable. He had a point that she needed to eat and could work while they ate. It would complete their wager from the card game in the same instance. Wondered if Gabe or one of the other players would be around to ensure the dinner happened. MacKenzie thought she wouldn’t have the awkwardness of it feeling like a date this way. Plus, she wanted to try the restaurant out since last time she was in town and another client mentioned it. Mosi was all for the dinner when she called ensuring Kenzie her condo's mail was indeed checked. She thought this was the perfect arrangement and MacKenzie couldn’t find a reason to say no. Thinking Nate would already be at the arena for the game she sent a text.

Kenzie: Yes, to dinner at your hotel if you are still up to it after the game

She starts typing away again and laughs when the ping is almost immediate.

Nate: Perfect. I'll text you when we are back on the bus.

MacKenzie decided to turn the game on while she worked. She normally would have something on as background noise while she worked. She knows she can get lost in work and wanted to make sure she knew to pack up her laptop and such waiting for Nathan's call. She hears his name and looks up to see him score with less than a minute left. The Avalanche was already been leading but that goal ensured their win. She decided to change then couldn’t decide if she should pack up her work yet. “How sure how much time would he take between the game and the bus?” Kenzie asked her reflection. She texted him nice game to see if he would respond. He did a few moments later so she packed up slowly. Kenzie walks down to the street turning to head over to his hotel, humming to herself trying to not over think this very simple dinner. She slows down as she sees the charter bus in front of the hotel. Fuck.

"MAAAAC! Good to see you!" Gabe's voice comes booming out of the bus with some others chiming in as the stepped off the bus. MacKenzie awkwardly smiles at the team and then catches Nathan out the side of her eye. He’s staring at her as he walks down the step.

"Did you walk?" Nathan looks down at MacKenzie puzzled.

"Well, hello. Nice game. And yes. Just two blocks." MacKenzie pulls at her loose curl and then slides her finger down her messenger bag.

"Ready for dinner? I see you brought your work." Nathan taps her bag with his knuckle. MacKenzie nods and follows Nathan into the hotel. She awkwardly stops and he realizes it. “Whatcha doin’ there?” Nate walked back so he was standing in front of Kenzie.

“Isn’t the restaurant that way?” She points in the direction of the sign she stopped next to.

“Yes but they deliver to the room and I’d rather change into sweats and let you work in comfort.” He pulls at his tie. “Less eyes too. Come on.” Nathan placed his hand briefly on MacKenzie’s lower back to lead her to the elevator.

“I normally take the stairs.” MacKenzie looks around Nate for the steps.

“My room is on floor 12 and I just had over 20 minutes of ice time. Can we please take the elevator?” Nathan looked into MacKenzie’s questioning eyes.

“Fine. You have a point.” She smiles but gets lost calculating if that time is high or low for him.

They make their way to Nathan’s room. MacKenzie is surprised how nice it is. She’s not sure what she expected but it wasn’t this. Nathan’s suits neatly hanging up. Sweats sitting in his open luggage next to the closet. She realizes he hasn’t moved from behind her.

“Everything okay?” He moves to grab a pair of shorts and shirt.

“Yeah. Just not what I was expecting. You literally live out of suitcase don’t ya?” She watches him take off his suit coat and gulps at how his shirt is sticking to him.

“Some trips it feels like that. This one we won’t be home until the 26th… then a home stand with a few games on the road… and I’m boring you. Set up wherever you want and I’m gonna go change then will be right back.” He heads to the bathroom shut the door softly.

MacKenzie stares at the uncomfortable looking desk chair in a moment of indecision wanting to be set up so she’s working when Nate returns, she decides the bed was a better option for her to sit. Getting out her laptop Kenzie starts typing as soon as she hears Nate opening the door. He smirks when he sees Kenzie on the bed and moves to the desk to find the menu. She cannot help watching him. His muscles easily seen in the shirt and shorts he picked. He hikes up his pant leg exposing his thigh. Kenzie coughs focusing back on her work again.

"Here it is." Nathan turns around and walks towards MacKenzie handing her the menu. She stares at the menu then her finger lands on a cheeseburger and fries. Nathan moves to the other side of the bed, sitting to call in the order. He hangs up and starts to move.

"You can stay here. That chair is horrible looking." MacKenzie looks over at Nathan and he stops moving then looks down at his feet before swinging them up and adjusting to sit on the bed.

"Thanks." He looks over at her screen. "So what exactly do you do?"

"Simple description... I am a social media consultant." MacKenzie giggles. "Speaking of... your social media..." "Is non-existent." Nathan finishes her statement.

"Yeah, only two posts. That’s shocking for someone your age. Nate, do you know how you could amplify your earnings post career?" MacKenzie moves her computer and shift so look at him. He rubs the back of his neck and rotates on his hip to look at her better.

"Yeah. No, yeah. I get it. Just not my thing but you looked at my socials?" He bites his lip.

"I did after we ran into you at the bar post-game. Would've felt funny giving you my number if you had a girlfriend." MacKenzie admits.

"No girlfriend. So did you say you watched the game?" Nate changes the subject which Kenzie made a mental note of.

"Background noise while working. You can turn the tv on now or just talk to me. You scored." Kenzie looks over at Nathan.

"Empty netter but yeah. Nice win." Nathan says softly. The knock on the door stops their conversation. "Oh, dinner!" Nathan pops up and answers the door.

Dinner was delicious. The two shared backgrounds such as where they were from, college for MacKenzie, boarding school and early days of hockey for Nathan. They were laughing at each other's stories which lead to both laying on their stomachs watching a video for MacKenzie's work on her laptop.

"Kenz... Kenzie. Wake up!" Nathan whispers and MacKenzie's groggy self pops up and lands on Nathan's naked torso.

"Holy fuck!" She yells out. Nathan's hands steady her.

"Hey." Nathan backs up and bends to look her in face. Panic written all over her face. "You okay? We fell asleep talking." He looks at her.

"Why didn't you wake me? What time is it? Fuck. Sorry. I'm on a schedule." MacKenzie pulls away and looks for her bag realizing Nathan plugged her computer in at some point.

"It's 6:30. We just slept. I sleep shirtless and, uh, must've taken it off in my sleep. Sorry, should've put in on before I woke you. Hold on." Nathan moves to the other side of the bed and throws his shirt back on. "Let me call you an uber." He grabs his phone.

"I can walk. I don't have a meeting until noon so I'm fine. Thank you." MacKenzie points to the bathroom and Nathan nods.

She stands in front of the mirror for way too long just looking at herself. Pinches her cheeks and starts ranking her fingers through their loose blonde curls making them manageable enough to put up in a high ponytail. She grabs Nathan’s toothpaste and brushes her teeth with her finger.

“Well, Mac. This will have to do.” She bobs on the balls of her feet to psych herself up. Returning to the room she notices that Nathan had changed and slipped on some shoes. “Whatcha doin’ Nate?”

“I’ll walk with you. I wanted to grab coffee from down the street before we leave for the airport.” He grabs his wallet.

“You don’t have to.” Kenzie whispers as she heads to her bag.

“I don’t, but I wanna.” Nate smiles at her. She notices those soft eyes again. Almost gray but then again blue.

They head out of room to the steps. MacKenzie took a deep breath not realizing she was holding it until they got to the door.

“Why good morning you two!” Gabe’s voice comes from around the corner with a bag and coffee in hand.

“Mornin’” Nate answers and pushes the cross walk button.

“Glad to see you Kenzie.” Gabe nods and starts whistling while heading back to the hotel.

“Don’t mind him.” Nate breaks the silence after crossing the street.

“I’m assuming he’s thinking you got lucky last night.” MacKenzie tries to control her racing heart.

“I’ll talk to him.” Nathan assures her. She stops and looks up at him.

“Did you want to?” She puts her hand on her head not sure she really said it out loud.

“What?” Nathan stops and looks at her confused.

“Did you want to sleep with me?” She looks to see if anyone could hear her.

“No. Well… damnit. Hi. Let me start over.” Nathan looks deep in her eyes and cups her face.

“Go ahead.” She’s not sure if the words actually could be heard or not.

“I like you. You are easy to talk to. In the short time I’ve known you I’m constantly wanting to know more. I’m just bad at dating.”

“Why do you say that?” She moves closer to him without thinking.

“I’m not romantic. Plus my job isn’t the easiest for most of the year to maintain a healthy relationship. Plus, there is those who just want me for what I could give them.” He drops his hand to her hip. She sees his chest rise and fall.

“Who says you aren’t romantic?” MacKenzie questions.

“Every girl I’ve dated.” Nathan grumbles. This makes Kenzie laugh. “Well, they have.”

“I like you too, Nate. You intrigue me.” She feels the heat in her cheeks.

“So to answer your original question, yes. I would very much like to be physical with you but I also want to date you. Like not to fuck it up by…” She stops him by pushing herself to her tip toes to softly kiss his cheek.

“Well, saying all that is a start in how not to fuck it up.” She smiles at him. “Let’s get me back to my hotel then we can visit this whole dating thing when you return to Denver.” She starts walking and he quickly grabs her hand to walk with her.

“Here we are.” He stops at the doors of her hotel. “So, I’ll see you in two weeks, Kenzie.” Nathan drags out the two while contorting his face.

“It’s not that long plus you will be busy and I have this plus another project to finish before then.” She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb realizing how large his hand was in comparison which could crush her hand if he wanted. “Thanks for dinner Nate.”

“Can I?” He starts and gulps. MacKenzie watches his Adam’s apple bob. “Can I kiss you?” He asks with a quiver in his voice. She nods her head yes. Nate brings his hands up to her jaw holding her face up while he leans in pressing his lips to hers. Kenzie kisses him back and cannot remember a first kiss quiet like that. He releases while sucking in a deep breath.

“I…” Kenzie touches her lips.

“Well, see you soon Kenzie.” He kisses her forehead then turns quickly to head back down the street leaving Kenzie wanting more.

[sazc94]

The Three Times James "Bucky" Barnes Broke your heart.

This was inspired by @msmarvelwrites 2k Writing Challenge because I'm a sucker for Taylor Swift especially sad Taylor Vibes. I chose the all too well lyrics.

Apparently, I can't do anything small so it's in two parts. Pairs Bucky x Reader and Pietro x Reader. (Not at the same time)

Part 1 Here

No smut but mentions of sex so 18+ Themes: highschool, cheating, college/uni. Friendship

Words 3368 it's Suburban AU.

2015 You finished up Uni staring in the school's production of Rock of Ages, Playing Sherry opposite Loki’s drew. Loki also moved to New York staying with his half brother Thor Oddinson. You stayed in touch with Loki and Pietro. The thing that took you by surprise however was six months after moving to Detroit, whilst working for Bruce Banner's start-up you received a DM on Instagram from Bucky. He heard from Sam and Jane that you were now living in Detroit and he was moving to the area after being scouted by the Detroit Lions. Hey Y/N, I hope you’re good. I know this is random and please feel free to tell me where to go, but I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime? It would be great to see you again and catch up. Let me know. So you replied feeling like maybe after all this time it might be good to finally hear Bucky’s apology. Pietro and you had stayed in touch but you knew he was dating someone else. Her name was Sue Storm, she seemed like a nice girl, very smart and could easily give Pietro a run for his money. After hearing Bucky’s apology, you two started to become friends again, he invited you along to his games always offering to secure you two tickets if you wanted to bring someone. He was a machine on the football field, earning the strange nickname The Winter Soldier.

2016

Everything changed in the summer of 2016 though when Bucky’s mother passed away suddenly in June. She had practically helped raise you, so you attended the funeral with Bucky. You stayed with him in the guest room in his childhood house, helping him sort through belongings and paperwork. Bucky’s dad had died when you were 8 and Bucky like you was an only child. You took in food from neighbours wanting to pay their respects. You held his hand squeezing it in comfort during the funeral, assuring him you were there for him. Two days after the funeral you and Bucky had finished packing up the final boxes, you were upstairs, and he was downstairs being awfully quiet. You went looking for him only to find him sat on the living room floor. He was crying holding a picture of you and him one Halloween when you were 9, Bucky had gone as Superman and you as Supergirl. Your mums stood behind you, both of them chuckling whilst you and bucky tried to out pose one another. Your heart swelled. Your Grandad had died in November and god how your heart had ached, but to lose your mum, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. “Hey, hey. It's alright I’m here Buck”, you said cradling his head to your chest whilst he sobbed. You stayed like that for an unidentifiable amount of time before Bucky’s crying eased. He looked up at you blinking away the stray tears, the familiar blue in his eyes pulling you in. Your not sure who kissed who first but that was how you and Bucky ended up sleeping together.

You and Bucky officially got back together in July. Your Grandma passed away in September, the start of football season. Bucky was unable to attend the funeral, he tried god he tried. Pietro made it though. He and Sue had broken up not that he told you. By the time November rolled around things were good between you and Bucky. Wanda’s fashion label Scarlett Witch was taking off and she invited you and Bucky out to join the rest of the old gang at the official launch in December of 2016. You accepted and for the pair of you assuring Bucky, there would be no awkwardness. Pietro was casually dating and was bringing a date called Crystal.

You arrived at the party in NYC completely blown away. Wanda had asked you to wear a piece from the evening wear collection, a Black strapless dress, the top if form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter. It felt like you were wearing the Milky Way. After stopping to pose for photos for the press you made your way inside. The party was being held inside a beautiful gothic building. “Y/n! You look absolutely amazing, thank you so much for wearing this and of course for coming” Wanda practically pounced on you the minute she spotted you. “Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit, it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Bucky had opted for the simple black tux to match you and your dress. He almost looked good enough to eat. After grabbing a glass of champagne, Wanda and Pietro took you to the rest of the gang who had made it. Jane was here with a date, Thor Oddinson you recognised him from the few times he had been to see you and Loki in shows. Carol was here too. Peter Parker was working the event as a photographer he had brought a date a lovely young lady called Mary Jane Watson. After about 45 minutes of schmoozing and catching up, you went to the ladies room. When you exited you were a little taken aback by the sight that confronted you, a redhead was hanging of Bucky’s arm chuckling away with Thor and Jane. You could only see the back of her from where you were standing. You decided to walk over and introduce yourself. However, when you got closer to the group the woman started to look vaguely familiar.

“Hey babe,” Bucky said as you approached quickly removing his arm from the redhead. Babe. That was weird he never called you babe. His blue eyes looked like they were hiding something. “Lady Y/N. This is Lady Natasha” Thor said introducing you. The redhead turned to shake your hand smiling at you with a knowing look. “Lovely to finally meet the infamous Y/N,” she said. “I told Bucky how disappointed I was not to meet you when I was in the City in September. I’m so sorry to hear about the passing of your grandmother. Bucky kept me company whilst I was around on some Business” her voice sounded harmless, sweet and pleasant. Genuine. Her eyes and knowing smirk told a different story. Bucky looked at you, the familiar betrayal in his eyes, pleading with you. “I was just telling Bucky, I’ve been offered this amazing opportunity in Detroit so Ill be moving there in February, isn’t that wonderful?” she asked. You smiled taking a swig of your champagne. Jane looked at you, then Bucky. You shook your head.

That was the second time Bucky Barnes broke your heart. He assured you that they hadn’t slept together, however had admitted that he had kept her visit from you and that she had kissed him. “Did you kiss her back?” you asked pacing around your hotel room. “Doll, please what does it matter,” he asked reaching out for you. His calloused hands once again burning your skin with his betrayal. The fact he had chosen not to answer was all the confirmation you needed. You had left him in the hotel room. Loki had been unable to make the event due to being in a small play off-Broadway, but you had texted him asking if he wanted to get a drink. You had told him everything and he had walked you back to your hotel room. You were drunk and distressed. Bucky had opened the door his blue eyes flashing with jealousy when the handsome black-haired gentleman had his arms around you. “Easy James, if anything was going to have happened between us, it would have happened in freshman year of college,” Loki said helping you into your room. After you and Bucky returned to Detroit you guys took a break for a few months.

2017

Natasha’s job conveniently happened to be working as a fitness instructor at the Detroit Lions. After 4 months you and Bucky got back together in March of 2017. Things were going great, Natasha seemed to have released whatever hold she had on Bucky. Bucky was performing well with the Lions, his new teammate, Steve Rogers nicknamed Captain America seemed to have caught the eye of many ladies including Natasha. He however didn’t seem that interested in her and had his sights set on a girl from his home in Brooklyn her name was Peggy. Steve and you hit off due to your mutual disinterest in Miss Romanoff, he had come up with a nickname for her, he called her Black Widow because she seemed to devour the men in her life. Banners start-up tech company had taken off with thanks to your ad campaigns. You were also performing in the local summer show of Mamma Mia playing Sophie. In the summer of 17, Peggy Carter came to visit Steve, turned out she was from Britain originally. You liked Peggy and her no-nonsense approach. During July, the four of you went on lots of double dates like you were high schoolers again. For Steve’s birthday which happened to be the fourth of July, the four of you attended an event being put on by the Detroit lions. You had a great evening mixing with various teammates and their families. You even warmed to Natasha a bit that afternoon.

As the evening rolled around a giant cake was brought out to celebrate Steve’s birthday. Followed by a firework show. Everyone made their way to various blankets and cushions set out at the opposite end of the stadium. Somewhere along the way you and Bucky got separated. You didn’t worry too much, to begin with as you’d both drifted off to interact with various people throughout the event, however by the time the fireworks started Bucky was nowhere to be seen. You started to think the worst until you spotted Natasha’s red hair on the other side of the stadium flirting with a gaggle of players from various other teams who were invited. Confident Bucky would return shortly you turned your attention to the sky watching with a goofy grin, things were finally settled between you and Bucky. As the fireworks went on you decided to snap a few shots on your phone loving the way the sky lit up with bright colours. The Detroit Lions didn’t do things in small doses, so the firework display ended up going on for about an hour and a half. After about 45 minutes Bucky returned from wherever he had been slipping down behind you pulling your back flush to his chest. He stroked small circles on your arms. His rough calloused skin making you shiver from the contact.

In September you were approached by Tony Stark’s PA Pepper Potts, they had seen your campaigns for Bruce Banner and Tony was interested in headhunting you. Your contract with Bruce was up in October. You initially shot the idea down. Why would you want to leave Michigan? Your family home was a short 20-minute drive away, Bucky was doing well with the Lions. Peggy Carter was moving here after Steve had proposed at the end of Summer. It seemed ludicrous. After initially shooting down the offer. Pepper contacted you, doubling their initial offer. The offer was tempting, so you told Miss Potts you would think it over the weekend. There was no harm in bringing it up with Bucky, maybe a move would do you both good, Natasha seemed to have gotten under Bucky’s skin again. You left the office early that day. You didn’t bother to text Bucky figuring you could surprise him when he got home from training with a home-cooked meal. You stopped off to get some supplies to make Lasagne before heading over to his apartment figuring you could just let yourself in. You had called Wanda on the drive over through your cars Bluetooth. She and Vision were engaged, and she wanted you to be one of her bridesmaids. Partway through the call, Pietro had walked into Wanda’s office so you had told them both about the job offer. When you got to Bucky’s you immediately recognised the Black Widows black Mercedes. “huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “who’s where?” asked Wanda. “oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. You were so blind-sighted by Natasha’s car you didn’t clock Bucky’s Motorcycle parked in the corner of the small parking lot. You grabbed your bags walking up to Bucky’s figuring that you could invite Natasha in if need be whilst you waited for Buck to come home.

If you had noticed Bucky’s bike, then just maybe you would have been more prepared for the following events you unlocked Bucky’s apartment and you found clothes strewn everywhere, his jeans. A white Blouse. His boxer trunks. A Black lacy bra, that definitely didn’t belong to you. At first, you were so shocked by what you saw that you didn’t hear the moans coming from the bedroom. It was like you were possessed you carried your bag of groceries as you walked in a daze to the bedroom, you opened the door and found Bucky once again cheating on you. He and Natasha were in the throws of fucking each other, you found Natasha with her back to you, wrapped around Bucky’s waist. Bucky sat upright facing you however his eyes closed whilst he drank in the pleasure. You felt your heartbreak as you dropped your bag of groceries. The bag made a thud as it hit the ground, alerting Bucky to your presence. His eyes flew open connecting with yours. Natasha however didn’t stop riding your boyfriend’s cock. Bucky tried to push her off him, but you were already storming out the door. You grabbed your bag and left Bucky’s spare key in the door. Bucky grabbed a pair of joggers and slippers before chasing after you. Bucky’s apartment was on the second floor. All the apartments on the second floor opened outside to a walkway.

“Really James?!?” you turned round to face him before he could even say your name. “Was once not enough? Did you not hurt me enough the first time?” You asked. You could feel the anger threatening to burst in the way of tears. Bucky went to speak, his blue eyes once again filled with guilt. “How long?!” you asked quietly. Bucky moved towards you tugging on your wrist. “Come on Y/N, come back inside it’s starting to rain, we can discuss this inside,” he said, his eyes pleading with you. At that moment Natasha appeared in Bucky’s open doorway. She looked pleased with herself, wearing Buck’s shirt. The site made you want to vomit. “How. Long?!” you asked again through gritted teeth. Bucky faltered. “Since July. Since the 4th of July event,” he admitted rubbing his hand over his face. At that moment you felt completely and utterly broken. “I’m done, James. Do you hear me? I am done. We are through. You two.” You pointed to Natasha. “You two are welcome to one another”. That was the third time Bucky broke your heart.

You took the job working for Stark Industries. Your contract had ended with Bruce but your lease on your apartment was up until January so you stayed working for him until December of 2017 You said your goodbyes to Steve and Peggy in January and moved across the country to your new life in the big apple.

December 2018

The unknown number flashed up on your phone for the third time that day. You sighed before answering it. “Hello, Y/N Speaking how can I help?” you asked fiddling with your jumper. “Hey Doll, it's me. Don’t hang up.” Your breath caught in your throat. James Buchanan Barnes. You hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. He hadn’t even attempted to reach out to you after you split up mailing your things back to you, well all but a scarf. In January shortly before you’d moved to NYC you’d seen a magazine article saying the Winter Soldier was dating Natasha Romanoff. It confirmed what you already knew deep down, which was that you might be okay but you were not fine at all.

You’d worked so hard to forget about him long enough to forget why you needed to. He had better have a damn good reason for calling you. “You have 5 minutes,” You said getting up from the sofa you were sat on. “look, I know I fucked up with you. In more than one way on more than one occasion. I think it was the pressure to be the perfect couple, you know lifelong friends to more. And well I guess I just freaked out, and then I fell for her, but she didn’t want me, and when you gave us another shot, I thought I could convince myself to love you the way I did her, the way you had loved me. But truth be told, it was always Natasha after that summer. I know you deserve better, and I truly am sorry for hurting your doll. But I wanted you to hear it from me before you read about it in the news. She’s pregnant and also, we’re getting married.” Bucky said. You stood in the middle of the apartment stunned. “So, you call me up again, just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest?” you whispered. Squeezing back the tears. “Well fuck you, James.” With that, you hung up. Of course, Bucky tried to ring right back, you declined the call, falling to your knees in pain. You had never asked for any of this, you had been quite happy being Bucky’s best girl as his friend. He was the one who kissed you at that prom.

You weren’t still in love with Bucky, you had moved on, forgetting about him and the pain he caused you. He hadn’t needed to call you, he could have given you a heads up through one of your mutual friends, but no. he had to go and stick the knife in. After lying there like a crumpled-up piece of paper and letting the tears fall. You picked yourself up. You washed your face and made yourself a mug of hot chocolate grabbing a Christmas cookie from the tin before making your way over to the bay window. You sat down taking in the view. The traffic had eased off a bit as things wound down for the evening. The snow had been falling pretty much all day. After about 15 minutes of sitting peacefully the key in the lock turned. You didn’t move you were incredibly content where you were, even if you could use a refill in the hot chocolate department.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. A group of kids were throwing snowballs at one another. You smiled to yourself enjoying their innocence. “It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Before shuffling yourself around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise that he would never hurt you the way that Bucky had. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up. “Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. His nickname may be Quicksilver for athletic reasons but there were some things he liked to take his time with.

A/N If you stuck with me through all this, I am truly sorry. I'm gonna go cry

Tagging the bestie @lannycleave

[writing-good-vibes]

just for being famous

look who wrote mtl fanfic for the first time !! starring no one's favourite scream queen, jules explosion (oc) and her "will they? they won't." relationship with the host of the dethklok minute. nothing wild going on, but WARNING for mild and implied smut. oc x canon relationship.

"So, how's your brother?"

Jules sits up, unsticking her sweaty back from the starched cotton bedsheet.

This motel is quite nice, as far as motels go, and Jules has stayed in some real shitholes so she should know. The white bedsheets are clean and there's a minibar beneath the TV. The tap water is drinkable and it's pay by the night, not the hour, which is always boosts Jules' self esteem.

"He's fine," Jules replies. This motel might be on the nicer side, but she was yet to see a No Smoking sign. She leans over to the bedside cabinet and takes a cigarette from the open packet. "Thanks for asking."

"That's good, that's good..." He's leaning up on his elbows, watching as Jules lights her smoke and takes a long drag. "Anything... going on with him?"

"No," Jules snaps. She lies back down. The sheet she was holding to her chest drops back down to her waist. "And you won't get a word out of me anyway, you should know that by now."

He chuckles lightly, in that fake, showbiz way he always does. "Doesn't hurt to try."

He plucks the cigarette from between her fingers, brings it to hip lips. He takes one drag and hands it back.

They're both silent while Jules finishes smoking, dropping the butt into the empty glass on the bedside.

She knows he'll keep asking, every meeting they've had has been overshadowed by the lingering presence of her brother. In fact, most of her meetings with any one in the 'biz tended to be overshadowed by her brother. Nathan Fucking Explosion.

***

The first time Jules and the host of the Dethklok Minute met, Dethklok had only just released their debut album. Jules didn't know who he was then, why would she? He was a nobody.

The Dethklok Minute was just starting up, gaining traction through the myriad of Dethklok forums that were springing up on the web. The host of said show had managed to wrangle a press ticket to the album release party and was dying to finally get up close and personal with the five dudes he was riding the coattails of. Because without Dethklok, the host of the Dethklok Minute would still be just some nobody from Small Town, Nowhere.

Unlike Jules.

Jules was doing well for herself. Perfectly well, in fact. She'd been invited to this party because of her growing fame, she claimed, not because of Nathan. This was partly true. Her fame was growing; she was getting more jobs than ever before and people knew her. Certain people knew her, anyway.

Either way, she was at this party and Nathan could suck it if he thought it was all because of him.

So Jules made the most of it. Drinking, mingling, free food. Oh yeah, she could get used to this.

"Hey, you're Jules Explosion, right?"

Jules glances to her right. A tall, blonde somebody is looking at her, half curiously, half knowingly.

"I am, who's asking?"

"A fan. I saw your latest movie, it really was something!"

"It was, wasn't it?" Hack and Slash wasn't necessarily her best work, but it paid the bills. Besides, she'd have other jobs after this, on real films.

"What do you have lined up next?"

Jules glances down, sees the PRESS badge around Tall Blonde's neck. When she looks back up he flashes her a crafted grin.

"Is this an interview?" she asks.

"No, no, I'm just making conversation. Can't a guy talk to a pretty girl at a party?"

Jules rolls her eyes. She thought she had had enough of guys like this at college. But then again...

"Yeah, I suppose he can."

20 minutes and some boring small talk later, and Jules has to admit that the bathroom at Crystal Mountain isn't the worst place she's had a hook up before. Might be one of the best, if she stops to think about it. But, as it happens, she's being pretty well distracted, so the smell of bleach and the squeak of the gleaming marble-effect tiles fall to the wayside of her thoughts.

Tall Blonde is pretty good at this.

Afterwards, when the two of them have returned to the party, looking only slightly dishevelled, they talk some more.

"So, it must be crazy, right? Your brother being in one of the biggest bands in the world?"

Jules frowns. She ignores the churning in her stomach, "Must be crazy for him, his sister being one of the most popular horror actresses in the 'biz right now."

***

"I should get going," Jules says. She tries to sound nonchalant, "Have a thing to get to."

She sits up, swinging her legs out of bed. Jules sighs when she sees her panties are too far away to reach from the bed. Her back cracks when she stands up and stretches.

"That event doesn't happen to be the Dethklok Fundraiser for Widows and Orphans, does it? Because I'm going too, we could car-share?" There's an irritating lilt to his voice.

"I wouldn't be seen dead arriving with the press," Jules remarks, "But thanks anyway." She throws a half-way cheerful smile over her shoulder as she pulls her panties back on.

Her shirt goes back on next, then jeans, then shoes. She grabs her purse, checks for her wallet, car keys, house keys.

He shrugs, "See you there, then. I'll be sure to catch you for an interview."

[woodrokiro]

Bar Service (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Characters/Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: Bartenders--especially bartenders around the corner from her apartment--are strictly off limits. Restaurant AU. Written for @ichirukimonth . TW warning for mentioned child abuse. 

She doesn’t think much of the restaurant a few blocks away from her new apartment.

She always passes it to and from her work commute, of course. Maybe from time to time she glanced over, musing how it looks cute enough--a great place to take a date or some friends....

Before Rukia remembers: 1. She doesn’t have the time or capacity to date, and 2. She has no friends here yet… And probably won’t for a while, considering her lifelong difficulty making them in the first place. 

It’s fine by her, honestly. She likes throwing everything she has into her job, loves doing her best to earn a smile or laugh from her patients. That’s enough social interaction for her, and at the end of the day she can go home, pour a glass of wine, switch the television on to some silly drama and order takeout without mourning the “loss” of a Friday night.

So for the first few months that she’s living in Karakura: no. She doesn’t even think about stepping foot in Amore e Morte. 

Until she gets a particularly bad case at work. 

The fact that it was a foster child case alone makes her heart hurt--but of course, there’s always more with these sort of situations. 

A little girl named Hina, aged eight but looking so much smaller waiting there in her office. The social worker sitting with her--a woman named Rangiku, who Rukia knows a little and actually quite likes--squeezes Hina’s tiny hand before pulling Rukia to the side, quietly explaining the situation. 

Physical abuse from her former home where she had been for a year. Her teacher kept noticing bruises in odd places and finally called CPS, who did nothing for two months before the behavior escalated and Hina ended up in the ER.

Her new foster mom is a real nice lady, says she hasn’t been acting out or anything but… Rangiku shrugs, flashing a reassuring smile when the little girl looks their way. You know. 

She knows. 

So Rukia does what she does best: she goes to the little girl, introduces herself by her first name, and focuses on her work until she can sob angrily in her car at lunch break. 

And when her workday is done, when her emotions are fried and she’d really like a drink or three anywhere but her lonely apartment--she sees the restaurant’s sign, glowing warmly in the dusk light. 

Amore e Morte. Love and death. A weird name for a restaurant, she thinks, and wonders if the owners either don’t know Italian and thought the name was cool or are just uppity snobs. 

If you’d stop being so cynical you might go out and actually enjoy life. She can practically hear Renji’s voice scoffing in her ear now.

She parks her car at home before walking back over to the restaurant.

--

The outside of the restaurant is nice enough, but the inside is… Well. Lovely.

Brick walls painted white make the entire place look minimalist yet cozy. A couple of trendy paintings hanging sparsely through the restaurant makes the environment chic, but not overbearing. A few hanging lanterns bring just enough light to let everyone see where they’re going, but otherwise candles are utilized at each of the tables for a romantic touch.

Rukia sees by the sheer number of couples there that it is indeed a good place to bring a date.

And by the looks of one dish smelling deliciously of chicken and bell peppers that passes her by in a waiter’s hand, the food isn’t too bad either. Rukia’s mouth waters. 

“A table for one, miss?” 

Rukia startles from her musings, feeling rather silly as the bright and cheery hostess smiles patiently back. 

“Oh! No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I wouldn’t want to take up one of your tables. Do you have bar seating?”

“Of course! Right this way.” 

The hostess leads her into an adjacent room that sits tucked away from the main dining room. There’s still a couple of tables in this room, and two of the eight bar stools are occupied but it’s so much quieter here, the noise of the dining room a mere buzz. She breathes a small sigh of relief as she takes the stool at the far end. She wanted to be out and about, just… Not that out and about.

“Our bartender Kurosaki-kun will be taking care of you. I believe he’s just in the back talking to Chef, he should be right back.”

Rukia thanks her, taking a glance at the menu. 

She quickly finds out Chef Yasutora Sado’s menu inspiration is Mexican-Japanese fusion cuisine, which is… Interesting, considering the restaurant’s name is Italian. In any case, she’s fascinated. Rukia by no account considers herself a foodie, but the thought of blending traditional Japanese dishes with Mexican spices and turning them into something like sukiyaki tacos makes her stomach growl. 

“Can I get you something other than water to drink?”

Her gaze flickers from the menu to the well-toned arm extended out toward her, pouring a glass of water. Her eyes move up the arm to the man it’s attached to. 

A handsome guy, she’ll admit: if it wasn’t for the obviously bleached orange hair, the sword tattoo on his forearm peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, and the fact that he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

If she had to pick him out from a crowd, there’s no doubt she’d know him as a bartender. What a walking cliche. 

“Yes, I’ll take--” She didn’t even take a glance at the drink menu. She looks down quickly. “Sorry. Can I get a matcha mojito?” 

He nods, his hands suddenly flying through liquors and shakers and mixes to make her drink. “You ready for food, too?” 

“Any recommendations?” 

“Everything.”

She snorts. She’d be irritated by the subpar service if it wasn’t for his small smirk at her response. 

“Seriously, everything’s good here. If you get something you don’t like, drinks are on me.”

“Risky.” Rukia lifted an eyebrow. “You place that bet with every customer?”

“Every single one.” 

She highly doubts that, but she appreciates the trust in his workplace nonetheless. She orders a couple of small plates, and he tends to his other drink orders while she sips her own. 

The food, when it comes out, is… Infuriatingly good. Infuriating because she would have loved to have scored a couple free drinks off the arrogant punk bartender, but she’ll have to swallow her pride because the sukiyaki taco is absolute divinity. She sips her second drink, already accepting that she’s gonna have to admit to him she’ll be paying full price for everything she ordered.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she’ll have a chance to gloat. From what she hears next door, dinner service has picked up and with that: drink orders. He’s doing as well as he can--hands expertly flying through the liquors, garnishing the cocktails with an expert flourish before passing them on to a server--but she can tell he’s feeling the stress, particularly when he reads his second to last ticket in the rush.

“Fuck,” she hears as he rolls his eyes, stalking over to the wine cabinet. A server comes by, concerned. 

“You need anything, Ichigo?”

He waves a hand, not turning to look at his coworker. “No, no I’m fine. Just annoying when I don't open a bottle before rush, that’s all.”

The server scuttles off to tend to her tables while Rukia watches him bang a (very expensive looking) wine bottle on the counter, clumsily ripping into the foil with an opener. At one point he cuts his thumb, and he half-hazardly wraps a paper napkin around it while he tries helplessly to pull the cork up. The wine opener doesn’t grip the bottle steadily a couple of times, she waits on baited breath to see if he’ll break the bottle. After a few dangerous-looking test runs, he manages to hoist the cork up, cursing out a “fucking finally” at the sound of the cork popping.

The whole thing must have taken ten minutes.

Maybe it’s the matcha mojitos finally hitting her, but she can’t help it. She laughs. 

He shoots her a wild look and she covers her chuckles with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry, sorry! I’m not--it’s not funny. I just… That was the most atrocious opening of a wine bottle I’ve ever seen.”

Ichigo stares for a moment before scoffing, turning back to his (finally opened) bottle and pours the wine into a glass. “Yeah, well… I don’t do wine service here, lady.”

“Excuse me? That’s ridiculous. You’re a bartender.”

“Exactly. Bartender. I do cocktails, not fancy wine stuff.”

“Let me guess, you consider yourself a mixologist.”

“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.” He’s shaking his head as he moves on to his next order, but oddly enough Rukia feels like she knows he’s suddenly having a good time. “Like I said, I don’t do wine etiquette and all that. That’s for the servers.”

“I’m just… It’s hard to believe you’ve made it this far in a nicer restaurant’s bar without knowing how to open wine.”

“Not that far. I’ve been here for like, six months.” He shrugs at her inquisitive stare. “Old buddies with the chef. I bar backed in college where he was a line cook, so… And if he ever got sick of me, my sister is his sous chef. Then again, she’s more likely to fire me than he is, the brat.”

“Especially with you not knowing how to open a fine vintage.”

“Get over it. When it’s not busy I get one of the servers to help me.” He looks down, having seemingly forgotten about his paper toweled thumb. “Shit. Hang on, I gotta get a bandaid from the back--”

“I have some, if you want.” Rukia starts digging through her purse. “If there’s not some restaurant code for the kind of bandage you’re supposed to use, of course.”

“If it looks neater than a shoddy paper towel job, ‘should be fine. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Here.” 

He stares at her outstretched hand. She stares back, getting more irritated as she waits. 

“What?”

“... It’s a Chappy bandaid.”

“So?”

“So why are you a grown ass woman carrying around Chappy bandaids?” 

“They’re for my patients, for kids.” She’s telling the truth, technically. To say she also quite enjoys Chappy as a character does not need to be mentioned. “Do you want it or not? Swallow your manly pride or go looking for an ugly beige bandage while your tickets pile up again. Tick tock.”

“Fine! All right, already.” He takes the bandaid and starts unpeeling the paper adhesive. “You a pediatrician or something?” 

“Child psychologist.” Suddenly Rukia remembers Hina’s sweet face and feels terrible for not thinking about her once this entire dinner. 

“Jesus.” Ichigo’s shaking his head, pressing Chappy to his cut.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fact that it’s such a weird response to her revealing her profession, but Rukia can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

If he’s uncomfortable with her sudden hostility, he doesn’t show it. He shrugs. “It’s just… I can imagine it’s a hard job. Sometimes, anyway.” 

Oh. 

“Oh,” she exhales. “I’m sorry, I--yes. It can be, yes.I just… That sort of response I’ve only ever gotten from people that don’t believe in the importance of mental health. ‘Shrink talk’ and what have you.”

“Nah, I believe it.” He’s finished his job of covering his wound and moved on to his next drink order. 

She’s abashedly stirring the ice in her glass when she barely hears him say: “I had to go to a children’s therapist once, as a kid. Helped me a lot.”

She raises her head to look at him. He hasn’t changed his facial expression, nor is there any change to his body language as he continues to do his job--but as a psychologist, Rukia can’t help but wonder whether she’s the first person he’s ever told this to. 

“Me too. When I was a child, I… A therapist had helped me, too.” She raises her glass and clears her throat. “To recognizing childhood trauma, I suppose.”

He lets out a short laugh at the sudden dark joke, a sound so quick and so… So nice she can’t stop the fleeting thought that it’s a sound she’d like to hear more of. She shoves it away. 

Bartenders are absolutely off limits. 

He raises the glass that he’s mixing a cocktail in. “Yeah. Cheers.”

--

Later when she finally picks up the check, she pauses.

“Excuse me.” She waves Ichigo down, maybe just a tad tipsy. “You got the check wrong.”

He frowns, taking the bill from her and scanning it. “What are you…”

“You forgot to put a drink on there. My third one.”

It clicks and he rolls his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

“It’s on me.” He slides the receipt back to her. 

“But I didn’t dislike any of the dishes!”

“Take some advice, will you Doc? If the restaurant staff didn’t put something on your bill and you still got it, chances are: we wanted to give it to you.” They lock eyes for an intense moment before he clears his throat, looks down to wipe his (suspiciously clean) bar. “‘To childhood trauma,’ and all that. Now stop yapping so loud about it. You want everyone in the restaurant to hear about me giving out free stuff?”

She shuts her mouth at that, but one small detail about what he said is bothering her.

“It’s not ‘Doc,’ so you know. I have a name. It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

“Okay. Whatever, Rukia.” He turns around and waves his hand. “And I’m Ichigo. Just pay your damn bill and come back soon or whatever.”

And with that: she guesses she has a new spot.

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

One Photo → Mark Lee [1]

↳  Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳  AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳  Word count: 4,863

↳  Chapters: Prelude | You Are Here! | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONDAY - 1

Your heart was pounding a million miles a minute as you stepped into your photoshoot studio on campus two weeks later, ready to see a bunch of other students preparing for interviews for the same position. Surprisingly, you were the only one present besides your teacher. She smiled and approached. “Hey,” she greeted you with a short handshake. “I see you’re nervous?” “A little,” you admit, returning her friendly grin. “I’m surprised nobody else is here.” She hummed. “Well, there was a lot to choose from. Come on. This one, I believe, is a little special compared to the others.” “How so?” Your voice was laced with curiosity as she led you further in, past the background sheets that separate the room into two halves. Behind it were people you had only dreamed of seeing in person.

The three of them stood as soon as they lay eyes on you. Johnny, Mark, and Jaehyun. You were completely frozen, staring at them and nearly forgetting to breathe. The thought of the members interviewing you themselves had never even entered your brain.

Your teacher placed a hand on your shoulder, startling you. Without a word, she smiled at you, nodded at them and left the room. Once the door shut with a soft click, Mark approached you. “Hi, I’m Mark Lee,” he held out his hand. “You probably knew that, considering your expression.” He laughed sweetly. You barely held out your hand with a shy nod, “I’m (Y/N).” Instead of going through with the handshake, Mark immediately moves in to engulf you in a friendly hug. “It’s nice to meet you,” you mumbled into the hug, barely processing that you were actually hugging Mark Lee and were in the same five-foot radius as three members of NCT. Johnny and Jaehyun also hugged you tightly, insisting that you join them at the table your teacher had set up for them.

“I thought I would be more prepared,” you admitted softly, digging into your backpack and pulling out your portfolio of projects and random photos you’ve taken. Mark takes it first to open and look through. “I’ve been a fan since your debut.” 

Johnny smiled. “Then you’re just the person we’re looking for,” he said. He glances over at your portfolio, then back to you. “The truth is, we aren’t looking for a professional like a lot of others in this program. We bring our own from our company.” Your knit your eyebrows together in confusion. “Then why sign up? If, um, you don’t mind me asking.” 

Jaehyun looked up from browsing your portfolio with Mark. “We were looking to take one photo.” He held up his index finger. “We wanted to have a friend that’s from around here to help us find the perfect spot, and photographers always know the best places.” Your eyes widened. A friend? Did he really just say that? “Just one photo?” You decided to ask, the whole prospect of clarifying what Jaehyun meant by ‘friend’ was a little too overwhelming.

The three of them nodded. “We want just one photo for our dorm. This stop is important to us, and we want this to stay away from social media. It’s just going to be for us. And for you, for your project, of course,” Mark explained. “We don’t want someone that is too professional and we don’t want a fansite to take it. It seemed to us that a friend would be the best choice.” He smiled gently at you. “We’ll provide you with a ticket and backstage pass, as well as paying you based on the program’s price for the photo to be touched up and framed.” 

You tripped over your words. “Well, I… I don’t think I’m in a position to turn you down, but…” Johnny cocked his head to the side. “But..?” 

You gulped and sheepishly avoided eye contact. “I can’t speak Korean,” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers. Mark smiled sweetly at you. “That’s okay. We’ll translate for you. So, what do you think? Would you like to spend a day with us before our show?” 

You smiled, deciding to be a bit more daring. They did say, friend. “You’re asking that like there’s even a shred of a chance I’d say no.” 

All three of them grin. “Thank you, I was hoping you would say yes,” Mark says. “Your portfolio is stunning.”

Your face goes red and you're barely conscious enough to stand with them as they prepare to leave. Johnny and Jaehyun hug you again, praising your work before taking their leave, but Mark doesn't join them.

“Our manager has your teacher's contact information, but I want to involve the company as little as possible… if it's not too sudden, could I please have your number?” Mark smiles sheepishly, offering his unlocked phone to you, open to a new contact page. It's as if he has no idea of the impact he has on his fans. Sometimes you forget that NCT is made up of normal humans, and the one standing in front of you is a year younger than you are. 

“Of course,” you take it gently and add your contact info, taking a quick selfie to add as your little profile picture, all while Mark watches you searchingly. “Here you are,” you hand his phone back, hesitating on saying what you were thinking, “since you want to be friends, feel free to text me.” 

Mark takes his phone back with a smile, sending you a quick smiley face to make sure the number was correct. The room is silent for a moment, your face feels as if it's on fire and Mark returns the stare you gave him when you walked in.

“Come on, Mark!” you hear Johnny’s voice from outside the classroom and you both turn toward it. You smile sheepishly.

“I shouldn't keep you, should I?” you ask, voice soft and a little embarrassed.

“No, but I wish I had more time. I'll text you, I promise,” he says, hugging you once more before leaving you alone and speechless. 

You wondered if all fan interactions were like the one you just experienced. You were aware the members of NCT were known to be humble and kind, but they were much calmer and affectionate than you expected. The idea that you just saw Mark's smile in person made your own cheesy grin spread across your face as you packed up your portfolio. 

After class, you headed back to your dorm, a skip in your step. Once you opened the door and stepped inside, you felt like you could collapse. Fatigue washed over you like a tidal wave, and you knew it was time for an afternoon nap. Rhiannon was still in her lab, so you could grab at least 20 minutes of shut-eye before she would come back and beg for you to make dinner. You set your bag down by the door with your shoes and set a course for your bed. As soon as you were able to slide underneath the covers and nearly drift to sleep, your phone vibrated.

You reach into your pocket, confused. Rhiannon was the only friend that had your number, and if she even thought about her phone in a lab, she would be kicked out. Once you unlock your phone, you finally remembered who else you gave your number to.

Mark: Hey!

You licked your lips as your chest twinged and filled with butterflies. You screamed internally for a few seconds, the moment hitting you a little harder than before. Mark Lee had your cell phone number and he was texting you first. 

You: Hello, what’s up?

Mark replied almost immediately, which startled you a little bit. You turned over in your bed to get a little more comfortable.

Mark: We were just finishing up settling into our hotel rooms. I wanted to know how you're doing, are you in class? I hope I'm not interrupting anything

You: No, I got home a little while ago. I was gonna take a nap tbh

Mark: Oh! Sorry, I don't mean to take away sleep from a college student

You smiled a little bit. He was too sweet. As if your nap wasn't going to ruin your sleep schedule.

You: Its fine, if I had a nap I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyway

Mark: So you're free then?

Your eyebrows furrowed as you typed your response.

You: Uh yeah, why? Did you all want that picture now?

You put your phone down, a little overwhelmed. If they wanted it now, you wouldn't see them again until the concert, which wasn't until Friday. Perhaps you should have expected they wanted to do this as fast as possible, their Canadian and Chicago stops were planned with vacations in mind considering Johnny and Mark's heritage. When your phone buzzed again, you almost jumped to grab it.

Mark: Well no not yet. I was just wondering if you wanted to get coffee or something. Or tea if you prefer that 

Your eyes widened.

You: Really?

Mark: Yeah. I dunno, I want to take the friend thing more serious than the guys. They just wanted to use that word so it was like an unspoken contract that you wouldn't post this everywhere y'know? 

Your heart sank a little bit, but you could see how important privacy was. If you were in the same position, you would have done the same.

You: I understand… I'm still kind of a stranger though, are you sure?

Mark: That's why I'm asking. I don't want you to be. So, will you meet me?

You: There's a Tim Hortons on the first floor of M building near where you met me on campus, I can be there in 40 minutes 

Mark: See you in 40 minutes then :)

As soon as you read that text, you tossed your comforter to the side and raced into the bathroom. You fix your hair and could barely decide whether to change your outfit or not. He did see you earlier today, would he think you were trying too hard if you changed? 

“Keep it together, (Y/N),” you told yourself, patting your cheeks with your hands as you eyed your complexion in the mirror. “He just wants tea and coffee, nothing major.” 

Just then, the front door opened. “Are you talking to yourself again?” Rhiannon called from the foyer.

“No,” you called back, clearly lying as you took one more scan of yourself in the mirror before leaving to greet your friend. “You’re back early. How was the lab?”

“Tiring,” she answered. “My bitch lab partner came in even earlier than usual to make sure I didn't have the chance to set up our station again.” She rolled her eyes and dropped her backpack next to yours. 

“Yikes,” you reply, watching her wander into the kitchen. “Are you gonna tell your professor that she is trying to sabotage your grade?” 

Rhiannon sighed. “I don't know if the following shitstorm would be worth it,” she says, plugging in the electric kettle. “I'm gonna make some tea, you want any?”

You shook your head, even though she probably couldn't see you from the wall separating the kitchen and foyer. “No thanks, I'm going out to Tim's in M building.” 

Rhiannon took less than a second to appear in the archway to stare at you. “Why?” She questioned, squinting at you. 

“Mark asked me to meet him for coffee.” 

“Mark,” she repeated, crossing her arms. “I thought you hated Mark Davids.” 

“Not that asshole,” you shot back. “Mark Lee.” You began to look for a pair of cuter shoes as Rhiannon’s eyes widened.

“You got the job?!” She exclaimed, her voice nearly reaching a squeal. "YOU MET MARK LEE? WITHOUT ME?!"

“Yeah,” you smile sheepishly, taken aback by her shouting. you picked out your favourite pair of shoes, red converse high tops. “He just seems like he wants to hang out right now though.”

“Oh my God,” her voice nearly lowered to a whisper. “Mark Lee just asked you out.”

You rolled your eyes. “He didn't ask me out, he just wants to talk,” you explain, pulling on your shoes to tie them. 

“I dunno, he could be it,” she says, waltzing back into the kitchen. “You never know!”

You sigh. “See you later!” 

“Tell him to get Haechan's number!”

After a 15-minute subway ride and a lot of hurried walking, you hauled open the pristine doors of M building, the newest addition to your college campus. Right before you was a little Tim Hortons with a tiny student’s lounge to accompany it. There was a little bit of a line to the micro cafe since night classes were starting up around now, but the student’s lounge was close to empty. 

You took in a deep breath, fully stepping inside and beginning your search for Mark. It doesn’t take long to spot him, he’s sporting yellow hair and a white face mask, accompanied by two red Tim Hortons cups at a table in the corner of the lounge. It takes you a moment to fathom your position - about to meet someone you’ve been crushing on for months through a computer screen for coffee in a lounge at your college. On top of that- he’s already bought you something.

“Hi,” you meekly greet him, approaching the table. Mark looks up from his phone and his eyes immediately crease into the crescents of his beautiful smile.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” He pulls his mask off, “sit down, I, uh, got you some tea. You kind of struck me as that kind of person, so I hope I got it right.” 

“Thank you, Mark. You really didn’t have to buy me anything…” You smile nervously, your face feeling hot and your heart beating a mile a minute. Mark seemed a little nervous, just like you. It was a sobering moment, taking the cup he pushed toward you and opening it to take a sip. Your eyes widened. Your tea was exactly the way you always order it, nearly to the grain of sugar.

Mark watches your expression, happy that you seemed to like your tea, “I wanted to treat you. I know how weird this must all seem for you, but for some reason, I feel like I know you.” He runs his hand through his hair, avoiding eye contact for a moment. 

You look away from him as well. There's a moment of silence between you, the bustle of students slowly diminishing as the sun sets behind you. 

“I, uh, can't really relate to you in that way,” you whisper after you worked up the courage to break the silence. “A lot of your life is on display.” 

“You're right,” Mark agreed. “There are a few things I keep to myself, though,” he smiled cheerfully. “But what I mean is hard to explain.”

Curious, you nod toward him, “try me.”

“When I was standing in line, I was trying to figure out what to get you. I wanted to treat you since I asked you to come, and I kind of expected for you to say no since your professor said you had class today and-”

“Mark, it’s fine, stay focused.” you smile faintly at him and wait for him to continue, sipping your tea again.

He blushes and nods sheepishly. “When it was my turn, I got what I wanted and the second I thought about you, I recited medium steeped orange pekoe tea with two cream and one and a half sugar like I had been getting it for you for years.” He stops for a moment, presumably watching your stunned reaction.

Your breathing was feeling a little crooked, and you couldn't quite place what you were feeling. You tried to take in a deep breath, shaking your head when Mark began to look concerned. 

“Sorry,” you apologize quickly. “I, uh, kind of know what you're talking about. This is all just a little; I don't know…”

“Overwhelming?” Mark finished, nodding his head. “I can't stop thinking about it.” 

You tried to smile. “I guess you gave the bug to me,” you joke. “Want to get some air?”

“I'd like that.” 

The two of you walked down a path that led off-campus, talking. It was as if the two of you had forgotten your positions in life; Mark a celebrity with his life on a pedestal and you just a fan that forgot how much you really knew about him.

You were rediscovering his cheerful nature, his loud and hearty laughter that was a whole-body endeavour, learning that he plays the guitar, his love of ice cream and sweet things. His favourite colour was blue, and he loved Christmas so much he already had a growing list of things to buy for his friends as gifts.

The sun was nearly hidden behind the hills of the park you wandered into, admiring the newly blossomed cherry trees. You were showing him a small bed of flowers decorated to look like a Canadian flag when Mark asked the dreaded personal question you had been hoping you would never have to answer again.

“How did your parents find out?” His tone was soft, curious. He didn't sound as invasive as others have been in the past, but the question still made you bite your lip to keep from frowning.

“A gang fight,” you answer, bitterly. “My dad punched my mom in the face so hard that day, she needed to go to the ER. It actually took three months for her to figure out why the print of my dad's fist hadn't faded from her cheek.”

Mark didn't speak for a moment. “Was that too much to ask?”

You looked up at him from the flower bed, smiling faintly. He looked good in the final evening glow. “I don't mind that much, but...”

“I'm sorry,” he said, tentatively placing a hand on the small of your back. 

“It's okay,” you start, his sympathy nearly made you melt. The two of you begin walking again, Mark absently running his fingers over cherry petals as you both passed the trees. “I got out of it all pretty quickly. They fought when they were high, and that was almost all the time. Sometimes, I feel scared just thinking about how my life might end up. If any of it is all as real as everyone says it is.”

Mark stares at you, and there is sympathy radiating off of him. He looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet.

You hold back a frown and decide to break the silence. “Anyway, how about your parents?” 

“A hug,” he answered, nodding, a smile returning to his face. “it's not the most common first touch in the world, but I hope I find mine the same way.” 

“That does sound nice,” you agree softly.

“I've heard it's all up to fate and magic,” Mark says, charm in his voice. “I've always wanted to believe in that.”

“I'd like to believe in that. Makes life seem a little more bearable. I’ve just always been so cynical through my childhood, so much so that all of my hope for a fairytale ending faded a long time ago. I never really thought that anything good would come out of it. If the universe really wants me to find someone, I guess I can’t really do anything about it.”

Mark smiles, although you can tell he is hiding a smidge of disappointment. “I suppose that's one way to think about it,” he replies. “I just want to know someone so well that I don't have to think twice about it. Like knowing the exact way to cheer them up when they're sad. Like the perfect cup of tea or their favourite stuffed animal. I guess that takes a little bit of magic.” 

You stop in your tracks, thinking about the perfect tea he had given you earlier.

“What's wrong?” Mark stops and turns around when he notices you're not keeping pace.

“Nothing,” you lie with a smile, watching Mark's scepticism through the darkness of night. 

“Okay,” he says softly, looking up at the sky. “I guess it's late, huh?” 

You join him in looking up. If the city wasn't always so lit up, this spot would be perfect for a shot of the starry night sky between the small canopy of cherry trees. “I guess it is.”

“How far away is your dorm? I can walk you,” he suggests, taking your hand. You're frozen, too stunned by the gesture to pull away.

“You don't have to,”

“But I want to,” Mark grins. “It's the one way I can make sure you get back safely.”

“You're too kind…” you pause for a moment. Mark is staring you down, waiting for you to say yes. “I'm not allowed to say no, am I?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Nope. Come on, let's go.” 

Scoffing lightly, you concede and begin walking again. “You can take me to my subway stop and I can tell you which train to take to go back,” you offer, assuming he would need to be back at his hotel before it got too late at night. 

“No,” he said quickly. Your eyes widened at his tone and once he noticed your reaction, he lowered his voice. “I just… have these gut feelings. I'd like to escort you right to your dorm,” he clears his throat, “um, if I'm not crossing any lines.” 

You feel sympathy for him. Just looking at Mark, you can tell he's worried about you, but you can't quite see the reason. “Okay,” you agree softly. 

It's silent for a while as you both walk through the well-lit city. It's not until you pass a food truck on the way to the subway station that either of you says something again.

“You know, you and I walked around that park for hours and we didn't even know how late it was until the last minute,” Mark comments, still holding your hand and pulling back gently to keep you from walking past him. 

“Yeah, you're right,” you blush, you had to admit to yourself that you hadn't lost yourself in conversation or such comfortable silence like that even on a date. "We forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Mark admits with a laugh, “and these hot dogs smell good.” 

You look up at him. “I'll buy.” You wriggle your hand out of his grasp and run toward the cart before Mark can catch you, readying your wallet. 

“Two hot dogs please, one with relish and one plain, please. Also, burn the plain one a little bit, thanks.” 

“You're slippery,” Mark says, watching you pay for the food.

“You bought me tea, it's only fair,” you stick your tongue out at him. He sighs and nods at you, only breaking his gaze when the man at the cart hands down the hot dogs a few moments later. “The one with relish is yours. You hate ketchup, right?” 

Mark takes his hot dog, eyes wide. “Uh, yeah,” he pauses. “I just haven't really told anyone outside the guys and my family.” 

You're halfway through a bite of your ‘dog and you nearly choke on it. 

“Hey, hey!” Mark reaches out for your shoulder, hoping that you wouldn't pass out. “Chew and swallow! Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out.” 

You swallow and cough, shaking your head. “Don't worry, I'm fine,” you say. “This is just a weird feeling.” 

He nods. “Yeah. But I don't really mind it. Come on, let's walk some more.” 

It was totally surreal to you, walking and eating with Mark. He was right, there was this strange feeling washing over you every time you looked at him, different than watching him on a Vlive broadcast or music video. Like you knew something about him that nobody else did, and it made you feel both good and scared out of your mind. It felt invasive.

One subway stop and a little bit of a walk later, you both arrive at your dorm building. “Here we are,” you announce. “My roommate is probably going to kill me for coming back so late.”

“Should I go in with you? To protect you?” Mark is smiling, but you can tell there is a hint of seriousness. 

“If you want. She will probably ask for something from you, though.” You open the main doors and enter in your code, leading Mark in with you.

“Like what?” Mark furrows his eyebrows. “She's not weird, right?”

You nearly laugh out loud. “She's weird all right, just not the kind you're thinking of. She wanted me to get Haechan's number from you, but I got so absorbed in talking with you that I forgot to ask.” 

“Oh,” Mark is following you close behind, letting out a tiny sigh of relief. “That doesn't sound too bad, but his reaction should be interesting.” 

You shrugged. “You don't have to do it. Anyway-” You're cut off as the door to your apartment opens, Rhiannon stepping out and pressing her hands to her hips. 

“Look who's finally back,” she states, and you can immediately tell she is angry. “It's almost 1 AM!” 

“Shh! I'm sorry, okay? I lost track of time! I was with-” 

“Mark,” she says, her voice less harsh when she notices Mark is standing behind you, sheepishly smiling and waving at her. “At least you had the initiative to walk her home.” 

You squint at your best friend. It's clear she is trying not to freak out in front of him. “Are you gonna let me inside?” 

“Not yet,” she states. “Mark, I love you,” she says quickly, grabbing your arm and pulling you to her. You're smiling awkwardly at him, shrugging and mouthing ‘sorry’. 

Mark smiles awkwardly and nods at you. “Uh, thanks,”

“Thank you for bringing (Y/N) back. Has she asked you about Haechan?” 

“Yeah. I'll text you guys his number when I get back- which I probably should…”

You step forward. “Do you know how to get back?”

Mark shakes his head. “I think it's on Yorkville, I might have to use my GPS.” 

You shake your head. “It's easy to get there. Head to the station you and I were just on, take the southbound for 5 stops. Once you get above ground, you should be on that street.” 

Mark smiled at you. “Thank you.” He approached you to give you a hug, which felt warmer than the other two from earlier in the day. When he turned to leave, a pang hit your chest.

“Mark,” you called. Instantly he turned around, his expression curious. “Let me know when you get back safely.” 

He nodded, smiling warmly. “I will, I promise.” 

You watch him leave, a little shocked that spending the entire night with him didn't feel like it at all. You're only broken out of your thoughts when Rhiannon drags you inside your apartment and shuts the door.

“You scared me half to death, you bitch! At least text me when you're gonna stay out this late! I thought you were just having tea! I was this close to calling the cops!” She presses her index finger to her thumb and shoves her hand towards your face as you stand before her, a little humiliated.

“Your fingers are touching,” you say quietly, screwing your eyes shut.

“Exactly!” she exclaims. “I was one button away from speaking to 911! You're goddamn lucky I heard you and Mark coming down the hall!” You open your eyes when she gently touches your arm. “Don't scare me like that.”

“I'm sorry. I promise I'll keep in touch next time.” You smile awkwardly at her. “I was just so caught up in talking and trying to make sure it wasn't a dream.” 

Rhiannon nodded and returned your smile. “I know. You should go to bed, you have class in the morning.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for worrying about me.” 

Once you were in fresh pyjamas, you had some music on in the bathroom while you dry your hair with a towel. A quick shower before bed always was relaxing enough for you to fall asleep quickly. Snuggling up in bed after that long day was especially nice, gathering up your teddy bear to hug close. You're just about to drift off when your phone buzzes. 

Mark: Hey, I'm back safe. Thank you for the directions 

You: You're welcome

I had a really nice time tonight 

Mark: Me too

You have class tomorrow right 

You: Yeah, it's a short day though, just a small photoshop lab 

Mark: Do you want to hang out again when you're done? By the way, the number I promised - __________

You: I'd like that. Thanks, I'll forward it to her 

Haechan was cool with it right 

Mark: Me too :) yeah he was cool with it, he owed me a favour anyway 

Sleep well ok?

You: I will, you too? 

Mark: Yeah I promise 

Goodnight (Y/N)

You: Goodnight :)

After putting your phone down on your nightstand, you peacefully drifted off with a smile on your face.

[cynical-mystic]

ZKMonth 21 Day 5 - Soulmate Marks

On the day you were born, you were given a necklace that was one half of a design. The other half was given to your soulmate. No one knows where the necklaces came from; they just appeared around the necks of infants and grew as they did. You couldn’t take them off until you met the person you were destined to be with. This made it a bit easier to find your match.

Katara didn’t really care whose necklace matched hers. Sokka, her brother, had always been obsessed with finding the other half of his.

She just wanted to live her life, get her degree, and get a good job so she could help support their grandmother.

Her necklace was half of a crescent moon with some kind of design carved into it. She didn’t have the whole thing so she couldn’t tell what the design was supposed to be. When she was little she’d drawn pictures of it trying to guess the full thing, but none of them ever looked right.

One day, as she was sitting in her Intro to Literature class, someone who wasn’t the professor walked in. She knew this class had a TA, but he’d never come to class before as most of his job was helping to grade their smaller assignments.

“Professor Wu is ill today,” he said, not looking up at them as he sorted through his materials. “I’ll be leading discussion on Darcy and Elizabeth’s refusal of their matching necklaces in Pride and Prejudice.”

He looked up and met her eyes, and her necklace grew warm.

It was as though time froze. Both of their necklaces fell from the choker position to a normal necklace length, and they took each other in.

He was good-looking despite the scar that covered half his face. He seemed well put together based on how he was dressed and the state of his bag.

But she didn’t even know his name.

Not participating in class discussion was out of character for Katara, but today she felt like it was excusable. Somehow he was still able to teach class, but she couldn’t focus.

Should she go right up to him after? Should she just ignore him and leave?

When the clock chimed the hour, he made the decision for her, packing up his things as quickly as possible and all but bolting out of the auditorium.

Suki, her best friend, put a hand on Katara’s shoulder as she stared after him.

“I saw your necklaces,” she said, gesturing to Katara’s neck.

Out of habit Katara grabbed for her pendant but it wasn’t where it usually was, as she already knew. She pressed it against her chest and found she couldn’t speak.

“So much for finding your match not meaning anything,” Suki teased. “You’re starstruck!”

“I don’t even know who that guy is!” Katara moaned.

Suki pulled out her folder for this class and thumbed through the papers. She pulled the syllabus out and handed it to Katara.

TA: Zuko Tamura.

“It even has his email,” Suki pointed out. “You could email him!”

“I’m not going to email him,” Katara said, shoving the paper back at Suki. “Did you see the way he ran out of here? He has no interest in me.”

Suki shook her head, but really couldn’t say anything to this. She’d seen him bolt just like Katara and the entire rest of their class had.

Later, Katara was studying in the quad, her books laid out around her on the blanket she kept in her bag, when a shadow fell over what she was reading.

She looked up to see Zuko, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Can I help you?” she asked cooly. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Sorry,” he said, stepping to the side. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Katara nodded her head to the open spot on the blanket and Zuko sank down, setting his bag down beside him.

“I’m sorry I freaked,” he said. “I was not at all prepared for what happened to happen.”

“Neither was I,” she admitted.

“You probably know my name already, because I’m your TA, but I’m Zuko.”

“My name is Katara.”

He nodded, recognition flashing across his face. He’d graded her papers, so he’d had some idea of who she was already.

“I just needed to tell you something,” he said, still fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Yeah?”

“I...um...I have a girlfriend.”

This didn’t surprise her. People often had significant others while they were waiting to meet their soulmates. Some people even married those who weren’t their soulmates because of various reasons.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m not interested in a relationship right now, so it doesn’t matter.”

Zuko nodded and stood up.

“I’ll see you around, then?”

“Sure.”

As he walked away, Katara wondered if they would see each other around, or if they would both avoid each other as much as she intended to avoid him.

Like she’d told all her friends and family, it didn’t matter who her soulmate turned out to be. She wasn’t interested in a relationship.

A few years after her first encounter with Zuko, Katara was a senior and working in the college’s library.

One day he came in, looking a bit frazzled, and approached the counter where she was running check-outs and checking in books.

She recognized him immediately, of course, but what she hadn’t counted on was him still wearing his necklace.

Hers was tucked into her backpack. Always close, but no longer around her neck. It was the easiest way to keep most guys away.

He looked up and stepped back when he recognized her.

“Katara!”

“Zuko.”

Her tone must have confused him, because he looked at her for a moment before looking back at the paper he had in his hand.

“I have a few books on hold from other libraries.”

“I’ll get them.”

She retrieved them from the shelf behind the counter and took his ID card from him to check them out to him.

“What are you still doing around here?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you have graduated last year?”

“I’m doing my masters in English.”

She nodded.

Finally, the books were checked out and the ticket printed. She stuck it to the cover of the book on the top of the stack and pushed it towards him.

“Here you go. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks.”

He took the stack of books into his arms but didn’t walk away.

“Is there something else I can help you with?”

“I was wondering...would you be up for coming to my place and watching anime?”

Her eyes widened.

“Are you really that desperate for a relationship? We don’t know each other at all!”

“Not a relationship,” he muttered. “I don’t really have any...any friends? And you seem nice.”

To her surprise, her heart went out to him.

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She dumped me when she saw my necklace,” he explained.

Katara nodded thoughtfully.

“Sure, I’ll watch anime with you,” she said, grabbing her phone. “What’s your number?”

They exchanged numbers and as he left the building with a friendly wave, Katara couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe being friends with her soulmate wouldn’t be all that bad.

Months later, after weeks of anime binging and laughing over stupid sitcoms Katara had loved as a child, Katara realized she’d fallen for Zuko.

Not in the passionate, the love is burning inside of me, kind of way, but a softer way. He’d slowly become the person she wanted to hang out with the most, and she found she wanted to spend even more time with him than she already did.

When she suggested moving in together, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” he asked. “We aren’t even dating.”

Katara shrugged.

“We don’t have to share a room or anything. I think it would just be nice to coexist. I like being around you and want to be around you more.”

Zuko nodded slowly.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he admitted.

When she told her family they were moving in together, they were thrilled until she emphasized that they weren’t romantic in any way.

“Why are you moving in with him then?” Sokka asked. “Just because he’s your soulmate doesn’t mean you have to spend your life with him.”

“I don’t really want to spend it with anyone else,” she said, shrugging. “And I want to be around him more.”

“Do you love him?” her father asked.

“I do,” she admitted.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I support you, Katara,” he said.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Katara was pleased when Zuko seemed to be even more similar to her than she’d thought he was. They spent a considerable amount of their free time together and engaged in a lot of physical touch such as hugging and snuggling and holding hands, but he never tried to make it sexual. Which was more than fine by her.

Eventually, though, he did bring it up.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this life we have?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well usually things would be, I don’t know, more physical?” he said. “Aren’t you interested in sex?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I was a bit worried that would be a problem.”

Zuko let out a huge breath.

“Thank goodness,” he gushed. “I’m not interested in it either, which was another reason why my ex probably broke up with me, but that’s beside the point. You make me happy, Katara, and I’m glad we can be happy just the way we are.”

She reached out and took his hand in hers.

“So am I.”

@zutaramonth​

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Relationship Stahl ~ Charlie Conway x Adam Banks

A/N: Hi all, I'm on my Mighty Ducks bullshit, so sorry not sorry. This is just for fun. It's postcanon - could be canon with the show. I don't specifically go against anything. But yeah. Enjoy this fic for a movie that came out over 25 years ago. *Posts fic and runs away*

Summary: Charlie and Adam are idiots. And they finally figure that out thanks to Charlie's pen pal.

Characters/Pairings: Charlie Conway/Adam Banks, Charlie Conway, Adam Banks, Connie Moreau, Guy Germaine, Fulton Reed, Gunnar Stahl

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: Language ( I think that's it)

^True love if I ever saw it ;)

Charlie grinned at his laptop as he fired off his enthusiastic response to the latest email from his pen pal before flipping open his phone. Instead of scrolling through his contacts, he dialed the number he knew by heart.

“I literally just dropped you off,” his best friend laughed when he picked up on the third ring.

“And I couldn’t bear to be without you,” Charlie quipped back.

“What do you want, Charlie?”

Adam’s voice was undeniably fond and it made Charlie’s stomach flutter.

“How do you feel about going to the Wilds game on Saturday?”

“How’d you swing those tickets?”

Charlie shrugged even though Adam couldn’t see him. “I know a guy. So are you in? We can grab drinks with some of the ducks afterwards.”

He could practically hear Adam shaking his head and it made Charlie’s smile widen. He knew what his answer would be.

“Yeah, I’m in. Of course I’m in. I’ll pick you up at 5?”

“Sounds good.”

“Are the other ducks coming?

“I’m gonna see who’s around.”

“Alright. Can’t wait. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Charlie smiled at the question in his voice.

“Of course. I’ll call you after work.”

“Good night, Charlie.”

“Night. Banksy. Text me when you get home, alright?”

“Will do.”

Adam was wearing a Minnesota Wilds Jersey and a pair of tight-fitting jeans, when he knocked on the door of Charlie’s house.

He checked his watch. He was early.

He was always early.

Charlie probably wouldn’t be ready for another half hour, so he was surprised when the door swung open – at least until he saw Casey Conway’s smiling face.

“Adam, honey, how are you?” she cooed as she pulled him inside and into a tight hug.

“I’m great, Mrs. Conway. You’re looking lovely this evening.”

She swatted at him, but he saw her genuine smile. “Always a charmer.”

“How are you? How’s the diner?”

“I’m great. The diner is doing well. Business has really increased since we reopened after the renovations. We still have our regulars, but we’re getting more of a younger crowd too.”

“That’s awesome. And so well deserved.”

Adam could still remember when Charlie had sprinted into their college dorm room talking a mile a minute. He’d gleaned that there was a long lost uncle who’d passed and left his mother a rather large inheritance, and she was going to use that to buy out the diner that she’d been helping run for years.

Charlie had been so excited he’d nearly fell over because he forgot to breathe. Adam had spent the summer helping to paint and decorate the newly renovated diner.

“It’s been way too long since you’ve come over for dinner. Are you free next week?”

“Would Tuesday work?”

“Perfect. That’s my early night. And I’ll make your favorite pot pie.”

Adam grinned at the ceiling as he rocked back on his heels.

“You’re the best, Mrs. C.”

“Well, I won’t hold you up. I’m afraid I’ve already made Charlie late. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“See you then.”

She gave him another quick hug before scurrying out the door.

Adam sighed as he checked his watch.

“Hey, Spazaway. Hurry up or we’re gonna be late!” he yelled up the stairs.

“I’m coming! Relax, cake-eater!”

There were several thumps as Charlie hopped on one foot to get his shoe on and then a slam of his bedroom door, but by the time he made it downstairs he looked perfectly disheveled in a cool way instead of a sloppy way. Classic Charlie. It’d be irritating if it wasn’t so attractive.

“Hey, Banksy. See, 5:15 right on time.”

“I told you I’d pick you up at 5,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but we both know that at this point you tell me you’ll pick me up 30 minutes before we actually have to leave. So technically, I’m 15 minutes early,” Charlie grinned and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Adam huffed but couldn’t argue. Charlie was right. He’d learned a long time ago never to trust Charlie to be punctual, so he had started telling him earlier times in the hope that they’d actually arrive places before the events were over.

“It’s gonna be a great night.”

“Are any of the others coming?”

“Connie, Guy, and Fulton. Everyone else was busy.”

“That’ll be fun,” Adam admitted as he climbed into the car.

Secretly, he’d kind of been hoping that it would just be him and Charlie, but he shoved that thought away. It would be good to go out with some of his oldest friends.

“Yeah. It will.”

The five ducks were happily chatting and catching up, laden down with food as they waited for the game to start.

Guy was the first to notice the name after the national anthem.

“Do you think Stahl is the same one we faced from Iceland?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged. “How common of a name do you think it is?”

“Remember when you had that massive crush on Gunnar, Charlie?” Connie teased before taking a sip of her soda.

“I didn’t have a crush on Gunnar.”

“You so did,” Fulton laughed, nudging. “How many hours did you spend watching tapes of his signature shot?”

“That was research,” Charlie insisted, though his cheeks were slightly pink.

“Yeah, you definitely needed to spend all that time on just Gunnar Stahl and not the rest of Iceland,” Guy faux agreed with an exaggerated wink.

Adam remained quiet. He remembered Charlie’s “not a crush” all too well. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but he’d been jealous at the time.

At first it had been, look at this shot. Or look at this play.

And then after the games it was, he’s so nice and cool. He called me ‘Captain Duck’.

Charlie hadn’t shut up about him until they were on the plane home and he promptly knocked out on Adam’s shoulder. Number ninety-nine didn’t have it in him to be jealous when he got to have a sleeping Charlie Conway on top of him.

Tuning back into the conversation after his quick jaunt down memory lane, Adam realized they were still ribbing Charlie.

“Okay, fine. I might have had a little crush on him. I was young. I was still figuring myself out,” Charlie admitted.

“Figures your first crush would be on a hockey player,” Fulton pointed out.

“Who said he was my first crush?”

Adam swore Charlie’s gaze darted to him, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well you literally never talked about anybody else like that before him,” Guy said.

“Except Banks,” Fulton added.

The three of them looked at Adam and he knew he was bright red. They all knew he’d had a crush on Charlie when they were kids. And that he still sort of had a crush on him. He could kick Fulton right now, and he would have if Charlie wasn’t sitting in between them.

“I still talk about Banksy all the time.”

“I’m right here,” Adam finally managed to grumble.

Charlie grinned and nudged him with his shoulder, before throwing an arm around him.

“Are we really gonna sit here and argue over who I did or did not have a crush on twenty something years ago?”

“Yes.” The other three nodded emphatically.

Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Alright fine. Yes, I had a crush on him. But laugh all you want. You have that crush to thank for these seats,” Charlie reminded them smugly.

“What do you mean?” Adam choked out as the others gasped.

Charlie looked at the four flabbergasted ducks in confusion.

“Gunnar got me the tickets. I thought you guys knew.”

“We didn’t know that,” Guy nearly shouted.

“You kept in touch with him all these years?” Connie asked softly.

Their captain shrugged.

“We were pen pals. And now we email every few weeks.”

Adam’s heart clenched in something that felt a lot like jealousy – a lot like when he was 14. He turned his attention to the game, Stahl was on the ice. Adam couldn’t help but track his movements. It had been years since he moved like that. Another squeeze.

It was going to be a long night.

Charlie noticed the instant Adam went rigid, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, he was the one being teased for a 20 year old crush that only lasted for a minute.

He tried to nudge his best friend and get a response, but Adam’s eyes were glued to the game. That wouldn’t have worried Charlie, but the tight set of his jaw was nothing like his usual relaxed joy at the games. That was one of the reason Charlie had made it a point to go to as many hockey games with Adam as he could. He loved to observe him while he watched the game. But right now, his expression was stony.

When Gunnar managed a hat trick early in the third, Adam abruptly excused himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

“What’s up with Banks?” Fulton voiced Charlie’s question aloud.

Charlie shrugged. “No clue.”

Connie rolled her eyes.

“Boys. He’s jealous.”

“Of what?”

“God, Charlie, are you that oblivious?”

His brow furrowed and he stared at her.

“What are you talking about?”

She huffed and shook her head.

“Nope. If you can’t figure it out after 25 years, you’re on your own.”

Adam was less grumpy, but still pretty sedate when he returned with only a few minutes left to go.

“You alright?” Charlie asked in a low voice as he settled back into his seat.

“Yeah. All good. Long line for the bathroom.”

Charlie didn’t believe him, but shrugged it off as the Wilds managed a late game comeback and beat the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and they were all on their feet cheering.

The five of them waited outside the side exit where the players would come out for Gunnar. The former Iceland captain signed a few autographs before he caught sight of Charlie and waved, flashing him a big smile.

“Good to see you, Captain Duck!” he shouted as he pulled Charlie into a tight hug.

“Good to see you too, Gunnar. Nice playing tonight.”

“Thank you.” Gunnar turned his attention to the rest of the Ducks. “It’s good to see you all too.”

There were various murmurs of agreement, before an awkward silence fell.

“Drinks?” Charlie finally suggested.

“Definitely.”

Drinks helped. Everyone loosened up by the second round. Even Adam, though he was not that talkative. He could see why Charlie would have kept in touch with the Icelander. He really was quite charming.

That did not help.

When Charlie stepped away from the table to get another pitcher, Gunnar slid into his vacated seat. Adam panicked for a moment. Guy and Connie were deep in conversation and Fulton had gone to the bathroom, it was just the two of them.

“You know, Captain Duck still never shuts up about you.”

“Still?” Adam asked, fixated on the word.

“At the Goodwill Games, when we spoke for the first time at the closing ceremony, Charlie wouldn’t stop raving about you. How he’d been worried about you being hurt. He even glared at Sanderson. And in his letters, he always talked about you. In every single one. I think I knew more about how you were doing than I did about him.”

“Sorry?”

Adam had no idea how to respond. Gunnar chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s sweet. I’m glad the two of you have made it this far. You’re a good pair.”

Adam’s jaw dropped and he floundered for an answer.

“Thanks?”

“Thanks what?”

Of course Guy chose that moment to resurface from his conversation.

“For saying I played well back in ’94,” Adam lied unconvincingly.

Charlie’s return halted the conversation, and Adam couldn’t help but think about what Gunnar had said. Why would Charlie be talking about him? Did Gunnar think they were together? Why did Gunnar think they were together?

His head was spinning. And it definitely wasn’t the alcohol. Per usual, it was all Charlie Conway’s fault.

Charlie was playing with the edge of his jersey when Adam pulled up to his house.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” he offered.

“Yeah, sure,” Adam agreed.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Charlie had been expecting him to bail. That was what Adam did when things got tense between them, so his easy agreement caught him off guard.

He pulled two beers from the fridge and took a moment to steel himself before rejoining Adam in the living room.

“It was a great game.”

“Yeah. Ducks were smart when they got Gunnar.”

“Definitely.”

“So, why didn’t you tell any of us that you were still talking to him?”

The former captain tried to gauge Adam’s mood, but he was surprisingly nonchalant.

“I didn’t really think about it. When we were writing actual letters, I’d get one maybe three times a year. So it just never came up. And then we started emailing and it was just something I did. It never seemed like a big deal.”

“So it’s not because you’ve been carrying a torch for him all these years?” Adam asked shyly.

The laughter that bubbled out of Charlie was loud and somewhat alarming.

“Of course not, Banksy. I mean, yes, I had a crush on him. For what seems like five seconds at this point in our lives. He’s just someone I liked to keep in touch with. Another person to talk hockey with. Honestly, I thought we’d last like two letters and then never talk again.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“No. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him since we left the games. This isn’t some big torrid affair I’ve been hiding. It’s a pen pal. Who got us tickets to a Wilds game.”

“That was pretty cool.”

“Are we good?”

Adam nodded. “We’re good. Sorry, it was just unexpected.”

“That’s fair. I really thought I had told you guys at some point over the years. Sorry I sprang it on you… unintentionally.”

“No worries.”

It was comfortable for a bit. Charlie put on ESPN and they caught the highlights from the other games that had been played. Somehow he ended up leaning heavily into Adam’s side.

“Was he your first?” He asked as the commentators went over the same play for the third time.

“Was who my first what?” Charlie asked, letting his head loll to the side so he could look at Adam without pulling away.

“Was Gunnar your first crush?”

It came out in a sigh.

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess.”

“Charlie.”

“I’m serious. Guess. I’ll even give you 5 questions to try and figure it out.”

Charlie wasn’t going to admit it without a fight, and Adam knew it. Curiosity got the better of him.

“Fine. Was your first crush a hockey player?”

“Yes.”

“Someone on our team?”

Charlie nodded, sitting up so he could watch him more closely.

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“Peewees or Goodwill Games?”

“Met him in Peewees. Realized I had a crush on him during the Goodwill Games.”

“Did he go to Eden Hall?”

“Yes. I even roomed with him at one point. That’s five. Time to guess.”

He was certain he’d know now.

“Fulton?” Adam asked innocently.

Charlie hung his head.

“You cannot possibly be this obtuse, Banksy.”

“What? You met him in Peewees, he was with us at the games and at Eden hall and you roomed with him sophomore year.”

“Christ,” he huffed. “It’s you, Banksy. Not Fulton. God, definitely not Fulton. He’s like my brother. It’s you.”

“Me? You had a crush on me?”

“I mean, can you call it a crush if it lasts 25 years?”

Adam’s jaw hit the floor.

“You still have a crush on me?” His voice was small, so much like that 10 year old who’d been forced to leave the Hawks. But there was hope.

Charlie, momentarily panicked before resigning himself to his fate. It had to come out.

“No, Adam. I don’t have a crush on you now.”

His best friend deflated slightly.

“I’m in love with you now. I have been for as long as I can remember. Even if I didn’t realize it. And I know you probably don’t feel the same way –“

“I do. Feel the same way. God, Charlie. I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

“Seriously?”

Adam nodded once, resolutely before Charlie’s lips were on his.

The kiss was quick and hungry and it left them both wanting more.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Charlie demanded in a whisper as he pulled back, touching their foreheads together.

“Why didn’t you?” Adam sniped back.

“Touche. God so much lost time.”

“We didn’t lose anything, Charlie. We were together. That’s never a loss.”

“I love you, Banksy.”

“I love you too, Charlie.”

A/N: Yeah so I love them. I hope you enjoyed this. I stand by my theory that Charlie had a brief infatuation with Gunnar Stahl. Thanks for reading!