#i just like seeing her happy nerd self back in full swing

[marvelous-imagines]

Imagine Johnny that the reader is Johnny's girlfriend and is a typical Nerd who loves to read comic books and is addicted to games and her friends end up making fun of her

considering I'm a huge nerd YES AND DONE LOVE!

Johnny Lawrence x reader

Warnings: mild language. Slight angst. Fluff!

You couldn't help the wide excited smile that bloomed on your face, pure joy engulfing you warmly as you looked into the full length mirror, taking in your new shirt. The bold lettering that read captain America along with the majestic figure himself in his signature stance with the American flag blowing around behind him as he held his glorious shield. The shirt was art, beautiful and truly a masterpiece... And it's yours, thanks to your boyfriend.

"johnny I love it!" you exclaimed happily, turning back to look at the blond, his grin wide as he watched you while leaned against the wall of your bedroom.

"I thought you would, when I saw it through the store window I knew it was something you'd want" he shrugs cooly, "although you're lucky no one saw me in the nerdy store full of losers" he jokes while pushing off the wall and walking over to you, placing his hands on your waist.

"now johnny... Are you calling me a loser?" you ask him, eye's locking on his baby blues.

"not you, you're my beautiful little nerd" he leans down so his face is closer to yours. You smirk and quickly peck him on the lips before pulling away from him and looking back at the shirt.

"thanks for the shirt Johnny, I love it!" you say ecstatic. Johnny let's out a chuckle and swiftly wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

"I think I deserve a kiss for my good deeds" he spoke while nuzzling his face into your neck. His breath tickling the skin there which causes you to giggle.

"if I gave you a kiss Lawrence you would definitely turn it into a 14 minute make out session and I have 3 minutes to arrive at Tiffany's house before I'm late" you placed your hands over his that was resting on your hips. He groans as he looks at you through the mirror.

"do you have to go to Tiffany's?" he questioned with a pout, and when he gave you the puppy eye's you almost wanted to bail out on your plans so you could stay with your boyfriend.

"yes, I promised I'd help her do birthday planning for her younger sister, then after we've planned shopping" you say reluctantly pulling away from Johnny's warm strong arms. He whines and nods in understanding.

"okay, I'll call you tonight babe" he said while walking to your bedroom door, "love ya y/n" he was his last words before he left. You smile fondly at where he once stood before grabbing your shoes and heading out the door as well.

You giggled loudly at your two friends Rebecca and Tiffany, while you all was seated on Tiffany's sofa while planning her younger sisters upcoming birthday party. You three had been laughing and joking around, talking more about boys then planning the actual party.

"last weekend me and Tommy went on our third date" Rebecca said with a smile. Tiffany let's a teasing grin spread across her face as she focuses her attention on the red head seated in between you both.

"oh, what happened on this date?" Tiffany wiggled her eyebrows in suggestive manner. You roll your eyes at your friend and smack her shoulder playfully.

"like I'd ever tell you anything tattle tale" Rebecca snorts, picking up the notebook full of ideas for the birthday and jotting something down before tossing it back on the table.

"oh c'mon, isn't Tommy apart of that badass karate thingy? He's a total badass!"

"my boyfriend knows karate too Tiffany" you decide to join the conversation with a little smile, just the thought of Johnny making your heart skip a beat.

Tiffany scoffs, shaking her head. "y/n sweetie we're talking about actual guys, not some comic book guys you have a crush" you lift a brow at her harsh tone. Of course your friends wasn't fond of comics as much as you was. They often teased you for liking comics, calling you childish and nerdy. But they was still your friends and you suffered through the constant teasing and insults.

"she's actually dating Johnny Lawrence, that cute blond boy you drool over at school" Rebecca spoke up as you just simply grabbed the notebook and jot down some ideas for Tiffany.

That seemed to make her choke on air nearly as she had wide eye's. "he's dating her?! The nerdy, quite little -

"what's so bad about being nerdy?" you cut her off angrily as you tossed the notebook aside and crossed your arms. Starting to feel offended by her this time.

"it's lame, all the comic books, the stupid dolls you collect - even that stupid shirt! It's childish y/n. You need to grow up" Tiffany spat out harshly, leaving you feeling a wave of hurt weigh down on you. What if she was right?

"it's not childish -

You tried to explain but she cuts you off with a laugh, "and all you do is play stupid video games, you spend more time in comic stores and arcades then hanging out with actual people" she laughed, Rebecca stifling a laugh beside you which has you feeling even worse. You thought they was your friends...they didn't understand just how amazing comics was, they was a escape, a slice of peace from chaos every once in a while. And video games was fun, a nice way to relax after a long day.

"you guys just don't get it... The two things are awesome" you grumbled quietly.

"awesome? You're a nerd y/n, I don't even see why Johnny would date you" her and Rebecca laughed loudly as you feel tears start to build up in your eye's. You stand up and storm out of the door, your tears you tried holding back escaping.

It was nearly 15 minutes later when you arrived home, laying on your bed and taking in what your friends said. Why would Johnny date you? You was a nerd, you loved superheroes and video games. Your friends was right... You was childish, you sat up and take your captain america shirt off and slip on a plain t-shirt and lay back down. Johnny was a total badass and deserved someone better then you, someone who he was most likely ashamed of being seen with.

As you laid in your bubble of self loathing a knock on your bedroom door disturbs you. "go away!" you said loudly while you swing a arm over your eye's while you laid on your back.

"geez you sound so happy to see me" the familier sound of your boyfriend said, "it's Johnny, i left my wallet in you're room I think, I can't find anywhere else..." he spoke from the other side of the door.

You sigh and stay in your position, "come in" the sound of the door opening then closing was the only thing heard, soon followed by Johnny's voice once more.

"why aren't you wearing the shirt I got you?" he asks while picking it up off the floor and sitting on the edge of your bed, "what's wrong?" you slowly move your arm off your eyes and look at him. He instantly saw the sadness swimming in your eye's.

"do you think I'm childish?" you ask him quietly, slowly sitting up in bed and looking at him. He gives you a confused look before shaking his head.

"no, why would I?" he says while playing with the shirt in his hands, his eyes roaming your face trying to understand what's wrong.

"because I'm a nerd... I'm a loser Johnny, I don't even know why you're dating someone like me" you said with growing irritation at yourself. Johnny placed the shirt on the bed at gives you a stern look.

"I'm with you because I love y/n. I love everything about you, I love you for you" johnny said while scooting closer to you and placing his hand on your cheek, forcing you to look at him, his eyes holding nothing but truth, "what even made you think like this?" he murmured. You let out a deep breath while leaning into his touch.

"Tiffany and Rebecca" you muttered while looking away from his gorgeous blue eyes. He sighs and scoops you up in his arms and placing you in his lap, you was surprised by the abrupt movement but soon melt into his loving arms that was wrapped around your waist.

"if they were guys and kick their ass's for making you even think for a moment that you're a loser" he said causing you to giggle a little. But he continues with a serious look, "you're not a loser, you're cool and I love that you like video games and comics... It shows that you have a fun a personality and not a boring one like Tiffany and Rebecca's" he placed a kiss on your nose, you giggle at him and lay your head on his shoulder.

"I love you Johnny, you're the absolute best" you muttered while closing your eyes and basking in his loving embrace.

"I love you too y/n, every little detail" he muttered back, running his hand up and down your back. You truly did love Johnny, no one in the world could make you as happy as him, even when you felt down....

A/n: it's short as usual and shity, even I know that bruh😭 but here it is, I wrote it while suffering through a party (I have really bad anxiety and hate crowds so I write while standing in a corner to prevent panic attacks)

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter one | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | It’s my birthday, so to celebrate I’m sharing chapter one of my new WIP. This started its life as a one-shot but then my enneagram 4 brain took over and now it’s looking like it’ll be a multi-chapter short. Enjoy!

Also, feedback – comments, likes, etc. – is always appreciated, my loves.

AO3 link | 1300 miles playlist

_____

The sun is just starting to sink in the sky as Sam and Bucky finish the latest repairs on the boat. Sam has spent the last hour pestering Bucky about things he’s missed over the last 80 years — things he needs to do, shows and movies he needs to watch, music to listen to, places to go. Bucky is considering the consequences of putting his vibranium fist through the new Captain America’s face.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to New Orleans?” Sam half-shouts at Bucky in amusement.

“Sam, besides the airport, when would I have been to New Orleans?” Bucky sighs.

“We’re going. Tonight.” He stands up. “But none of that Bourbon Street bullshit. I know a place,” he says.

_____

The bar is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a table near the small stage where a band is setting up.

“I’ll get drinks,” Sam says, heading to the bar.

“Sam said he knows the owners?” Bucky asks Sarah.

“Jo and Danny. Yeah,” Sarah says. “Danny served with Sam on his last tour. Real young kid when he served. Took some shrapnel to the chest and face in an RPG explosion and got out early. He and Sam kept in touch.”

Bucky watches Sam talk to a man with a mop of curly, brown hair and an auburn beard behind the bar. From where he sits, Bucky can see a jagged scar peeking out from the top of the man’s beard over his cheek, stopping just below his right eye.

Sam returns with three beers. "Danny says hi," he tells Sarah. "Says he'll come over when he has a free minute."

"Jo around?" Sarah asks.

Sam nods toward the stage. "She's playing tonight. Danny says she's in the office rewriting the set list."

Bucky sips his beer and looks around. When they entered, there was a wave of enthusiasm as people recognized Sam as Captain America, but it seems to have died down and now no one is paying them much attention. Bucky prefers it that way, though he’s happy that people are excited for Sam.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam says, smiling and nodding toward a woman emerging from a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting white tank tucked into light-wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of black combat boots. Her wavy, dark hair fans out behind her as she rushes towards the stage. She's clutching a piece of paper in one hand, and the smile on her face makes Bucky's heart stutter for a moment.

Sam catches the way Bucky is watching Jo as she jumps onto the stage. He elbows Sarah and nods at the lovestruck look on Bucky's face, and they share a smirk. Bucky doesn't notice the exchange. He's too busy studying Jo. Her arms are covered in tattoos, from shoulders to fingers. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, Bucky can see the row of piercings adorning the curve of her ear. There's a gold ring between her nostrils. Bucky's seen some of the kids in Brooklyn with that piercing, but he doesn't know what it's called. He's seen plenty of women like her since moving back to New York — with tattoos and piercings and dark hair — but there's something about the combination with her green eyes and soft smile that makes his mouth go dry and his palm sweat.

He takes another sip of his beer to ground himself.

Jo picks up an acoustic-electric guitar from its stand, swings the strap over her shoulder, and plugs the guitar into a small amp at her feet. She raises her right hand in the air and sets a count with her fingers — one, two, three, four. The band starts, and Jo strums the guitar, smiling at the crowd. When she steps up to the microphone and opens her mouth, Bucky is surprised at how sweet her voice sounds. He was expecting it to be rougher, but it's gentle and warm, and he likes the way her mouth looks as it forms the words to the song.

Next to him, Sam taps his foot along to the music. Bucky can't remember the last time he saw a band play live. God, he thinks, it was before the war, before everything. He takes another sip of his beer before Sarah hands him a fresh bottle. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left the table and gone to the bar. He smiles and nods his thanks.

Sarah leans over and whispers to Bucky just loud enough for Sam to hear, as well, "You should ask her out after the show."

Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. As he told Yori once, there's a dance to these things, and he's eighty years out of practice. Plus, his last date didn't exactly go as planned.

But he can't stop staring at Jo's painted black nails and tattooed fingers as they move across the guitar strings. LOVE is written across the top knuckles of her right hand, HATE on the left. A series of lines and dots decorate her lower knuckles. There’s a snake curling around her left wrist, its inked head resting on her hand, and several large peonies cover the back of her right hand and up her forearm. Bucky wonders what her tattooed hands would look like wrapped around his cock. He also wonders where else on her body she has tattoos and what that voice would sound like when he's between her thighs. Fuck.

The band transitions into another song, and Jo's eyes land on Bucky. She's used to people staring at her, especially when she's on stage, but she's caught by the way his eyes never leave her, never wander to look at the band's female bassist or to Sarah sitting next to him. She's certain his stare could burn a hole right through her, and she wouldn't even complain. He’s fucking gorgeous.

She knows who he is, of course. She’s seen the recent footage of him with Sam in New York and read the Times article detailing his move from assassin to almost Avenger. Plus, her twin brother, Danny, was a bit of a history nerd as a kid so she’s definitely seen a Captain America documentary that mentioned the Howling Commandos. And they may or may not have hidden a fugitive Captain America and Falcon following the Accords.

Jo tears her eyes away from the super soldier and focuses on the rest of the audience. She can see Danny behind the bar, flirting with the man he's been trying to sleep with for the past two weeks. She catches his eye and smiles her encouragement between lyrics. Get his number! she tries to say with her eyes. Danny's usually pretty good at reading her mind. She doesn't know if it's a brother thing or a twin thing or just a Danny thing, but when he holds up his phone in surrender and smiles back at her, she knows he got the message.

The first half of their set ends with a crash of drums and a long guitar riff. Jo takes a swig from the mason jar full of water she keeps on stage. Her eyes meet Bucky's again as she swallows, and he licks his bottom lip. Heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what else that tongue could do.

Willow, the band's bassist, steps over and whispers in Jo's ear, “If you don’t fuck him after the show, I’m going to."

When Jo looks at her, she can see the amusement dancing in Willow's eyes. She rolls her own eyes and avoids looking directly at Bucky for the rest of the set.

_____

After the last song, Jo thanks the crowd and helps the rest of the band tidy up the stage, unplugging amps and turning off the mics. She's still trying not to look at Bucky, even though she can feel his eyes on her.

"You have to stop staring, man," Sam whispers to Bucky.

"I'm not staring," Bucky grumbles.

Sarah laughs, "You're definitely staring."

“Here," Sam says, "I'll introduce you." And before Bucky can protest, Sam is waving Jo over. "Josephine," Sam says, hugging her.

"Samuel," she returns, smiling. "Congrats on the new gig." She punches his shoulder lightly. "Better you than that John Walker douchebag," she says. Bucky snorts, and she catches his eye and smirks before turning to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah." They exchange pleasantries while Bucky tries to get his tongue to turn back from lead.

Sam points at Bucky, "This is—"

Bucky stands. "Bucky. Barnes."

Jo smiles and shakes his gloved hand. "Jo. Landry," she says, matching his cadence.

Sam was right. Bucky can't stop staring at her. This close, he can see there's a bit of gold in the green of her eyes and a slight gap between her two front teeth. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and just a little bit like pot.

Jo returns his stare. His five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide the dimple in his chin, and she briefly imagines pressing her lips against it. She’s trying to name the exact shade of blue of his eyes when Sam clears his throat.

She’s not usually so easily flustered by attractive people, but Bucky's blue eyes and chiseled jaw have done a number on her self-control. “Let me grab a drink,” Jo says, turning quickly.

“No need,” Danny says, appearing in front of her and handing her a glass. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “He’s cute.”

“Please fuck off,” Jo hisses in return, widening her eyes at him. She’s only half-serious, and Danny knows it. It’s a twin thing.

When she looks at Bucky again, he’s smirking, and she wonders if enhanced hearing is a super soldier trait. Bucky pulls out the fourth chair at the small table for her to sit, and Jo can't remember the last time someone did that for her.

"The show was great," Sarah says, grabbing Jo's attention.

"Thanks," Jo replies. "Took a while to get back to it after…” she snaps her fingers but doesn’t finish her sentence.

"You were snapped?" Bucky asks.

Jo nods. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Cheers," she says sarcastically, raising her glass in a toast. She shakes her head again and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Five years just," she holds her hands open, "gone. Danny was still here, holding all this together by himself."

She tucks one leg under the other, and her knee bumps Bucky’s beneath the table. When she moves to pull her knee away from his, he places a gloved hand on her thigh, holding her leg in place.

Bucky surprises even himself with this move. He hasn’t been this forward with a woman since an auburn-haired nurse in Italy during the war. With her, it was all hands and mouths and skin on skin because he was certain he was going to die any day. Now he supposedly has all the time in the world. He just isn’t sure what he wants to do with it.

But in this moment, he's comfortable here, in this tiny bar, with a beer in his hand and Jo's knee pressed against his. He's confident that Sam would never introduce him to someone he couldn't trust.

Bucky's flirted with Sarah, sure, but that was mostly to irritate to Sam. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of something happening between himself and Sarah and then ending badly and ruining his relationship with Sam makes his stomach hurt. Pursuing Jo seems safer in that regard. She and Sam are friends, but if — when, he thinks — he ruins things, he can just go back to New York instead of losing his only friend.

Jo asks Sarah about AJ and Cass to distract herself from the butterflies forming in her stomach at Bucky’s touch, and Sam starts a story about the boys' latest interests. Bucky is content to listen to the three of them talk, his eyes barely leaving Jo. When she flicks her gaze over to him every now and then, she doesn't seem phased by his staring, and she hasn't pulled her knee away from where it's softly touching his. After a while, Danny emerges from behind the bar and joins their table, introducing himself to Bucky with a firm handshake.

While Danny and Sam trade updates about people they know, Jo leans towards Bucky and asks, “You want another drink?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies.

Jo doesn’t say anything else, just nods her head toward the bar, stands, and offers Bucky her hand. He takes it, the leather glove of his right hand warm against her palm. He wishes he could feel her skin without the gloves between them. He doesn’t usually wear them around Sam and Sarah and everyone in Delacroix, but he wasn’t sure how the metal arm would be perceived at this bar he’s never been to. Sam told him not to worry about it, but Bucky doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Jo leads him through the sea of tables to a barstool, then moves behind the bar and grabs him a fresh bottle of the beer he's been drinking all night. "Unless you want something stronger," she says, pausing before she hands it to him.

"This is good," Bucky replies.

She pops the top and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip as he watches her maneuver around the bartender on duty to fix herself another whiskey sour before taking a seat on the barstool next to him.

"Full disclosure; because it's only fair," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I know who you are, Sergeant Barnes. Not the whole story, but bits and pieces."

Bucky pauses. He searches her eyes for the fear he's expecting but finds none. "And you're okay with that?" he asks.

Jo quirks the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile and says, “If Sam trusts you, I trust you."

“I’m not great with meeting new people, and I was telling myself the same thing about you," Bucky admits, almost sheepishly.

“You know we can never tell Sam about this, right?" Jo says, conspiratorially. "We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Never,” Bucky agrees, and knocks his beer bottle lightly against her glass in understanding.

They talk for a while, just the two of them alone at the end of the bar. Jo asks him how he likes Louisiana ("Hot, but the people are friendly"); where he's staying ("Sarah's"); when he's heading back to New York ("A week from tomorrow"); what he likes to do for fun ("Still figuring that out"); his favorite place ("Wakanda") and favorite book ("The Hobbit"); and a myriad of other questions — some of which Bucky answers easily and some that make him pause. He makes her give her own answers to each one in turn.

Jo leans close to Bucky so she can hear him over the noise of the room, and he takes the opportunity to study her features more closely. He's practically mapped all of her face when her eyes leave his for a brief second and land on Sam, Sarah, and Danny staring at them from the table across the room.

"Don't look now," she whispers, leaning even closer, "But we seem to have an audience."

Bucky makes a big show of looking over his shoulder at the group.

"I said 'don't look!'" Jo laughs and swats casually at his arm.

Bucky takes the opportunity to pin her hand with his own, holding it tightly and licking his bottom lip before smiling at her. He can see the blush paint her cheeks and creep down her neck and chest.

He likes Jo, likes how easy it feels to be around her. He isn't used to that. He isn't used to feeling comfortable with people. Hell, he thinks, I barely feel comfortable with myself. But there's something about Jo that makes him feel safe and calm. Of course, there's attraction there — plenty of it — but he's sure it's more than that.

For her part, Jo is enamored with Bucky. She likes his hard edges and his snark, but she also likes the small glimpses he's given her of the man beneath all of that. She doesn't usually fall for people so easily, but she's found herself drowning in the sea of blues that make up Bucky's eyes, and she doesn't want to be rescued. How fucking cliche, she tells herself.

"We should probably go back over there," Bucky says, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.

They both stand and make their way back to the table. Bucky pulls Jo's chair out for her again, but this time, he makes sure to pull it a little closer to his chair in the process. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who smirks at him. Bucky returns the smirk with a thin-lipped smile of his own before scooting even closer to Jo.

Jo finds it hard to focus on the conversation in front of her with Bucky's warm body so close to her own, and she realizes she misses the pleasant feeling of his gloved hand around hers. She places her own hand on his thigh and hopes he gets the hint.

Bucky’s fascinated by even the slightest movements of Jo's tattooed fingers, and when her hand rests on his denim-clad thigh, he thinks the sight alone might kill him. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the glove off his right hand and links his own flesh and bone fingers with hers.

Jo doesn't look at Bucky — she's trying not to draw attention to her hand in his lap — but Bucky watches the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile, and he squeezes her hand in response.

The conversation continues a bit longer before Danny leaves the table to check in with his bartender. Jo excuses herself to get another drink, and Bucky watches her pop behind the bar to fill a glass for herself.

"I need to get home, relieve the babysitter," Sarah says when she finishes her beer.

"We're heading out then," Sam says, then turns to Bucky, "You coming?"

Bucky looks toward Jo and says, "No, I'm gonna stick around. I'll get a cab back or get a hotel room in the city."

Sam smirks. "I don't think you're gonna need a hotel room, man."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Just promise me you'll use protection," Sam laughs. "We don't need any little super soldiers running around just yet."

Bucky gives him a sarcastic smile, but realizes Sam's probably right, and he definitely doesn't have any condoms in his wallet. He's not planning on sleeping with Jo tonight — he just met her, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet — but if the army taught him anything, it's to be prepared. As if reading his mind, Sam pulls out his wallet and places a condom in Bucky's palm before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back.

"Have fun, man," Sam says.

Sam and Sarah say their goodbyes to Danny and Jo on their way out, and Bucky joins Jo at the bar, sitting on the barstool next to her where they sat earlier.

"Sticking around, soldier?" she asks. She reaches for his dog tags and tugs them gently. The drinks have been strong, and she's feeling more flirtatious than she would otherwise.

"If you don't mind," Bucky replies.

Jo smiles and reaches for his hand this time. "Not at all."

"Are you gonna finish your interrogation of me?" Bucky asks, amusement apparent in his voice.

Jo laughs in return. “I thought I'd read your palm instead," she says, turning his hand over in her own.

Bucky snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. "Is this a trick you use on all the guys?"

"And girls," Jo says, meeting his eyes. Then she studies his hand carefully, running her index finger across the lines that crisscross his palm.

"Your dominant hand," she continues, "determines your future, while your non-dominant hand is tied to your past."

Bucky snorts again at the truth of it all.

"I'm not making this up!" Jo laughs. "I mean, someone did, but I'm not!" She can see the laughter shining in Bucky's eyes, so she goes on, "Your head line is deep, meaning your thinking is clear and focused, but it's also curved downward which indicates a creative spirit and an appetite for literature and fantasy." She looks up at him, "Explains the love for Tolkien."

"I'm not sure I'm buying this," Bucky says.

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're gonna give me a hard time over palm reading," Jo laughs.

"The aliens were real," Bucky deadpans.

"And in New Orleans, palm reading and psychics and crystal balls and voodoo are real," Jo says, still laughing. "But I promise not to read your palm again or read your aura or get out the tarot cards."

Bucky likes the way her slight accent makes New Orleans sound more like Nawlins. He also likes the sound of her laughter and the way her face lights up when she smiles. She's still holding his hand in her own, so he turns his palm over in hers and brings her tattooed knuckles to his lips.

_____

Meanwhile, the bar closes, and Danny and the bartender clean glasses and close up for the night.

Danny points at Jo as he comes around the bar. "I’m locking up then heading upstairs," he says.

"Thanks, love," Jo replies.

Danny walks the bartender out and locks the front door, then retraces his steps to the back of the bar. On his way past Jo, he stops and kisses her on the cheek, saying, "Be good. And set the alarm."

He turns to Bucky. "And you, Sergeant Barnes," he says, pointing at him now, "I know you're an Avenger or whatever, but if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"Bye, Danny," Jo says, rolling her eyes as he disappears through the door marked 'Employees Only.' "Don't worry about him," Jo says, turning back to Bucky.

“Older brother, right?” Bucky says. He understands; he was an older brother once.

“Twins, actually,” Jo smiles.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer. "Sarah said Danny served with Sam," he says.

"Yeah. Afghanistan. A lifetime ago," Jo says. “He only had one more mission before he could come home so he switched with someone. An RPG barely missed the helicopter he was in, and he was pretty badly injured in the explosion and the resulting crash. Almost lost an eye. He came home, got out of the Air Force, went to business school. Now we own the bar..." She pauses to take the last sip of her drink. "...and the building. Sam's really helped Danny get past everything."

"He's good at that," Bucky says.

"Another thing we can never tell him," Jo laughs.

"Agreed. So, when do I get to ask about your tattoos?" he questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks.

Bucky licks his bottom lip. "Anything."

He likes her dagger tattoo the best. It’s inked on the inside of her right forearm, nestled amongst the peonies, the hilt facing the crook of her elbow and the knife’s tip pointed toward her wrist. It’s feminine and dangerous and incredibly sexy. She blushes when he tells her how much he likes it. He doesn't tell her it reminds him of one of his favorite knives, currently tucked at the bottom of his backpack back in Sarah's living room.

"In some ways, they're my armor," she explains. "When I'm on stage, people look at the tattoos, not me, and I kind of like that. It lets me be whoever I want to up there."

Bucky understands the desire to hide better than anyone. But she knows who he is so there's really no point in hiding from her any longer. Plus, he feels like his arm is something she would understand, something she could accept — not just because of her brother's military record but because of her own unique body modifications.

He pulls his left glove off and shrugs out of his leather jacket, revealing the vibranium arm beneath his black t-shirt.

Jo takes in the black metal and gold details. "That," she says, pointing to his arm, "is lovely."

"It's lethal," Bucky warns.

She cocks her head to the side and says, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky can't stop the corner of his lip from pulling up in the slightest hint of a smile.

"Okay,” she says, placing her palms flat on the bar top. “You want another beer?" she asks.

Jo stands and turns to move behind the bar, but Bucky's vibranium hand on her arm stops her. She looks at him curiously, and he slides his arm behind her back and pulls her flush against his chest. She settles between his open thighs, her palms resting gently on top of his legs. He's staring at her so intensely she's convinced he willburn that hole right through her, but she can't bring herself to look away.

He leans in, his lips only a breath away from hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky finally asks, his flesh hand moving up to cup her cheek.

"Please," Jo whispers, desperately.

Bucky closes the distance between them, and his lips meet hers. He's hesitant at first, but when he feels Jo respond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing even closer, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens them for him. She tastes like bourbon and lemon from the whiskey sours she's been drinking, and Bucky loves it. His tongue sweeps along the roof of her mouth, and Jo moans. Bucky is determined to hear that sound again.

He kisses across the corner of her mouth and over her jaw. The hand that was cupping her cheek moves to her hair to angle her head backwards and give him better access to the bare skin of her neck. He laves his tongue over the corded muscles there, then nips at the skin with his teeth. She moans again, and Bucky is on fire.

Jo's right hand weaves into his short hair and tugs until his mouth comes away from her neck. He catches his breath while Jo nuzzles his nose with her own and places a soft kiss against the Cupid's bow of his upper lip. His eyes meet hers, and her pupils are blown wide with lust.

The need to kiss her again is overwhelming. Bucky’s lips find hers, and Jo somehow leans even closer into his body, her hands tracing down his chest to his waist. Bucky lets his own hands move to Jo’s ribs, resting just beneath her chest, his thumbs teasing the underside of each breast. Jo gasps when Bucky’s right thumb moves across her taut nipple.

Fuck, he thinks, I need to slow down. While he’s shared kisses with the handful of women he’s met on dating apps, he hasn’t done anything this intimate in a lifetime.

Bucky pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Jo's and stares into her green eyes.

"I should leave," he says. “I’m getting carried away. I…I want to do this right.”

And he does. Desperately. He wants to buy her flowers and take her out and learn what makes her swoon. But he also wants to map every tattoo on her body with his fingers and tongue and then fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Jo laughs breathily. “We don’t have to do anything, but it’s almost three o'clock in the morning and your ride already left. You can sleep on my couch if you want to be a gentleman.”

Bucky groans. “I should be a gentleman."

She kisses him again, lightly, then moves away to set the alarm and turn the rest of the lights out. She leads him through the 'Employees Only' door and up a set of stairs to her apartment.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Jo asks, as she unlocks the door.

"No," Bucky says. As far as he knows, he's not allergic to anything thanks to the knock-off serum, but he doesn't say that.

Inside her apartment, Jo kicks off her combat boots at the door, and Bucky does the same, leaving them both in their socked feet. There's a fluffy black cat sitting on the back of the green velvet sofa.

"That's Toulouse," Jo says. "Or Louie. He doesn't answer to either, so it really doesn't matter what I call him."

The cat regards Bucky with indifference before standing up, stretching, and leaving the room.

"Guest bathroom’s just there,” she nods. “Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the couch," Jo continues. "Unless you've changed your mind about being a gentleman." She smirks at him.

Bucky laughs through his nose. “Don’t tempt me.”

Jo leaves the room for a moment, which gives Bucky a chance to look around. He's standing in her living room; one wall features a set of French doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the street, and the opposite wall holds bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling with books, framed photographs, and various knick-knacks. From where he stands, he can see a small room with an upright piano and guitars hanging on the walls. The exterior walls of Jo's apartment are brick, and everything else is set in jewel tones. He likes it. It's dark and cozy, and from what he knows of Jo so far, her living space matches her well.

When she returns, Jo is holding a stack of blankets and pillows. She sets them on the ottoman and moves across the room to close the curtains.

"There are some sweats and a t-shirt there that should fit you" she says, turning to Bucky.

"Thanks," Bucky says, smiling softly.

Now that they're here, in her apartment, Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do or say. He can still feel the heat of Jo's lips on his, and he's painfully aware that the condom Sam gave him is still in his pocket.

Jo must sense the hesitation rolling off him because she crosses the room to stand in front of him and takes his hands in hers.

"Get some sleep, Sarge," she says, squeezing his hands in tandem before dropping them.

"Goodnight, Jo," Bucky returns.

_____

Bucky lays on Jo's couch in the dark beneath blankets that smell like laundry detergent. He wishes they smelled like her. He unlocks his phone and looks up the distance between New Orleans and Brooklyn. Just over thirteen hundred miles. He sighs and drops his phone onto the coffee table before closing his eyes and reliving each kiss as he falls asleep.

On the other side of the wall, Jo falls across her bed, deflated. She likes this guy. She wants him — painfully so. But leave it to her to fall for the one guy in her bar who lives half-way across the country.

_____

next chapter

[ahh-fxck]

ok but i just saw this AU "My incredibly stupid cat just jumped out of my apartment window after a bird and you caught her in your arms like a baby and looked up, stared me dead in the eye and said "I think you dropped something" and this is geraskier y/y? :D?

Yes! Yes I love this so much! So much that I accidentally wrote five pages about it!

Please enjoy :D It is also here on ao3.

(Also please pardon the no beta, I will come back and edit this but I got excited and wanted to post it!!)

Also also- The song I quote is a real Ren Faire song and is pretty fucking funny if you’re into that kind of thing.

Also also also- Holy shit I am the kind of nerd that will spend two hours researching 500+ year old slang for pussy because I wanted to make a throwaway joke in a fic.

And finally: Yes! I am willing to write more of this if enough people are into it. :) Let me know!

~♡♡♡~

Jaskier threw his leg up on the couch, strumming his lute and singing his heart out. He had just gotten his first shitty apartment for the summer between college semesters, and he was massively behind on practicing for the Faire. August was only a month and a half a way, and he had at least twenty more songs to memorize into his repertoire. It was his first summer as an adult, and he’d finally been allowed to act as one of the wandering bards. 

If all of the girls were bells in a tower

And I was a clapper, I'd bang one each hour

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

If all of the girls were fish in the ocean

And I was a wave I would teach them the motion.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

The young bard-to-be resumed striding around the room, practicing his struts and flourishes. Nothing less than perfection would do. If he didn’t impress the first week, he would be relegated back to the fairy chorus again, and the fucking leggings itched in the August heat. 

If all of the girls were little white rabbits

And I was a hare, I would teach them bad habits.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

If all them young ladies was up for improvement.

I'd give them some help with a ball-bearing movement.

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over

Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

As he paced back and forth, he tossed his head to throw a sweat-sticky curl of hair off of his forehead. The merciless summer heat had started early this year, and by June it was in full swing. The windows of his little apartment were wide open, and a standing fan was turning back and forth, stirring lazy eddies in the arid air. Nearby, his elderly cat grey cat, Pipkin, lazed in the cool shadow of the table. 

If all them young ladies was little white kittens

And I was the tom cat, I'd give them new fittin's 

Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over-

As he spun with particular exuberance, he landed wrong and staggered onto the cat’s tail. Flailing backwards, Jaskier flew one way and the cat flew another. He hit the floor near the ratty couch with a crash, all the breath rushing out of his lungs. Nearby he heard a ‘bang!’ and then a howl of fury and fear as the ancient screen gave way under her considerable weight. Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Pipkin!” He screamed, scrambling over to the window and looking frantically downward. As he scanned the sidewalk for his cat, he saw a man with white hair and golden eyes staring up at him. His hammering heart did a complicated skip as the man locked eyes with him and smirked, gesturing with something in his arms. 

“I think you dropped something,” he called up, his voice a gravelly baritone. In his arms was Pipkin, who had such a look of shock on her face that it was almost comical. 

Despite his terror, Jaskier gave a slightly hysterical titter. Oh shit, it was his drop-dead gorgeous neighbor. “I can’t believe you caught her. Oh Melitele, thank you!” No such goddess existed anymore, but in his upset he had forgotten to drop out of character and used the ancient name. 

Below him, his neighbor’s eyebrows went up. “It’s fine,” he said, but he sounded a little thrown. The cat, recovering from her shock, began to struggle in his arms. She gave a surprisingly deep snarl for such a tiny animal. Lashing out, she spat at her rescuer and tried to claw him. Dodging easily, he fixed his eyes on the little animal and gestured in the air above her. “Hush,” he said, though Jaskier could barely hear him. With a slow blink, the little cat settled down in his arms. 

Jaskier gaped at this exchange from above. When the stranger’s compelling golden eyes returned to him, it sparked him suddenly back into motion. “Sweet goddess are you ok?” Leaning out of the window, he peered down at Pipkin. “Pipkin, you be good! What is wrong with you?! I’ll be right down.”

The big man holding his cat smiled a slow smile, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d better bring her up to you. She’s not going to be very happy when I let her go.” 

Jaskier blinked at him, puffed, and then nodded. He wasn’t expecting guests and his apartment was a mess, but he imagined his neighbor was right. It was odd to see her so quiet, though. Feeling a stir of unease, he called, “Okay! I’m in 503!”

“I know,” the white-haired man replied with a crooked grin. He walked around the side of the building to the entryway and vanished out of sight. 

Struck by a sudden panic, Jaskier slammed the window closed and flew away from it. He began frantically cleaning his apartment. Pizza boxes in the trash, empty soda cans in the recycling, oh sweet goddess his socks were everywhere. “Why am I like this?!” He groaned, running a pile of dirty laundry across the apartment and flinging it into his bedroom.

He’d watched his blisteringly hot neighbor move in less than a month ago to the apartment next door, and since then had become a little obsessed. Not only was he gorgeous, he had some weird habits. He kept odd hours. Sometimes he’d leave around twilight one evening and not show up until noon next day, limping into his apartment with a long, dark jacket on, even in the heat of summer. Others, he’d be out at dawn with a large pack of some sort on his back. Then he’d come back in the middle of the day, looking like ten miles of bad road. Sometimes Jaskier could swear there was blood on the carpet, but every time he’d go back to look later, it had vanished- scrubbed away, or never there?  

He never seemed to mind the noise Jaskier made, either. While other philistines railed at his 3 AM renditions of “Roll Your Leg Over,” banging on the floor and wall of his apartment. On one memorable occasion, they had even sent an exasperated police officer to bang on his door. Never the white-haired stranger, though, no matter how loud he was being. 

Just then, knocking interrupted his frantic cleaning. Dropping the lute onto the couch and swearing, Jaskier ran to answer the door. It was only after he had flung the door wide and the white-haired man had stepped inside that he realized he was still only in his boxers. Mortified, he froze to the floor as his neighbor slipped around him and punted the door shut with his foot. He hadn’t even cleared away all of the empty soda bottles, and he’d forgotten his pants.

The big man glanced at him as he entered and smirked. Cradled in his arms, no doubt getting his black jacket all furry, was Pipkin. She had a vague, dazed expression on her face, but her tail swished calmly as he turned to close the door. When he released her on the floor however, some sort of spell seemed to break. She blinked, spun around yowling, and whacked the man’s thick calf-high leather boot three times in quick succession. Then she sprinted away into the recesses of Jaskier’s apartment, vanishing in a trice. 

“Pipkin!” Jaskier gasped, the shock of seeing his usually friendly cat smack the man jarring him into motion. “I am, so sorry,” he quavered, grabbing a yellow, furry jacket off of the coat hook near the door and wrapping it self-consciously around his waist. “She’s normally very sweet, I promise. Are you all right?!” He looked down at the unharmed boot and back up into shocking golden eyes, bright and intelligent, glittering with amusement. 

“I’m fine,” the stranger drawled, removing silver-studded black leather gloves and putting them into his jacket pocket. Closer up, it was possible to see that he carried something bulky under the black duster, strapped to his back. What it was, however, was unclear. 

“That’s… that’s good, I’m glad to hear it,” Jaskier bubbled awkwardly, at a loss. He couldn’t just bolt for his trousers without introducing himself first, but he didn’t want to introduce himself without trousers. Dithering, he clutched the jacket to his waist and stared with wide blue eyes at the black-clad vision in front of him. Tall, white hair, long black jacket, some sort of… was that biker’s gear? The pants appeared to be leather with thick plates sewn into them, perhaps to protect from road rash. He also had some sort of sturdy leather vest or something peeking through the opening of his jacket. A tingle raced across the back of Jaskier’s arms. Whatever he was, this was no normal neighbor. 

“Want to go grab some pants?” A dry voice cut through his dithering. “I’ll wait.” Bright eyes tracked across the fluffy yellow jacket, the smirk widening slightly. 

“Oh thank you,” Jaskier gasped, fleeing before he even had a chance to think. “I’ll be right back!” he called over his shoulder, vanishing into his bedroom. He blindly grabbed for the first pair of pants he could find in his drawer and staggered into them. They were a pair of high-waisted blue trousers that tied at the back- part of one of his Faire outfits. 

Then he peeked under the bed for Pipkin, who he found in the closet. She was hiding in an empty shoe box, and emitted a peevish growl when he gently fished her out, cooing softly to her to calm her. Once he had satisfied himself that the struggling creature was uninjured, he gently returned her to her nest. Then, too flustered to grab a shirt, Jaskier bounced back out into the living room.

His guest greeted his return with a slightly stricken look, though it was hidden quickly behind a look of guarded amusement. He eyed Jaskier up and down, taking in the thatch of chest hair, the bare feet, the blue trousers. “Cat ok?” He asked, his voice a deep, pleasantly gravelly baritone. 

“She’s fine,” Jaskier shuffled awkwardly, then stuck his hand out. “Thank you so much for being there to catch her. Um. Gosh, I wish I’d met you under better circumstances, you’re really um… I mean.” He stopped, swallowed, catching his breath and reeling himself back in. “My name is Jaskier, it’s nice to meet you.”

The man eyed his hand for a moment that was slightly longer than Jaskier was actually comfortable with, before grasping it firmly. “Geralt,” he introduced himself. “Geralt z Rivii.” 

His hand was warm and held a truly surprising amount of strength; Jaskier very rarely felt someone deliberately being gentle with him, but he could tell the big man could crush his fingers like bird bones if he wanted to. It made Jaskier’s bones feel like they were melting like butter, to feel that strength. “Wow…” he said, eyes wide, then mentally kicked himself. “I mean, uh. Nice to meet you,” he burbled, before trailing off awkwardly into silence, kicking himself the entire time for sounding like an idiot. 

The corners of Geralt’s eyes crinkled as he squeezed Jaskier’s hand delicately. “Nice to meet you too.” Turning, he scanned the apartment, his expression unreadable. “Why did you name your cat Pipkin? That’s… an unusual choice.” 

“Uh… Well, funny story…” Jaskier blushed. Normally, he loved telling this story, but somehow it seems silly and small under that bright gaze. “It’s sort of a play on words. People call their cats ‘pussy,’ so I named her… uh… another word for pussy. An old word. Pipkin.” Damn. He hadn’t even managed to make it funny this time. 

“That joke’s more than five hundred years out of date,” Geralt noted, tipping his head to the side and fixing him with a warm, amused look. 

“How- How do you know that?” Jaskier sputtered, astonished. The slang was from the 17th century, no one outside certain academic circles had any business knowing that. “Are you… do you do the Faire?”

Shifting the pack on his back, which concealed two swords- one silver, and one steel, Geralt snorted. “I really don’t.” 

[threeletterslife]

04 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity again, mentions of depression and physical abuse, mentions of sharing a bed (because jimin is freaky) & pretty bad pms-ing

→ wordcount: 7.4k

You walk into Jimin's classroom, as usual, setting down your backpack as you prepare to wait for a couple of hours for your teacher to finish grading tests.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says as you sit down at your desk. He grins happily at you. "I actually finished grading everything for once, so I was thinking we could go and grab something to drink. It's my treat since I feel bad for always making you wait after school for me."

"Really?" you say, excited. "Then can we go to that new coffee shop? Wattbucks was it? It's a bit far from here, but I hope that's fine."

You had purposely suggested a place far away from your school, afraid of any of your peers seeing you grab a drink with your teacher. That would surely raise some suspicion to gossipy, hormonal teenagers.

Jimin nods to your relief. "Yeah, I think it was called Wattbucks. Let's go, I could use a good latte."

"I'm gonna totally tease Jin. He's always wanted to learn latte art," you laugh as you get up from your seat and swing your backpack over your shoulder.

Your friend laughs as he opens the classroom door for you to get out first. "I'm not surprised. That cousin of yours loves anything food-related. I think that's where you got it, Y/N the hog."

You slap his shoulder.

After spending more time picking a drink than you spend taking your math tests, you finally decide on a cute aesthetic one that claims to come with a heart latte art.

"I'll have the same as her," Jimin tells the barista.

"Copycat," you murmur as your teacher pays for the drinks.

"Am not," Jimin murmurs back as both of you choose a nice, warm seat in the corner of the cafe. "I wanted the heart-shaped latte too! You just ordered first."

You roll your eyes dramatically. "Fine, fine," you sigh as you adjust your seat on the plush cushion set beneath you. "This place is so nice."

"Does Jin not take you out often?" Jimin asks as he stretches back comfortably. "I should take you to WattDonald's sometime—it has a nicer interior design."

"No, he insists eating at home is much healthier or some shit," you sigh, then you frown, processing the other half of Jimin's words. "Wait, are you telling me you literally judge cafes by their interior design?" you ask.

"Why not?"

"I don't know... because you go to cafes to eat? Not see?" you say sarcastically.

Jimin laughs. "If you're going to eat, might as well eat someplace nice, right?"

You snort. "I'm no queen. I can eat in a dumpster and still be happy that I'm eating," you remark.

"Y/N the hog," Jimin whispers, grinning mischievously at you.

"Hey!" you shout, slamming your hands on the table.

Jimin only laughs. "Calm down!" he says between his laughter. "I was joking!"

You're still seething when a waitress practically skips over and hands you and Jimin your matching drinks.

Immediately you forget your dispute with Jimin as your eyes turn wide in wonder. "Oh, it's so pretty!" you coo at the drink. The cream-colored coffee cup to the elegant heart etched into the foam—it was all so beautiful.

Jimin nods, admiring his drink as well.

"Jin's going to die when I send him a picture of this!" you say as you fish out your phone and start to snap pictures of the rather photogenic cup of latte.

It doesn't take long before Jimin starts to photobomb, making silly faces in the background of your aesthetic pictures. "Jimin!" you whine. "Jokes on you, I'm sending the ugliest picture of you with the latte to Jin!"

Jimin shrugs. "As long as Jin doesn't post it, I'm fine."

"I'll tell him to," you say, evilly.

"My best friend wouldn't betray me like that."

"My favorite cousin wouldn't betray me like either," you say. "He'll post it!"

You quickly text Jin the picture.

You look up from your phone to see Jimin talking to the waitress.

"Yes! We've been dating for three years now," Jimin says, suddenly putting an arm around you.

"Wha—" you say, shocked out of your mind. Was he drunk again? But drunk from a latte? Was that even scientifically possible?

"Thank you so much for offering us a free couple's mini cake," Jimin tells the waiter, squeezing your shoulder.

OhhhHhhHh. You catch on. You want that complimentary cake.

You nod. "Three years strong!" you giggle.

"Oh, how adorable!" the waitress squeals, "I'll get you two the cake! Would you like a photo afterward? Even your lattes match!"

"Yes please," you say. "My cousin would want to see a picture of us."

Jimin nods, catching on. "Jin, that rascal. I've always told him to find a girl of his own."

The waitress laughs. "Oh, how adorable!" she repeats, "I'll get the mini cake!" And with that, she disappears into the kitchen.

You start to laugh. "Jimin, what the hell?"

"What? Free food!" his whispers in your ear.

You forget his arm was around you until he takes it away, the warm imprint still hovering over you.

The waitress comes back in a flash, holding a small, aesthetically pleasing cake. She places it smack in the middle of the table, as Jimin snakes his arm around your waist to play couple again.

You hand the waitress your phone, which she gladly takes. "Keep posing!" she says as she starts to snap photos repeatedly.

You and Jimin rotate from smiling to silly faces to pouty faces, but the waitress just won't stop with the pictures. Finally, she pauses, putting your phone down a bit.

"Only your faces look different, move your bodies!" she urges. "Kiss! It'll look adorable!"

You and Jimin give each other looks.

Oh shit.

"Oh no, we're completely fine," Jimin says as you nod in agreement.

The waitress scrunches her eyebrows. "A couple, huh?" she says. That's when it occurs to you that now you two are a suspicious couple.

Okay, but since when did couples have to kiss on demand??

"Let's just do it for the picture, Jimin," you say.

Jimin whirls on you, giving you a panicked look, but he quickly replaces it with a smile, nodding. "Okay Y/N, whatever you say."

"Adorable!" the waitress squeals.

You're starting to think this woman is the most annoying person ever.

With a bit of hesitation, you and Jimin turn to each other, Jimin cupping your face with his warm hands as you naturally sling your arms around his shoulders. He doesn't even look nervous as he habitually licks his full lips. You, on the other hand, knew you are beet red and you look a bit nervous as you both lean into each other, lips inching closer and closer. This just reminds you of the first time you'd kissed your teacher...

No, Y/N!

You almost feel bad, wondering if Jimin actually thought you'd kiss him. With only an inch to spare before your lips would meet, you jump back, laughing.

"Jiminie!" you whine. "Your breath stinks!"

"It does not!" Jimin shouts defensively before realizing your save. "Okay fine, I forgot my mint today."

The waitress laughs. "Even more adorable!" she says, not even suspecting a thing. "I took a picture of you two just about to kiss though!"

"Let me guess," you say. "It's adorable."

The annoying waitress nods. "How'd you guess?" she says as she happily hands back your phone.

"I had a hunch," you reply.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you two to finish up your adorable date!" the waitress sings as she practically skips away.

You turn to Jimin. "That's a fuckload of trouble you almost got us in, Jiminie," you say.

Your teacher laughs. "The save of the century brought to you by Y/N," he jokes. "God, I almost thought we had to reenact that time I was dru—"

"Oh shut up," you say, nudging Jimin, feeling your face turn red. "That was not appropriate."

"Whatever," Jimin chuckles. "Now what are you going to do with those couple photos we just took?" he teases. "Blackmail me?"

You perk up. "Wow, that's actually a good idea," you tease back. "I'll keep them—you know, for memories."

"Good idea."

"And maybe send them to Jin."

"Goddammit," you breathe as you stand helplessly outside your house. Jimin had just dropped you off and you were pretty sure he had driven away by now. You were screwed. Being your dumb self, you had forgotten your house keys and now you were locked out of the house. "Shit," you breathe. "This is just swell."

"Everything all right?" a familiar voice calls from behind. You whirl around, surprised to see Jimin watching you from his car.

"What are you still doing here?" you ask, frowning slightly as you start to walk up to your teacher's car.

"I always watch until you're inside your house," Jimin says, "just in case something were to happen. I thought you knew."

"Uh, no," you say, your brows creasing.

"Well, now you do." Jimin shrugs, quickly changing the topic. "Now what's the problem?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself. "Being the dumbass that I am, I locked myself out of my house."

Jimin chuckles, his eyes scrunching up cutely as usual. "Wow, I can't believe you're my best student. Get in the car, I guess you can stay at my house."

You freeze. "Uh, you sure?" you say. "Won't I bother you or something?"

But it was more like: Holy fuck am I really going to consider staying over at my teacher's house?? These days, other girls in your grade were busy staying over at guys' houses that were in their age range doing who knows what. You? Not so much.

"Nah, you won't be a bother," Jimin says surely. "It's always nice to have company."

As genuine as your friend sounds, you're still a bit skeptical. After all, it is your teacher's house... Mentally, you thank God that it's Friday. You don't want to imagine the awkwardness if you went to school the next day in the same clothes as before, all the while pulling up in Jimin's car. You shudder slightly at the thought.

But you also kinda have no choice.

"Okay... then," you say hesitantly as Jimin smiles and reaches over to open the car door for you. You clumsily climb back into his car. "Thanks, uh, I guess."

It feels a bit weird at first to step foot into Jimin's house. It's rather larger than you've imagined a teacher's house to be, but you can still tell that it's a cozy place.

"Make yourself at home," Jimin says, gesturing towards his commodious abode. "You can take the bed later, I'll sleep on the couch."

You nod. "Uh, yeah, thanks."

Goddammit. Is it just me or is this fucking awkward?

"Hey, do you usually cook?" you ask, hoping to brush off some awkwardness.

"Not really. I get takeout," Jimin answers. "But I think I have ramen somewhere if you don't wanna go out."

"Ooh, yes!" you say, never a girl to pass up ramen, or food in general. "It's just that... I don't really know how to cook it. When Jin said I can't cook for shit, he meant it," you confide, shrugging.

Jimin shrugs too. "Me neither. But how hard can it be?"

Your jaw drops. "Maybe we should get takeout then. I don't want to burn your house down or something," you say as Jimin makes his way to his spacy kitchen.

"Nah," your teacher answers as he rummages through his kitchen cabinets and fishes out two packs of ramen. "Like I said, how hard can it be?" Instinctively, Jimin rips both packs open, takes out the important contents and tosses the bags away.

"Shouldn't we use the directions you just trashed?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning.

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, waving his hand. "It's just ramen, how hard can it be?" Your teacher pulls out a large pot and fills it three-quarters with water. "Do you think this is enough?"

You squint at the water sloshing again the pot, scrutinizing the amount. "I dunno. Maybe you should put a bit more just in case. More doesn't hurt, right?"

"Right." Jimin fills the pot with water to the brim. "I think this is alright."

You nod. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I've seen Jin boil the water first."

"Do you know how long he boils it?" Jimin asks as he places the pot on the stove and turns it on in one swift move.

"Not really... But I remember he told me once you need bubbles in the water," you reply as you examine the water carefully.

"Like this?" Jimin asks as he cautiously points at minuscule bubbles forming around the ring of the pot.

You squint. "Those are some tiny-ass bubbles. But they're bubbles nonetheless," you say, chuckling slightly.

"See? I told you. This is easy," Jimin chuckles. "And fast," he adds. "Now we add in the ramen."

"Yup," you say. "Logically, we should let it cook for a while."

"So... thirty minutes?"

"Exactly what I was thinking."

But thirty minutes later, something didn't look quite right.

"Um, Jimin, is the water supposed to spill out from the sides?" you inquire, tapping your teacher's shoulder.

"No, shit, Y/N!" Jimin screams, as he dashes over to the overflowing pot and starts an attempt to turn the fire off. However, that was definitely not a good idea, especially since the steaming water was pouring down on the sides of the pot. "Ah, fuck!" your teacher shouts. "That's hot!" Jimin waves his red hand away.

"God, Jimin, you okay?" you shriek as you rush over and get a rag to safely turn the stove off.

"Yeah. Yeah," Jimin brushes your question off, covering his hurt hand with his good one.

"Get some ice," you say as you try to fan away the smoke that was now making its way up to the smoke detectors. "Ah, shit," you say, just as the fire alarm goes off.

Jimin, icing his bright red hand falls to the floor in frustration as the annoying alarm makes an atrocious racket.

Fuck my life.

"Don't just sit there! Help me open the windows!" you scream at your teacher as you jump around the house, opening every window and every door you spy. Soon, Jimin's sprinting around with you, helping you with the task.

Several minutes later, the blasted fire alarm stops beeping. You and Jimin collapse on the floor side by side, breathing hard and looking dazed.

"We are never cooking again," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. "How's your hand?" you ask your teacher, looking over at him.

"Nothing that'll scar," Jimin says, rubbing ice on his hand. "God, I didn't know cooking ramen would actually be hard. I'm sorry."

You laugh. "No hard feelings. It wasn't your fault."

"Technically, it's a good thing all of this happened because I think I bought that ramen a decade ago," Jimin chuckles. "Things could've been worse if we ate that."

"You what?!"

Jimin laughs heartily. "It was all back when I thought I was going to cook for myself," he explains shortly. He suddenly turns to you, grinning. "So... for dinner, I was thinking Plan B. Pizza?"

"Pizza," you agree, smiling.

Munching on pizza slices and drinking diet coke, you and Jimin were sitting on the living room sofa, sharing small stories with each other.

"My parents totally did not want me to be a teacher," Jimin says. "I graduated from one of the top three colleges so they thought it was a waste for me to teach a bunch of teenagers."

"Should I be offended?" you chuckle. "But you seem to really like math and teaching in general. I think your job fits you."

Jimin grins at you. "Really?"

"Mhm. Besides, you have a perfect life, don't you? Parents, friends, best friends..."

Jimin raises his eyebrows. "And you don't? Good grades, caring cousin, amazing teacher..." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Perfect life," he purrs.

But you don't laugh and instead shake your head. "No, you don't understand," you bite out. Maybe a bit harshly—which you hadn't intended.

Jimin looks at you, startled from your sudden change in tone. "Woah, there, sorry," he quickly apologizes.

His sincerity immediately makes you feel bad and you sigh, shaking your head. "No, you shouldn't be apologizing," you say. "I... I just get extra moody when it comes to this."

"But aren't you always moody?" Jimin pokes fun at you as you shove him to the side. "Sorry, sorry!" Jimin squeaks as you shove him again. But as soon as he gains his straight posture back and looks over at you, you can tell he became serious. "Hey, Y/N, if you need to vent to me, I'm here to listen," he says.

You raise your eyebrows. "Who says I need to vent?"

"Your mood swings tell me everything." Jimin shrugs.

"You—"

"Y/N, I'm here to listen, not judge. You can trust me," Jimin interrupts, his voice convincingly soothing.

Goddammit, Jimin.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Can I trust you?"

"You need me to trust you," Jimin answers. "Besides, hasn't anyone told you it's healthy to vent?"

You let out a rather aggressive sigh. "Fine."

"I'll be a great listener, I promise!" your teacher says as he snuggles into his couch, looking expectantly at you.

"Uh," you say, unsure of where to start. "Okay, lemme think, the school lunch is just plain nasty, students need to stop smoking in the bathroom and teachers need to stop giving tests on the same fucking day," you finish proudly.

Jimin laughs. "No way."

"No way, what?"

"You're so not moody because of those dumb reasons," your teacher accuses.

You frown. "And how would you know?"

"C'mon, those reasons are just stupid, Y/N!" Jimin laughs. "You've always been the worst at making up excuses. What's the real deal?"

You groan. "I'm so embarrassed," you mutter. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start wherever's comfortable," your teacher says in a coaxing voice. "No need to be embarrassed. I won't judge, I promise."

"I dunno, Jimin," you say.

"Have you told Jin your problem?" Jimin asks.

"Well, of course. He's literally involved in it," you say.

"And does Jin judge you for your problems?" Jimin inquires.

"Well, no—"

"Then I'll obviously do the same," your teacher answers. "I'll be another person in your life that will care to listen. Now, continue."

You slowly digest his words, taking in each meaning. Then, you hesitantly nod. "I guess... my problem isn't really much about school," you confess. "I think I use the school to distract myself from my problems." You pause, turning your head to look at Jimin, his face inches away from yours.

He stares back at you, his wide, chocolate eyes softening. His eyes tell you to continue.

"Um," you mutter. "Jin's the only good family I have at the moment," you say slowly, choosing your words wisely in your head. You pause again, looking towards your teacher but he's silent, his full attention on you and your story, so you continue.

You sigh deeply. "Maybe several years ago I had a lot of friends," you say. "I remember I was pretty damn popular too..." you trail off. "And honestly, I was really happy in the beginning, you know, being the center of attention and all... but I guess things changed and I realized... I-I was too different from my friends." You awkwardly shift your position on the couch and pause, choosing your next words carefully. "My friends were close to their families."

Jimin shifts up, crossing his legs and leaning forward to listen more intently. You take that as a sign to continue on once more.

"I guess I never really had a family, as cliche as that sounds. I mean, I had a mom and a dad, but what's the use of having them if they neglect me?" you say slowly. "I was never told that I was loved... I was misunderstood, misjudged. I dunno, this sounds so dumb and non-original," you sigh.

"Hey," Jimin says softly. "No problem you have is dumb. No problem is cliché." He puts a soft hand over yours; and it's not a gesture to seduce you, no, it's the complete opposite—it's a calming gesture, a supportive one, telling you to trust him with your past.

You nod gratefully. "You know, I've always hated the way young adult novels always portrayed family problems. They do it just so they hide the worst part of it—the yelling, the name-calling... Then the protagonist always meets the guy that seems to solve all of her problems and totally end up romanticizing pain and depression..." you trail off and take a deep breath. "Anyways, back then, I didn't even have anyone to vent to. I didn't have Jin, or you. I could never get my friends to understand either. Besides, when I'd tell them about how my mom would verbally abuse me, or when my dad would physically abuse me, they'd compare my pain with their little first world problems."

Jimin rubs small circles on your hand. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

You shrug, giving your teacher a weak smile. "I'm okay now, I promise. But back then I obviously wasn't. I remember one of my so-called friends complaining about how their mother didn't buy them the white wattPhone X and got them the black one instead or some kind of shit right after I poured my heart out about my family situation. And I dunno, something about people not seeming to care about me and my struggles just made me build up my own stress and anxiety," you explain. "I think I wasn't doing so mentally well back then."

It's then when you realize you're worked up. Your breathing was abnormally quick and your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you couldn't help but cover your eyes with your hands. "I'm not going to fucking cry," you mutter into your hands.

"You can cry, I won't judge," Jimin assures you.

And that was all it took for you for your tears to start flowing out of your eyes.

"I was never good enough for anyone! But especially my parents. One single mistake, you know, maybe second place in Science Olympiad would cause them to bring out a train of other failures I've had in my life. I'd work my ass off every day, but it would never be enough. And as I got older, I decided to fight for what I thought was right, so I'd talk back to them. But of course, when that happened they'd start ranting about how ungrateful I am. Sometimes I felt like I was more important to them for the letter grade I produce than the actual human being that I am," you whisper the last part. "I always felt like I could disappear into thin air and no one would miss me."

You feel a warm hand pat your back reassuringly. That lets you know you can continue. "I remember my parents talking about a rich aunt and uncle. So that one day I was so fed up with myself, I left the house with nothing and found myself at their doorstep."

Jimin starts to rub soft circles on your back and you lean into his touch, feeling so cared for, despite what you encountered in your past.

"My aunt and uncle were really skeptical about me staying at their house. It wasn't like my parents died or anything. It was just me, begging to stay because I didn't like my own parents. I'm pretty sure they would've driven me back to my house if Jin hadn't intervened. I distinctly remember that time," you say. "Jin, their only child, arguing for me to stay."

"That sounds like him," Jimin comments and you nod. "So does it get better after that?"

"Barely," you reply. "My parents found out pretty soon that I was living with my aunt and uncle. God, you have no idea how mad they got. Actually, it was more like infuriated and enraged. They told me I was a pathetic parasite always fishing for the best like I was some gold digger."

"I'm so sorry," Jimin whispers, taking your hand again. You nod your head, silently thanking him for his support.

"But it did get better. I made strong bonds with Jin," you say. "It's just that it became clear that I was just a nuisance to the family. Money was being spent on me, time was being used on me... I just felt guilty all the time. So I left or tried to leave. Jin stopped me and offered to run away with me. Apparently, he wanted to live his own life and write his own future," you say. "Our parents still don't know where we are and we're not letting them find us anytime soon."

"Are they not looking?" Jimin asks.

"I dunno and I honestly don't even care," you answer. "Jin and I made sure we moved far away enough."

Jimin nods. "Good."

You smile at your friend's support. "You know, Jin's a lot like you."

"Really?"

"His parents wanted him to continue his father's business like any rich son would, but Jin wanted to work in the theater department. He followed his passion and guided me here," you say. "Kinda what you're doing."

"Exactly what I'm doing." Jimin smiles, patting your hand before letting go. "Well, that was some life story."

"I try not to dramatize it." You shrug. "So did it work?"

"Eh..." Jimin says, "I'm trying to hold back my tears." He wipes away nonexistent tears with a silly grin on his face.

You roll your eyes. "Such a goof."

Jimin shrugs, suddenly becoming scarily serious. "Y/N... so it's because of your past that you have... er, trust issues?"

You flinch. "Possibly."

Jimin gives you a look.

"Okay, fine, yes. You caught me. I don't wanna make fake friends as I made in the past—even though family problems pushed me down, not having friends to support me kept me down. Jin and you are the only people that I've ever fully trusted."

Jimin nods. "Hey, I understand. I know how you feel."

You raise your eyebrows. "You do? Don't you have 50 million friends?" you ask.

"Well, out of the 50 million, guess how many I actually trust," he says, leaning back and taking a sip of his coke. Jimin scrunches his nose. "Ew, this thing isn't even fizzy anymore."

You giggle, rolling your eyes slightly. "I'm guessing you trust seven," you say. "It's a lucky number."

"Nope, one," Jimin replies. "Your cousin."

"Are you trying to tell me—"

"That true good friends take time and work to find?" Yes," Jimin says.

"No, that's not what I was gonna say," you giggle. "I was saying, are you trying to tell me that you don't trust me?"

Your friend laughs. "Oh c'mon, Y/N," he says. "Spare a man. Of course, I trust you."

"Good because I didn't just tell you my whole private life story for you to tell me that you don't trust me," you say, taking a sip of your unfizzy diet coke.

Jimin laughs again. "I trust you, okay? You're like a best friend to me," he says, as he stretches and gets up from his couch. "It's getting late and we need to pick up my other best friend from the airport nice and early tomorrow. We should get to sleep."

You beam at his words and stand up too. "Mhm."

"I'll show you up to my room," Jimin says as he gestures you over to the stairs of his house. That's when you realize, oh fuck, I'll be sleeping in my teacher's bed.

It's weird how sometimes Jimin can be your friend but your teacher at the same time.

"You can borrow one of my shirts to wear to sleep in you want," Jimin says as both of you walk into his rather spacious room. Your friend walks to his closet and pulls out a long, black t-shirt. He tosses it to you and you grab it instinctively.

"Thanks," you say. "Are you sure you don't want me to take the couch? It was comfy."

"Are you saying you don't want the bed?" Jimin asks sarcastically.

"I mean, no, a bed's nice but—"

"Are you saying we should share—"

You smack Jimin's back. "That was—"

"Not appropriate, I know, I know," Jimin interrupts you as he laughs. "You gotta learn to take a joke, though."

"Not if the joke is borderline sexual," you seethe. "Not if the listener is your student."

"Aw, c'mon Y/N, you're only my student in school," Jimin protests. "You're my friend outside of school."

You sigh. "Fine, then," you mutter as you start to push Jimin out of his room. "Get out, I'm gonna change."

"Okay, okay," Jimin laughs. "Goodnight, Miss Yoon."

"Goodbye, Jiminie," you tease as you shut the door on Jimin's laughing face.

You sigh as you snuggle up into Jimin's warm, velvety covers. They smelled like him: fresh, clean and masculine. You still can't seem to believe how amazing your friend is—he's almost too good to be true. Even after you spilled out your deepest secrets, he treats you just the same, he doesn't pity you, he doesn't think he's better than you in any way. It secures you so much to be around someone like Park Jimin.

You're so lucky to have him.

"Y/N!" you hear some high-pitched voice screaming in your ear.

"Shut up, I'm awake!" you scream back, ironically keeping your eyes closed as you turn over and smash the soft pillow over your head.

"You don't look awake," the voice teases. "C'mon, we have to go in a few minutes to get Jin or we'll be late!"

You groan as you slowly rise up, only to see your teacher sitting on your—his bed, staring right at you.

"Wait, fuck!" you shriek as you quickly pull up the covers to hide your body. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to come in unannounced into a lady's bedroom?"

Jimin cocks his head. "For your information, this is my bedroom," he chuckles.

"Oh my god, Jimin," you groan. "Get out! I'm not wearing anything under the shirt!"

Well, shit, Y/N. That was a bit too much information.

You can see your teacher's ears turn red as he quickly stands up. "Oh, right. I totally forgot... Sorry," he says hastily as he practically sprints out of the room.

You roll your eyes as you climb out of Jimin's bed, stretching. You had slept so well—maybe it was the sweet, masculine smell of the covers or the high-end quality of the bed. You hadn't known your teacher was so loaded.

Walking over to where you had neatly folded your clothes last night, you scrunch your nose, picking up your white t-shirt. "Pizza grease stains," you mutter. "I am a messy eater."

I guess it won't hurt to wear Jimin's t-shirt to the airport right? It just looks like a t-shirt dress anyway.

You quickly take your bra to the bathroom, putting in on, then washed your face and attempted to comb your hair with your fingers. By the time you're downstairs, Jimin is all dressed as well, most likely having taken his clothes out of his closet when you had been sleeping.

"I've never seen you wear a dress before," Jimin teases as you roll your eyes.

"I got grease stains on my other shirt," you reply. "I had no choice. It's okay if I borrow this for a day, right?"

Jimin laughs. "Yeah, no problem. You look good in it, anyway."

Flushing at his casual comment, you absentmindedly nod as you walk towards the front door. "Uh, we should go get Jin now," you say.

"Hold up, no breakfast?" Jimin asks as he holds an apple out for you.

"Oh, thanks," you say as you take the apple gratefully. "You're not eating?" you ask as both of you make your way out of the house and into Jimin's car.

"Well... my fridge isn't exactly stocked," your teacher says, placing his hands on the steering wheel. "I usually eat out all the time so that's the only thing I had in the fridge."

Again, Jimin is loaded.

"How do you even afford to eat out all the time?" you blurt out.

Jimin shrugs. "Parents."

"Ah, right," you say quickly.

You let your teacher drive to the airport in silence as you awkwardly try to eat the apple as quietly as you can. But remembering your manners after a few minutes, you offer an uneaten side of your apple to your teacher.

"I'd thought you'd never ask," Jimin chuckles as you hold the apple in front of him and he bites in.

"Oh, sorry," you say, flushing slightly at the proximity between your teacher's plump lips and your innocent hand. "Do you want the apple? I'm not that hungry anymore."

"Yes you are," Jimin scoffs. "Don't you lie, Y/N, Jin tells me about the huge breakfast you always eat before school. Breakfast is important for you."

"What does Jin not tell you?" you cry, throwing up your hands, careful not to fling the apple to the back of the car.

Jimin chuckles. "He tells me everything about you—it's obvious he cares for you a lot."

"Yeah..." you say. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough for him," you confess. "I mean, the only times I actually take care of him is when he gets drunk. Other than that, he's basically my mom."

"He's the perfect cousin," Jimin comments, smiling. "In a way, you're really lucky, Y/N."

You bite into the apple. "I am. I have Jin and you," you say, grinning.

"Aw, my heart," Jimin says, dramatically placing a small hand on his chest.

"Two hands on the wheel!" you shriek. "I want to live to see my cousin!"

Jimin just laughs, gripping the steering wheel with two hands as you had instructed. "Y/N, relax, we're almost there anyway."

"Hmph."

"So, how much do you want to bet Jin takes us out to eat when we meet him?"

"MY BABIES!" Jin screams as he runs towards you and Jimin, his suitcase flying behind him.

"God, how embarrassing," you mutter, catching the weird glances people were throwing your way.

"YOU GUYS SURVIVED!" Jin shrieks as he rams into you and your teacher, pulling both of you into a tight hug.

"Not for long if you keep hugging us like this," Jimin says, his voice strained as Jin squeezes all three of you together.

"Sorry, sorry," Jin apologizes as he loosens the hug. "I was just so happy to see you two... alive."

"What, you thought we were going to die?" you ask as you pull away from the hug, crossing your arms.

"No, I thought only you were going to die," Jin answers. "That's why I didn't let you alone. You've never really been on your own, you know?"

"He demanded I got your back 24/7," Jimin says. "Did I do a good job?"

"A bit too literally," you tease, rolling your eyes.

"He even took you shopping, huh?" Jin asks, eyeing your—er Jimin's t-shirt.

"What? No," you say, tugging the long, black top down. "It's not mine," you quickly say, lowering your head in sudden embarrassment.

Jin's eyebrows raise. "Well, then, looks like Y/N spent a night at your house, didn't she?" your cousin turns to ask your teacher.

Unlike your flushed self, Jimin looks rather calm. "Y/N spectacularly lost her house key yesterday so she slept over at my place."

"The shirt?" Jin questions. You flinch in your place, feeling guilty for no reason at all.

"Y/N's a messy eater, you know that. She got pizza grease on her shirt so she borrowed mine," Jimin explains. "Is your interrogation over, buddy?"

Jin's serious face is replaced with a goofy one. "Of course!" he laughs. "Agh, you two are too cute," Jin declares as he swings each arm around the both of you. "Now, I'm going to take you out to eat."

You shoot Jimin a knowing look and he laughs, eyes becoming beautiful crescent moons. You can't help but laugh too.

It's yet again another weekend you, Jin and Jimin are spending together. You're relaxed on your couch as Jin sits right next to you while Jimin is sprawled on the floor, scrolling through his phone.

"Y/N, Jimin," Jin says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So... as you know, my drama team is doing incredibly well these days. We, um... won state so we have to go to nationals."

"That's great!" you say as you jump up.

"Dang, Jin, congrats!" Jimin says as he starts to get up into a sitting position.

"Yeah, well... but that means I have to leave soon to get to nationals," Jin explains. "I'm sorry guys."

Your face falls slightly but you force a quick smile. "But you've always wanted your team to win these competitions!"

"Yeah but being apart from you guys makes me feel..."

"Empty?" you ask.

"Lonely?" Jimin inquires.

"Ugly," Jin says with a 'duh' tone.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I dunno. Something about being with you guys makes me feel full, you know? Like I'm my best self. I feel perfect," Jin explains. "When I'm not with you two, I kinda feel... insecure? Ugly?"

"Aww, bro," Jimin says, standing up to sit next to Jin on the couch.

"We'll miss you," you say, resting your head on Jin's shoulder. "Can you do us one teensy favor though?" you plead.

"Anything for my two favorite people," Jin says as he softly kisses your forehead, making you smile.

"So, we almost burned down Jimin's house last time trying to cook ramen..." you start. You don't even get to finish because Jin is already hysterically laughing, the familiar windshield wiper laughter filling the commodious living room. Your cousin wipes a tear away from his eyes, calming himself down with a few deep breaths.

"You're telling me... neither of you read the directions to cook ramen?" Jin cries, chuckling.

"Well... I would've, but someone trashed them," you say, eyeing Jimin accusingly.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N, don't blame me," Jimin whines, his lips pulling out into a full-blown pout.

You pretend not to be affected by the cuteness, rolling your eyes. "I didn't say it was you," you say. "I only implied."

"Same thing," Jimin mutters.

"And that is why you're a math teacher, not an English teacher," you reply.

Jin laughs. "Oh, you guys are so cute when you fight."

You and Jimin both shoot your cousin glares, making him raise his hands up in defense. "I was joking!" he exclaims. "You know what? Instead of just sitting around here and doing nothing, let's hang out productively."

"Productive? What's that?" you joke as you slump into your couch.

"I think I should teach you guys how to make ramen," Jin sighs.

"Oh, yes please," Jimin says. "I would like to keep my house from burning to the ground again."

"What do you mean, 'again' " you ask, rolling your eyes. "Last time I checked, we ran around like madmen opening all the goddamn windows to get the smoke out."

"Language, baby cousin," Jin chuckles. "You two really need to stop arguing if you don't want to look like a married couple."

Jimin pouts. "I totally would if Y/N would stop trying to one-up me with her arguments."

"I wouldn't have to one-up you if your arguments were solid," you spit back.

"Okay, okay!" Jin cries, throwing up his arms. "Let's just get up and cook before I have to hear you babies fight again!"

"I am not a baby!" you whine, annoyed. "I am not your goddamn baby cousin. I'm fucking 17 years old and I am so sick of you calling me a baby!" you burst. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much! I fucking swear if anyone calls me a little child again, I will... I will... uh, skin them alive!" you declare, hands fisting in sudden anger.

Jimin and Jin stare at you in shock.

"Y/N... honey, do you want to blow off some steam?" Jin asks softly as he steps slowly towards you.

"No!" you shout, then you rethink. "Yes," you say. Quickly scurrying away, you slam the door to your room shut.

"God, I've never seen her so worked up," Jimin says as soon as your presence is gone. "She actually looked like she wanted to skin us alive."

"Y/N gets moody at her time of the month." Jin shrugs as he walks toward the kitchen. "Believe it or not, that kind of behavior is normal."

"Oh, so she's not lying about her period this time?" Jimin chuckles. "She always uses it as some sort of excuse."

Jin laughs. "I've heard... but no, Y/N just lets out all the stress she gets from studying when she's on her period. I think it's a girl thing, I don't know. I just let her be."

Jimin nods. "I'll keep that in mind... So, I guess you'll just have to teach me how to make ramen."

Jin smiles. "Sure thing, bro."

You're on your bed, dying from the pain of cramps as you sort of regret the loud outburst you had in front of your teacher. You groan as you slam your face into the pillow. "Y/N, you are a stupid bitch," you tell yourself.

Sometimes, with the pain of cramps, you get embarrassingly moody and forget to control your temper. The pain should lessen though... you've just taken a painkiller. You sigh as you sit up from your bed, attempting to fix your loose sweats and messy hair. You're craving ice cream.

Almost like you're on some secret spy mission, you creak open your bedroom door and silently creep out into the kitchen. You're skillfully avoiding all of the floorboards that you know that will squeak, paying close attention to the ground.

"Ah, if it isn't but Y/N," Jimin says in his silky voice, making you jump. Your teacher smiles at you as he sets down a pot of hot ramen. "Are you hungry?"

You flush furiously, hoping he had forgotten your tantrum. "Kinda," you whisper, looking down at your feet as you make your way to the freezer.

"Mint chocolate ice cream?" Jin asks you as you nod, taking out your favorite tub. "Don't eat too much of it, Y/N. Do you want a heat pack?"

You nod, still red from humiliation as you face the two people you had just shouted at a while ago. Making your way to the couch, you sit down as Jin hands you a heat pack. "Thanks," you mutter as you start to eat huge spoonsful from your tub of ice cream.

Jimin carefully sits down next to you, almost looking at you fearfully, as if you'd bite him—which was pretty possible if you were on your period. He sets down the pot of ramen on the table in front of you as he looks expectantly at you. "I made ramen," he says, poking your cheek.

A giggle escapes your lips at your teacher's actions.

Okay, what the fuck, Y/N. Did you just... giggle?

But then again, anything is possible when you're on your goddamn period.

"And if I say so myself, this is the best ramen you'll probably ever eat, so eat up," your teacher says proudly.

Jin rolls his eyes. "95% of that ramen is my work," he mutters. "But I think Jimin is pretty solid to cook for you now."

You smile. What were you going to do without these two men in your life? They took your bitching, listened to your troubles and were still hell-bent on being by your side and making you feel better.

"I can't wait to try it," you laugh as you tug the pot of ramen closer to you. "Thanks, guys, I owe you."

—previous | next

—masterlist

[katsukis-sad-angel]

Ferris Wheel

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Mina takes the Bakusquad to a carnival. Just as the sun begins to set, she gets everyone to hop on the Ferris Wheel to enjoy the view. You end up sitting in a carriage with Bakugou.

Warnings: vomiting, reader has a fear of heights, swearing, fluff

baku sideburns

--

“Guys! Oh my god, a Ferris wheel!”

Mina nearly dropped her ice cream in her excitement, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the huge, rickety structure. The rest of the Bakusquad trailed behind, shaking their heads at Mina's childish reaction to the well-known fair ride.

When your pink-skinned friend had heard about the huge carnival coming to Musutafu, she nearly exploded. Without consent from anyone in the group, she bought tickets and forced you, Sero, Kaminari, Bakugou, and Kirishima onto a bus and now you were enjoying the fair. The food wasn’t bad, the rides and games were fun, and so far, everyone was content. Including Bakugou.

At the moment, the blonde looked very nice in the pre-sunset glow; shiny, orange-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose, orange t-shirt, and low-slung black sweatpants hugging his tiny waist. He trudged along next to Kirishima, who was happily devouring an elephant ear.

He looked really good in that shirt. It gave you a pleasant view of his meaty biceps.

If only you could tell him that.

You really liked the blonde… like… a lot.

He was just so effortlessly handsome, you knew you didn’t have a chance. Lucky for you, he was delicious eye-candy and you planned on enjoying every side-wise glance.

“M-Mina… Ferris wheels are boring! Do we have to?” You whined, hoping to avoid the scary ride.

“Yes!” She squealed, running toward the horned operator and handing him six tickets, “Kiri, you’re with me! Sero, sit with your boyfriend! Bakugou, you get to sit with Y/n! Ok? Ok! Let’s go!” Grabbing the red-head by the wrist, she tugged him into a bench swing seat, the operator secured the bar in front of them, and they ascended a few yards until it stopped to let Sero and Kaminari on.

When another empty bench came around, Bakugou huffily plopped down on the swing and waited for you to join him. You stood as still as a statue on the platform.

You hated heights.

You hated Ferris wheels.

You didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your crush.

"Oi, stop standing there and sit down!"

A gruff voice roused you from your thoughts and you jumped slightly.

"Right." You whispered, gingerly sitting down on the smooth metal bench, "S-Sorry Bakugou."

So now you were sitting on a rickety metal bench with only a bar keeping you from falling to your doom and your crush less than 6 inches away. He seemed unaffected by the incredible height. The wind softly ruffled his locks while he slouched in his seat, chin resting in his hand as he looked out over the sunset colors painting the carnival grounds.

You, on the other hand, weren’t doing too well. You gripped the bar with two hands, breathing heavily and squeezing your eyes shut every time your carriage plummeted downward. You wiggled your toes uncomfortably, trying to appreciate the gorgeous sunset, but you just couldn't.

Bakugou noticed your obvious distress; your face was becoming paler every time you went a full 360 in the air. You were gasping for breath and holding the bar so tightly, your knuckles had gone white.

“What’s your problem idiot?” He barked, eyeing you suspiciously, “If you’re gonna hurl, do it over there.”

“Please… don’t even talk about vomit… or I just might.” You breathed, voice breathless and pitchy with fear. Your carriage went down once again and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the drop of your stomach. “I’m sorry if… if I do. Please d-don’t watch me wh… when it happens…”

“You afraid of heights or something, nerd?”

You nodded frantically, a single tear sliding off your trembling chin and into your lap as your bench rocketed upward.

“Closing your eyes makes it worse dummy. Here- Look at me…” Before you could respond, Bakugou’s hands clasped your cheeks and gently turned your chin so you could look him in the eyes. Tears dribbled onto his warm palms as you met his vermillion gaze. All while silently begging your stomach not to regurgitate all three funnel cakes you had consumed.

“Don’t cry,” He continued, voice kinder and softer than you knew physically possible for the aggressive teenager. “It’s just a stupid ride and it’s almost over, just keep your eyes on me.”

Sniffing loudly, your lips continued to tremble as you looked into those deep, crimson irises. Every now and then, a wide thumb would brush over your cheek to wipe stray tears away and the quiet words of encouragement kept on coming until disaster struck.

Suddenly, at the highest point on the wheel, the ride came to an abrupt stop and the bench started swinging.

You were done for.

Jerking away from his grasp, you whimpered and quickly leaned over the edge and sent your lunch plummeting 264 feet. The sickening slap as it hit the dead grass at the base of the ride made you cringe. Finding purchase on the bar again, you faced forward and waited for a disgusted insult from your crush.

“Holy shit, are you ok?” He asked, knitting his eyebrows together with worry, “Come here dumbass.”

On impulse, Katsuki Bakugou pulled you into his arms so you could hide your face in his firm, caramel-smelling chest. He dabbed your lips with a napkin he's found in his pocket and the ride started up again, stopping every now and then to let people on and off. When it was finally your turn, Kaminari, Kirishima, Ashido, and Sero were standing on the platform waiting. All of them looked extremely worried- especially Mina.

Bakugou lifted you up bridal style and carried you away from the horrid ride, letting you down as soon as he'd led the Bakusquad off the platform. One hand was still secured on your lower back, holding you steady as you regained your bearings.

“Y/n… why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?” Mina cried, rushing forward to give you a gentle hug.

“I… didn’t want t-to ruin your fun.” You whispered hoarsely, weakly returning the hug.

She let go and stood back, taking in what she has created. The aggressive blonde was quietly standing at your side and holding you. Mina quirked a smug eyebrow in your direction. Seeing her gesture, you blushed more deeply and murmured: “B-Bakugou, I’m f-fine now. Thank you for helping me… I really appreciate it.”

“I’m not letting go until you drink something. Come on. There’s a food cart over there.” Bakugou scoffed while leading you to the cart and bought you water. After taking little sips and sitting on a bench for a while, you insisted you were fine.

As promised, Bakugou’s warm and comforting arm left your body as soon as you were deemed ‘not 100% ok, but not dead either’ and the Bakusquad continued the exploration of the carnival.

On the bus ride home, you found yourself sitting next to Bakugou. Again.

Thanks Mina.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” He asked cockily, a self-satisfied smirk adorning his features.

Aka the reason you fell so hard for the blonde asshole.

“You… you could say that,” You responded, tilting your head cutely, “Or Mina is trying to set us up. Either works for me.”

He snorted, "The fuck do you mean by that?"

Blushing, you let your neck relax against the base of the headrest. It was now or never. "W-Well um... I like you, like more than as a friend. It's totally fine if you don't feel the same way, I just-"

"Don't even finish that sentence. Are you fucking serious right now?" He interrupted, sitting up and turning to look at you. You started, surprised by his outburst.

"I m-mean yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You stuttered, avoiding his ruby stare.

"You like me?"

"M-hm."

"Damn. I thought you had a thing for Kirishima."

You shook your head, lifting your (e/c) gaze to meet his flaming one. "I've always liked you, Bakugou."

"Katsuki. Call me Katsuki." He replied. "'S not every day the girl you like confesses to you... Cuz if I'm being honest, I like you too Y/n."

You bit your lip, trying not to look too happy. His cheeks were the cutest shade of pink when you asked, "S-So, what does this make us?"

"You wanna be my girlfriend?" He asked softly, jolting when he felt your soft hand grasp his calloused palm.

"I... I do." You murmured, holding back a huge, goofy smile. "I'd really like that Katsuki."

"Holy shit! Eiji, did you hear all that? DAYUM GIRL!! I'm so proud of you!!!!" Mina squealed, destroying the moment.

"I know I did!" Sero chuckled from the seat in front of you, Kaminari joining in on the laughter.

"Nice going Bakubro! Now you can shut up about how pretty she is and tell her to her face!" Kirishima cheered.

"Oh! Don't forget to tell her about what you said last Saturday! You know, about he-"

"SHUT UP, DAMMIT!" Katsuki interrupted with a dangerous snarl. You did NOT need to know what he'd let slip out while training with the boys.

He pouted and looked out the window, red dusting his pale cheeks as he glared at each and every street light that flashed past. You smiled. Despite the argument, he hadn't let go of your hand.

Squeezing it comfortingly, you settled down in your seat and prepared for the rest of the drive home.

[catxtopia]

Lips Of a Stranger} Chp. 10

Author: catxtopia

Ship: Billdip ((fluffy))

Characters: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher, Gideon Gleeful

Summary: The Night Vale AU no one asked for.

Author notes: I am back on my bullshit, lets finish this.

chap.1 | chap.2 | chap.3 | chap. 4 |  chap. 5&6 | chap. 7 |  chap. 8 | chap. 9

Read: ao3

((HOHO Betcha thought you saw the last of me.

Four years late but hey I fricken finished this shit! I sat down literally yesterday after a kind person commented that they still wait for updates on this story (srsly so sorry and you're so sweet holly heck, never say comments don't totally motivate a writer) and finished this. I already had this chapter written many years ago but I didn't wanna post it until I finished the rest (so sorry for my dumb past self). So this one sounds pretty much the same as the rest of the story, however cannot confirm for the rest of the work.

I haven't written in ages, I don't particularly like writing anymore if I am being honest. I am not great at it but I have a lot of ideas lmao. So I just wanna preface that the ending... probably not great lol. I will have a full report on the last chapter, however, on my old ideas for this story and what I thought it could be. There is probably a lot of plot holes and unanswered things but I tried^^;;;

Anyways, I'll upload either every day or every other day depending. But this shall finally be finished lads! (also no beta, we're animals here)))

“You found it!?”

Lying still, yet menacingly, on the kitchen table was a maroon journal with a black number 1 inked firmly in the center. It was larger than an average book and much worse for wear, the red leather was ripped and mystery blotches were smudged in several different locations on the cover. Mabel and Dipper stood around the object that had been of desire for so long. Neither made a move to touch it, treating it like an old relic—which it very well could have been as far as Dipper knew.

“Yeah, it was in this wired compartment in a tree outside.” Dipper scratched lightly at his chin, eyes roaming over the book. His fingers itched with curiosity for he had yet to open and examine the contents inside. He wasn’t sure if he should, waiting for Cipher seemed like the logical option but that required calling the man, followed by seeing him again, and the thought of meeting gold eyes sent his stomach through all kinds of loops. Thus, his phone stayed promptly in his pocket where it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Compartment in a tree, huh?” Mabel repeated, a confused look crossing her face. She, too, moved her hand to rub lightly at her chin in thought. “How’d you come across that?”

Dipper stiffened ever so slightly, and then casted a glance at his intrigued sister. He cleared his throat and shifted to stuff his hands in his pockets roughly. “I just, ya know, fell against it.” He shrugged, trying his best to remain cool—which was, to say, impossible when it came to Dipper Pines.

“Fell against it, hm?” Mabel’s eyebrow slowly started rising.

“Yes, I fell against it!” Dipper sputtered, looking away towards the book again. “The details of how I found the book aren’t important. What is important is that I found it !”

Mabel stifled her giggles as much as her lips would allow. “Whatever you say, Bro bro.” She mused and leaned over the dusty object, intentionally ignoring the tomato that was now her brother beside her. He’d been through enough teasing this morning, she’d let him off the hook this once. “What do you thinks inside?”

Dipper leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “No idea.” He quietly thought back to the times he and Cipher were looking for said book. A distant memory of going to the junkyard and the words black magic and demons , danced in the back of his mind but he elected to ignore those warnings. If the book really was dangerous, there was no way Cipher would be looking for it. At least that’s what Dipper told himself.

“Are you going to open it?” Mabel quirked a brow, eyes not leaving the book.

Dipper shifted against the counter. “I don’t know, Mabes. Maybe we should wait for Cipher to open it first.”

Mabel pursed her lips and squinted at the book.

There was a long pause, the only sound being whispers from the TV playing in the other room. Then Mabel, with a big intake of breath, announced loudly: “I am gonna open it.” And quickly flipped the front cover open.

“Mabel!” Dipper yelped, but his words fell on deaf ears as the young girl turned another page, and then another. “Mabes, seriously, be careful with it! We don’t know what it is, it could be super old and crumble at human touch! Who knows what—”

As Dipper rambled on and on, Mabel’s quick movements tentatively began to slow. She flipped only one more page before stopping and taking in a soft gasp, voice riddled with distraught. “Oh my gosh.” She whispered breathlessly. Dipper paused in his ranting, staring at the back of his sister's head since he couldn’t see the book around her. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?” He inquired, a drop of unease plopping into the pits of his stomach. Mabel’s shoulders were tense; body rigged with what Dipper could only assume was fear. She looked as though she was witnessing a demon rise out from the pits of hell, or at the very least like her sweaters were being set aflame. And throughout it all, all Dipper could hear were McGucket’s warnings ringing loud and clear inside his jumbled head. “That books bad news I tell ya! Black magic, raising devils, kinda bad news! Nothin good ever came out of that thing.” Dipper cringed at the voice. “What is it?”

“It’s terrible…” Mabel whispered, leaning further over the book. Her hair draped over the yellowing pages, eyes hidden behind thick bangs. “Cipher, he’s…”

“What? What about Cipher?” Dipper stepped closer. He could feel his heart thump a little faster with each step he took towards his sister.

“He’s a…” The girl moved back, turning swiftly to face her brother. Her face was red and cheeks puffed out, eyes leaking frustrated tears and— “ He’s a giant nerd just like you!” She exclaimed dramatically, throwing one hand towards the opened journal and another over her stomach as she doubled over laughing.

Dipper stared, dumbfounded as his sister flopped onto the tabled to keep from falling onto the floor. She was wheezing and stomped a foot every so often, trying to regain her breathing. He couldn’t believe this. “Mabel.” Dipper squinted hard at the girl. The only answer he got was more laughing and a few arm flails. “Mabel, you jerk.” Dipper sighed, but a small smile was tugging at his lips.  

“Oh! Oh!” Mabel giggled, laughter beginning to die out into soft gasps. “Oh my gosh, yo- your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dipper rolled his eyes. “You got me.” Behind his ribs, his heart was still pounding with adrenaline. He willed his limbs to stop their jittery shakes and calm the hell down. There was nothing to worry about, Mabel was just being her usual dork self. He looked towards the open book finally, now being able to get a good view of it. “So what’s in this thing, anyways?”

Having calmed down a bit, Mabel slipped across the kitchen in her fluffy pink socks, clamped onto the fridge handle and yanked it open to retrieve a can of Pit Cola. She juggled it in her hands, closing the door again with her hip. As she snapped the can open she explained lightly, “Looks like a dictionary for supernatural stuff to me. Really wired, it’s all hand written and stuff.” She paused and took a big gulp of her drink.

Dipper nodded and examined the scribbles and notes about different creatures. His eyes widened the further he flipped from page to page, completely entranced with the object sitting before him. It was no wonder Cipher wanted this thing, the stories he could produce with the book would be endless!

“This is amazing.” Dipper breathed. Gnomes, Zombies, Ghosts, this book was like a paranormal junkies Holy Grail.  

Mabel hummed and jumped up onto the counter. “It makes sense why Cipher would want this. I am sure he will be happy you found it.” She mused, swinging her legs back and forth to the rhythm of a song stuck in her head. “Now you guys don’t have to go searching anymore! That’ll probably be a big nuisance off his shoulders.”

Dipper hummed absentmindedly as he drew his finger along the edge of the book, a thin layer of dust bunched up and latched onto his finger. He pulled his hand back, pinching the ball of dirt between his thumb and index finger till the grains rolled off his skin. He wondered briefly how long the book had been in that tree for, and for what reason.

“No more long hours trekking through stores and the occasional dumpster. I wonder if this old thing will help him with his work, or if that’s even what he wanted it for.” Mabel muttered against the rim of her soda can.

Dipper’s fingers instantly stilled, entire body freezing like someone had pushed a pause button on the boy’s life. No more long hours trekking through stores and the occasional dumpster . The words bounced around in his head several times and every repeat left a horrible taste in his mouth. He gulped and dropped his hand, brushing it harshly against his faded jeans. “Yeah, don’t know.” He bit out.

A minute ago he’d been excited to see Cipher’s reaction to his discovery, because damn it he was proud! And maybe boasting a little in the ego department. Now dread was filling up his core. No more time with Cipher…

Mabel slurped at her drink loudly, oblivious to the way her brother scooped up the book with a hesitant hand. “So, when are you gonna tell him?” She looked up past her wavy bangs, confused to find Dipper retreating towards the stairs at a quick pace. “Dipper?”

.:.:.

Dipper paced along the length of his bedroom, feet scuffing against the hardwood floor. He could practically feel the wood splintering away with each step he took. It was only a matter of time before he’d run a rut in the floor. He could hardly bring himself to care; however, as he gnawed at his thumbnail in a simple attempt to help distract his brain.

This was stupid, Dipper was stupid. He could hardly believe he was even thinking about the train of thought that he was. Not telling Cipher about the book? What kind of nonsense was that? He had to; it was his moral duty to give up the journal to the radio host. Otherwise, everything they’d done together thus far would be for nothing. The whole reason Dipper was being kept around was for the sole purpose of finding the book.

And once you give the book up, you won’t have a reason to be around Cipher anymore , Dipper thought sullenly. He turned once he paced as far as he could towards the door, changing direction to continue shuffling back the route he came towards the triangle window above his bed. It was a vicious cycle, this back and forth, back and forth. All the while he kept his eyes glued on the ground. He paused when his irises caught sight of a neatly folded pile of clothes at the end of his bed. Black jacket, pants, yellow scarf… A flash of blonde hair and the feel of rough bark against his back blurred past his eyes.

There would probably be no more of that once he gave up the book. Dipper lightly drew a finger against his chapped lips. If he thought hard enough he could still feel the pressure Cipher’s smooth lips had left against his own.

“Oh man.” Dipper mumbled aloud. Here he was worrying over some scraps of paper sewn together, while he should be questioning the fluttering in his chest from earlier interactions.

Cipher had kissed him and he’d be lying if he didn’t say he thoroughly enjoyed it. Both Mabel and Pacifica will be delighted to rub it in his face once they find out.  

Dipper dropped onto his bed with a frustrated groan. Everything was happening all so suddenly, so fast he couldn’t make left or right of the images flashing before his eyes. And it was all because of that darn radio host with his perfect golden hair and otherworldly eyes. Not to mention his lean body that fit so right against Dipper’s the night before, warm like a blanket and oh so comfortable… Dipper shook his head quickly, expelling any further thoughts of Cipher’s body.

Really, Cipher was too handsome for his own good. It was practically supernatural.

Dipper snorted at the thought and fell back against the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, a soft sigh fluttering past his lips. What to do, what to do. He slid his hands up to rest on his chest and began tapping his fingers against his worn shirt.

“So you tell him.” Dipper muttered to himself. “You tell him about the book. It’ll make him happy, probably further his show somehow and bring in more listeners, which will make his work life better.” His fingers paused in their tapping, then slowly started picking up a rhythm again as he let another thought enter his mind. “Or you don’t tell him, you continue looking for the book as if you haven’t already found it and grow closer. Eventually he’ll forget about the book and move on, which will make his personal life better.”

“You don’t tell him and possibly ruin his career .” A voice that sounded eerily similar to Mabel’s rumbled in the back on his head. Ah, the voice of reason. It was bound to come poking its ugly face in here eventually.

“I don’t necessarily know if it’s for his show.” Dipper grumbled, sinking a little further against his bed. Great now he was talking to himself.

“What else would he need it so badly for?”

“I don’t know, curiosity? For a collection, maybe? His life revolves around the supernatural; it’s not that farfetched to want a journal filled on the subject.”

“So you’d rather keep the object of his desire away from him, in the hopes you become that object for him instead. That’s quite selfish.”

“Well no one asked you.” Dipper huffed and rolled onto his side. He stared aimlessly out the triangular window nearby. The sun had already begun to drip close to the tree line, casting an array of colors throughout his room. It was beautiful, really, all oranges and reds, and the occasional pink glow scattering across the shack's rustic interior. His eyes followed the colorful trail of light right back to the pile of clothes at the end of his bed. He stared at the yellow scarf for a long while before he worked up the strength to reach for it.

The fabric was so soft, softer than anything he’d felt before. It was probably really expensive. Dipper tugged the material fully into his palms and laid back down. He held onto the scarf like a blanket, running the pads of his fingers over the kind stitching. “Maybe he won’t leave once he has the book.” Dipper thought aloud once again. He was starting to make a habit out of talking to himself apparently.

It wasn’t like he wanted to keep information from Cipher, especially news that’d make him happy. The paranoia engraved deep in his soul that the man would eventually forget about him if they had no reason to be around each other was just too overpowering. Even though there was a good chance Cipher liked hanging around Dipper for Dipper and not just for his searching skills. It was a big chance, honestly. You don’t just kiss someone you plan on ditching. Cipher seemed like a better person than that, anyways.

But doubt was always louder than hope.

With a quick glance at the clock—which already read 5:10PM—Dipper decided he’d allow himself to sleep on it. It was already late so there was no use calling up Cipher now; he wouldn’t be able to come by until tomorrow anyways.

Settling on that, Dipper rolled over and closed his eyes. Super wouldn’t be ready for another hour or so and a nap sounded like a pleasant idea in the meantime.

.:.:.

Three days.

It’d been three days since Dipper found the old journal hidden in a tree. The journal, which a certain radio host had yet to know, was within Dipper’s possession. It had been shamefully tucked away in the brunet’s desk under a pile of scrap papers. It wasn’t the greatest hiding spot by any means, but Dipper didn’t feel comfortable leaving the relic under his bed or somewhere in his closet. At least in his desk, the book didn’t face any chances of getting ruined.

He stuck the poor book in the bottom drawer with the intention of returning to it in a week – because a night to sleep on deciding to give the book to Cipher just wasn’t enough. He simply wanted a little more time with the radio host to assure he wouldn’t ditch him. That was reason enough, right? In one week time, the book would be given to the blonde man. Until then, Dipper proclaimed he’d live with the guilt and enjoy some downtime with the host.

And what a glorious three days it had been so far. Cipher had been spending a large majority of the days hanging around Dipper’s work again. They’d continued their little routine, but the silence was filled with a lot more bashful glances and sly smiles. The kiss hadn’t been officially mentioned, but the implication that both of them equally enjoyed it and wouldn’t mind doing it again was pretty clearly expressed.

When Dipper wasn’t shackled to his job at the bookstore – and Cipher by extension – they usually ended up spending time around town or the radio station. Very rarely were they away from each other’s side. Not that either was complaining. However, every so often when Dipper would glance Cipher’s way, he’d feel a ball of guilt nibbling away at the core of his stomach. He couldn’t help thinking about the things he was hiding from the man. It didn’t feel right, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

“Do you like your job?”

Cipher blinked open his eyes and tilted his head a little towards the brunet lying somberly beside him. They’d been lying outside on a patch of drying grass a short ways from the radio station, simply enjoying the last few drops of autumn. The sun was high above them, basking them in a nice enough warmth that they only needed light jackets. Cipher was currently wearing the sweatshirt he had borrowed from Dipper a few days prior, having yet to give it up. Not that Dipper really cared, he felt slightly prideful seeing the radio host wearing something of his.

Cipher shifted his arms, which lay beneath his head. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He looked back towards the calm blue sky. “It’s fun, I like being able to talk about whatever the hell I want for a living. I am not the biggest fan of having to hide behind a curtain all the time, but it comes with the job.”

Dipper hummed, mulling over that information. He flicked his fingers against the zipper on his jacket. “Why do you have to be so secretive? I doubt anyone would like… attack you or something if they knew who you were.”

Cipher chuckled and turned on his side, arm bent and hand holding up his head. Dipper moved in a similar fashion so that they both faced each other. “There are a few reasons. Gideon thinks having me be unnamed makes me more mysterious, that not only the show holds secrets but even the host does.” He shrugged. “Plus, I like being able to live my life without interruptions. I would get annoyed pretty quickly if people were stopping me on the streets or spewing nonsense about me in teen magazines.”

Dipper twirled his fingers around a few blades of grass, tugging them lazily as he listened. “And here I thought you liked attention.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I do! I would love people bending at my every need, but I have standards. I wouldn’t be able to sit here with you like this if I was open about my identity, and that’s not something I am quite willing to give up.”

“I guess that… makes sense.” Dipper pondered. “So you’re a man full of secrets then?”

“I am a man with many angles and lots of knowledge of various topics, who happens to also like having a private life, so if that makes me secretive then I guess I am. However, since I like you I’ll tell you my secrets,” Cipher leaned forward, lips curving into a seductive smirk. “for a price~”

Dipper’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, “Oh really? And what’s your price, Cipher?” He mused, putting up his best confident front.

“Hmmm,” Cipher’s eyes flickered from Dipper’s eyes to his lips then quickly back again. “I don’t know, it’d probably have to be something really pricey since I’ve got a lot of secrets.”

Dipper snorted and rolled his eyes, “What like my soul?” He joked and playfully wiggled his eyebrows.

If one were to have blinked in that moment they probably would have missed the way Cipher’s eyes widened and sparked with wonder for a fraction of a second. He continued to smirk at his companion before rolling onto his back to stare up at the sky once again. “Something like that.” He hummed pleasantly. “I am sure your soul would be a beauty.”

Dipper scoffed and flopped over onto his stomach, arms crossing beneath his chin. He closed his eyes and snuggled a little deeper in his jacket. “Don’t all souls look the same? Like a smoking white ball.”

“I think you’ve been playing too many video games.” Cipher flicked at the edge of Dipper’s ear, earning a small yelp and glare from the boy. “Souls come in all colors and shapes, kid. The more corrupted the soul, the worse it looks. What the world considers ‘sinners’ usually look black, less smoky, more goopy. Like a ball of hot, bubbling tar. While good people are bright, wispy, and usually emit a color.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.” Dipper mumbled into the curve of his arm.

Cipher chuckled under his breath. “Call it a passion of mine.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence after that, lying happily beside each other with only the whispers of wind and occasional tweet of a bird filling the silence. They lay close enough that their arms brushed and with a little maneuvering their hands slipped into each other without question.

It was nice, being able to be together like this without any distractions. To simply enjoy each other’s company. Dipper really didn’t want to let this go, and yet as he peeked past his bangs at the still figure beside him, he knew that he would.

“Hey, Cipher.” Dipper said just barely above a whisper. He watched the blonde’s eyebrow twitch but his eyes remained closed.

“Hm?”

“I gotta tell you something, it’s kind of important, it’s about the b—”

Just as the words were about to flutter out of his mouth, a shrill ring of a phone smacked Dipper’s train of thought straight from his head. His lips latched shut and eyes looked down at Cipher’s glowing pocket, which the man was quickly moving to reach.

He flicked the device on and squinted at the screen as if it had personally offended him. Whether that was because it had interrupted Dipper or not, the boy wasn’t sure.

“Sorry, just an email.” Cipher’s expression lightened considerably as he turned the screen to face Dipper. “Look at this cat jumping in and out of boxes! Giffy sent it. Cats are so silly!”

True to his word, there was a cat hopping into different sized boxes with a small message from Giffany at the bottom of the screen. Dipper smiled softly at the ridiculous video. Of course Cipher would find cat videos funny, what doesn’t he find funny? Dipper thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that, nope, Cipher could get a kick out of anything.

As he watched the video play through, Dipper couldn’t help his eyes wandering to the corner of the screen where a list of information sat. At the top of the list was a name, one that had Dipper’s heart stalling. “Uh.” The boy muttered very intelligently.

Cipher tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows at Dipper’s odd expression. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t find cat videos funny. Cause I don’t think this relationship can work if—”

“Bill?”

[shirtlesssammy]

3x15: Time is on My Side

Then:

Dean made a demon deal and his time is almost up

Now:

Cuthbert Sinclair A dude finishing up a late night at the gym is attacked at his car and thrown into his trunk. Cut to him stumbling into a hospital, blood dripping, and insides (WAY TOO FUCKING GORY TO SHOW THE AUDIENCE <--production drafts of the script are my jam) falling out at the behest of a not very smart hospital attendant. 

Sam and Dean torture Patience Turner’s dad a demon for more information on who holds Dean’s contract. They can’t touch him --he’s more afraid of the demon holding the contract that Sam and Dean. Sam exorcises him. 

Sam tells Dean about the hospital dude. Apparently he had fingerprints all over him, that weren’t his own. The fingerprints matched someone who died in 1981. Dean’s all for hunting zombies, but he’s confused why Sam is too. They head out to investigate. 

They ask about bite marks around where the liver was removed. The coroner has instant doubts about their credentials. Dean’s in fine sarcasm mode and gets them kicked out. 

So, they’re not dealing with a zombie. They head to interview someone who just had a kidney stolen. He was jumped from behind and remembers the worst pain of his life. He’s extra salty (as he should be) and has no other information for the brothers. 

Sam does some research while Dean tackles a burger. Sam’s long discourse on maggots is a particularly fine moment for him. He tells Dean they know this story and pulls out their father’s journal. Doc Benton, a 19th century doctor, found a way to live forever --mainly by harvesting parts from other people. 

A man takes a break while on a run at night, and gets chloroformed for his laziness. He wakes strapped to a table. Suddenly one ugly motherfucker appears and starts tearing him open. Fun.

Sam and Dean track where the doc could be hiding out. Dean gets a call from Bobby who’s got a lead on Bella. He mentions Rufus Turner, who heard from Bella recently. Bobby warns Dean to bring a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue with him when he meets with Rufus. 

Sam wants to stay on the case. Dean wants to find Bella. Dean wants to know why it’s important to work this case. Sam reveals he’s chasing immortality. Dean gets mad. If Dean doesn’t go through with the deal, Sam dies. Dean wants the Colt to kill the demon or the hell hounds. Sam tells his brother that he’s staying. The brothers part ways. 

Dean reaches Rufus Turner’s house and is greeted with a super friendly, “What?” Dean doesn’t get far with the man. He pops outside to tell Dean that a while ago Bobby had called him to let him know if Bella ever contacted him, to let Bobby know. He did. (And in retrospect, man, Bobby was doing everything he could for Dean.) Rufus isn’t budging with Dean, so Dean pulls out the Johnny Walker. Dean has a new BFF. 

They sit down for a drink (or two --half the bottle is gone!). 

Rufus asks Dean why he wants to track down Bella when he’s got three weeks to live. Dean sobers at the realization that Rufus knows this. Rufus tells Dean that the Colt isn’t going to save him. “Folks like us? There ain’t no happy ending.” Dean pushes back on those very real words but it’s clear that Rufus’s words haunt him ---even if he beats the demon deal, his life isn’t going to be easy. 

Sam continues to track the doctor. 

Rufus gives Dean the details about where to find Bela, and warns him about her. They talk about how she burned off her fingerprints. “You do her ear?” Rufus asks with a smirk. 

“I’ll try anything once but that sounds uncomfortable,” Dean returns and...DEAN. BEAN. What a word picture you just painted! 

Rufus tosses Dean a thick file of intel on Bela, obtained through his mysterious contact network. Rufus, we love you.

Sam finds his way into Doc’s creepy shed. The creepy shed is a must-have accessory for the modern sociopath! Sam discovers the latest victim dead on the table. Next to him there’s  another slab where a woman lies tied down, maggots on her arm. She shrieks when she wakes up and sees Sam. Up above, Doc hears the disturbance and heads down to check it out. Fortunately, Sam and the woman are good climbers. They’ve escaped out the window by the time the doc searches the basement. Though Doc catches up to them at the car, Sam runs him over and they peel away. 

Dean ambushes Bela, ordering her to stand down while he searches her room for the Colt. She swears that it’s gone - she sold it already. Dean reads Bela her own sob story when she pleads for her life. She had her parents killed and inherited millions. Dean is smug and self-righteous, but we flash back to Bela’s memories. She’s young and crying while sitting on a bed. Her father walks in and closes the door…

Bela smiles coolly after the horrible memory. “They were lovely people, and I killed them.” Dean aims the gun for her forehead when he notices some brambles slipping over the doorframe. He drops the gun and leaves in disgust. Bela, clever girl that she is, reveals a motel receipt that she picked from Dean’s pocket. She calls someone on the phone to relay the Winchester’s whereabouts. 

Driving back from Bela’s, Dean is in a tailspin. The Colt’s gone and pursuing Bela turned out to be a wild goose chase. He’s facing his own mortality and it is a B I T C H. Don’t worry, Dean. Sam has a plan! Sam found Doc’s lab books which explain “scientifically” how he’s managed to stay alive forever. While Sam nerds out about the Doc’s Super Life Extending Elixir, he’s attacked from behind and chloroformed. Science!

When Sam wakes up, his eyes are taped open which is UNNECESSARY.  

Doc reassures him that he will almost definitely probably survive the procedure. He prepares his surgical instruments, all the while bitching about how much maintenance he has to do to stay alive. Creepy old men, amirite? He’s after Sam’s peepers and as fandom knows, Sam has EXTREMELY POWERFUL PUPPY EYES - so these are high value items. 

Doc holds up John’s journal and lets Sam know that there’s probably a good dollop of revenge in this eye stealing. He then pulls out a MELON BALLER and I flinch and pretend I’m not watching it start to scoop around Sam’s eye. UUUUUGH. A+ body horror, show.

Fortunately, Dean arrives and shoots some ventilation holes into the ol’ doc. The gunshots don’t seem to do a thing to slow him down. Dean jabs a knife in his heart and Doc just chuckles...until Dean waggles a bottle of chloroform. He soaked the knife in it, and now Dean’s managed to drug his whole system. I love one smart boy! 

Also, look at his skull bracelet! I love one well accessorized boy! I miss Dean and jewelry.

Doc passes out. When he wakes up he’s tied to the table. Doc pleads for his life - he can give Dean immortality. Dean looks at his ugly mug and probably thinks, “Nah, I’m too pretty.” Sam proposes taking the Doc up on his offer. It’ll be years before Dean needs new organs! (All of us fans just wipe our brow and thank this universe for throwing a healing angel at this Winchester and his put-upon liver and arteries.) Dean refuses utterly. He’d rather go to Hell than sign away his humanity willingly. 

When Doc wakes up again, he’s trapped in a refrigerator. He pounds at the door, which is chained closed. His book of immortality lies on top. The Winchesters bury him, shovel-full by shovel-full. 

Bela arrives at Sam and Dean’s motel room, shooting the people-shaped mounds in the beds. She peels back the covers and discovers two GRUESOMELY DYING….blow up dolls. 

The phone rings, and it’s Dean. He realized he was pick-pocketed and they cleared out before she could take them out. Dean also tells her that the herb above her door was devil’s shoestring, and is used to ward off hell hounds. He knows she’s facing down a demon deal now.

We flash back again to young Bela. A little girl swings next to her and promises to kill Bela’s parents and she won’t need to pay a thing for ten years. Bela confesses that the original deal for the Colt was to tear up her contract, but the demons changed it so that she would need to kill Sam as well to save herself. Bela cries as the clock ticks her life away. She confesses that she knows who holds Dean’s deal - it’s the same demon who holds her own. Lilith. 

“See you in Hell,” Dean says as a parting shot...AND also as a polite appointment for hellfire tea time. Bela hangs up the phone. In the distance, hell hounds howl. She stands, and awaits her fate. 

Rufus Quoter is Our Hero:

Dr. Quinn, medicine zombie

I'm not gonna let you wander out in the woods alone to track some organ stealing freak

You are knocking at my door, so don't "Look, man" me. I'm not your man

Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints

This whole eternal-life thing is very high-maintenance

What part of immortality do you not understand?

Wow, demons untrustworthy? Shocker

My man Dave Caruso will be stoked to hear it.

Excuse me? No, no, we’re very smart

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[peter-parcoeur]

“When you’re gone” - Part IV

PETER PARKER x READER (Tony Stark’s daughter)

warning: lots of angst in this chapter & irondad+spiderson feels hitting hard

Previous chapters: one || two || three Comment if you like it ♥

IV.

Peter was sat in the bus on his way back home when he started thinking about a way to talk to Y/N without her spatting back at him or avoiding any eye contact. There must have been something, any topic that could possibly break that massive ice wall she had built around her.

What if she refused to talk to him? How awkward would it be to be locked in his own bedroom with a girl who hated his gut? That’s when he realized: in about an hour, Y/N would be in his bedroom. A girl. In his bedroom. No girl had even been that close to his intimacy and suddenly, the thought of it made his throat dry from all the nervousness he had built in just a minute.

When the bus stopped, Peter started running as fast as he could to get home, using a couple swings from his webs to get there quicker. Slamming the door behind him, he rushed to his bedroom and sighed desperately at the sight in front of him.

A complete mess.

Usually, he wouldn’t be too bothered about his unkempt “personal space”. After all, the only people who were allowed to walk in there were May, Happy (occasionally) and Ned who happened to be even worst on the personal hygiene scale. Needless to say, his best-friend never complained about Peter’s smelly socks all over the floor, his untidy bed and all the obvious signs that screamed “nerd alert” like his Lego Death Star from Star Wars or his video games scattered all over the room.  

Picturing Y/N Stark standing there in the middle of this mess almost gave him a panic attack.

He had now less than an hour to get rid of all of his shameful toys, tidy up his room and remove the obvious smell of a 17yo virgin who’d rather spend his nights gaming or streaming porn than try and get an actual girlfriend.

It took him half an hour to hide any shameful hint at his loneliness, hoarding his closet with his toys, clean up the room and make his bed. Running out of ideas as his brain had gone to FULL PANIC mode, Peter went into the bathroom, hoping to find some kind of home fragrance that would give his bedroom a fancy, sophisticated smell. Unfortunately, all he could find were May’s favorite perfumes. Without a second thought, Peter grabbed the first one in sight and sprayed his bedroom with it. The bottle made it seem like an expensive “haute couture” smell.

“That’ll do” he thought.

“What are you doing?”

Peter jumped at the sound of May’s voice. She was coming back from work and now standing in his doorway, staring at him through her thin glasses.

“Err, a bit of clean-up?”

“Are you sick or something?” she joked, obviously surprised at her nephew’s unusual activity.

“No? I mean… I had all of this energy and… I felt like… It was overdue, you know” he stammered, kicking a comic book under his bed with his foot.

“Okay, cut the bullshit, your room smells like Coco Chanel’s farted in there” she laughed, raising her eyebrow until he dared to admit the reason behind his sudden change of habits.

“Okay, okay but let’s not make a big deal about this?” he started, waiting for her to nod.

“There’s this girl –“ he started.

“Ooooh a girl!” she beamed “you’ve got a date?”

“What? No! why would I take a girl on a date in my bedroom!”

“Dates often end in a bedroom” May stated before correcting herself “not that I would allow it under my roof!”

“It’s not a date, May… We have this assignment, so we’ll be working here, maybe a couple hours a week?”

“Oh, well, that’s cool”

“Can you please, PLEASE… not make it embarrassing for me?”

“First of all, wow… yes offence? And second, why would I do that?”

“You tend to do that actually”

She smiled, only because she couldn’t deny it.

“I promise I’ll behave. Who’s the girl?”

“Y/N Stark”

“As in---“

“Yes”

“Wow. Okay. Are we okay with this? I mean, are you… okay?”

Peter shrugged, quite unsure about the whole situation. He had been so busy cleaning-up his mess to make it less awkward for him that he had completely forgotten about how she’d feel. Right now, he could only hope for the best.

“I guess we’ll see?”

May nodded and walked into the room to peck the top of his head.

“You should open your window, it smells like a hooker died in there”

“That’s actually your perfume?”

“You don’t know everything about me, sweetie” she smiled, pinching his cheek before she left his room “I’ll be in the living room doing my thing, you know where to find me… And keep that door open, we don’t want any baby spiders running around this place a year from now!”

Peter rolled his eyes and grunted at the awkwardness of this conversation. Looking around him, he felt quite proud of himself at the sight of his neat, organized bedroom. It actually looked like a place where he’d love to have his first kiss and a couple more first times.

Not that he had this in mind with Y/N. At least, not until now he hadn’t.

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

 There was a knock on the door at 6:30 sharp, which reminded him of Tony’s typical habit of showing up on time wherever around the world. May watched him walk to the hallway, trying to keep it cool when he was actually halfway between a good run and a steady walk. He had now changed clothes to one of his only “great” sweater, with his sleeves rolled up and a fresh pair of jeans. If May hadn’t promised to behave, she would have commented on his fancy “this is not a date” new look.

Nervousness kicked in when he opened the door and saw her standing there with her backpack hanging on her right shoulder. She was wearing some sort of Gym apparel, skin-tight yoga pants and a cropped sweater that gave him a quick glimpse of her toned stomach and tiny waist. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and her glistening skin made it look like she had jogged to his place.

“Hi” he said, almost out of breath as he realized she looked even better make-up free and wearing the most casual sports clothes. He felt suddenly stupid for wearing his good sweater now.

“Hi, sorry for this” she pointed at her outfit “I thought I would have some time to change after my dance class but I didn’t want to be late so--- here I am”.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as she said it. She didn’t want to be late.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I just hate to be late” she added when she realized he must have heard his side of the story and now making up his own scenario about how she couldn’t wait to see him again. None of this was an option on her side.

“It’s okay” he blurted “come on in”

Y/N was pleasantly polite and nice to May as she introduced herself when Peter thought she would be hating on the Parker’s name over ten generations. When she complimented May’s outfit, Peter thought about how his life would be if he ever managed to date a girl like Y/N and what a major upgrade that would be.

When Y/N turned around, May gave her nephew the thumbs up, mouthing “I like her!” with a bright, encouraging smile on her face. Peter simply answered with a sign of his hand miming a throat cut that could only mean “please shut up”.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked when they entered his room.

“Water would be nice”

Peter excused himself as she dropped her backpack to the floor, her eyes exploring his room with a noticeable curiosity. When he came back a couple minutes later with two glasses of water, Y/N was standing in front of his desk, scanning through the pictures on his wall.

Squishing his eyes shut with complete despair, Peter realized he had forgotten to take off the most important parts of his room: Tony’s pictures.

“Hmm” he coughed “here’s your--- water” he hesitated, handing her one of the glasses.

“Thanks” she whispered, barely noticing him as her eyes seemed glued to the picture of her 8yo-self smiling brightly in Peter’s arms.  He looked exactly the same as today, only less broody.

Peter didn’t know whether to speak at all or just stand there awkwardly as she processed her thoughts. It was probably creepy for her to see herself as a child in his arms while standing there next to him, looking like he’d never aged. For a second, it seemed like her wall had collapsed and she was actually reachable. Her eyes were haunted with a mix of nostalgia and sadness but she didn’t seem angry anymore.

“Weird, right?” Peter blurted out when he didn’t know what else to say.

“What is?” she asked “This situation or the fact you keep a picture of a little girl on your wall?”

Peter frowned. Maybe that wall was still there after all. Luckily, some of his biggest strenghts were his patience and obstinacy.

“I only keep it there because it’s a good memory. I had a good day and I wanted to remember it… That’s all. Sorry if it creeps you out.”

She seemed surprised with his honesty, but it was nothing next to his own surprise when she answered.

“It was a good day, yeah” she said, her face daring to show some hints of a smile in the corner of her lips before her eyes drifted to a picture of Tony and Peter and all signs of happiness faded away.

She turned around quickly and looked for a place to sit, her nose sniffing as she quite obviously tried to refrain from crying.

“We should get going, my mum wants me home by 8pm” she said, grabbing a notebook and a pen as she sat on the bed when she failed to find a desk and/or a chair.

The tip of her nose had turned red from the rush of sadness she had felt, looking at her father’s smile on this picture. To think of the pain she was going through made Peter feel worse than ever, so he decided not to mention anything personal as long as she didn’t give him a greenlight.

That didn’t happen until the next hour.

They had been working on their assignment for over an hour when Y/N suddenly seemed unable to contain herself any longer.

“What could he possibly see in you?” she snapped, smacking her pen on her notebook with a hard tug that made Peter jolt with surprise.

“Excuse me?” he asked, bewildered at her sudden mood swing.

“I’m sorry I just--- I’m trying to understand what my father could possibly love SO much about that he felt the need to travel back in time and just…. Abandon me.”

She had said it. The word she was dreading to speak out loud.

Her father had abandoned her so he could save another kid.

Getting up from the bed, she paced his room back and forth as she tried to compose herself so she wouldn’t cry in front of him. Peter felt terrible now. Never in a million year had he thought about her side of the story. How could she think Tony had abandoned her?

“He didn’t abandon you, Y/N, how can you say that?”

“Oh really? And what do you call it? Some heroic sacrifice? BULLSHIT! You weren’t there! None of you fucking Avengers were there to see it!”

“See… what?”

“The look on his face when he came back without you” she sniffed, turning around to face him now, wiping her face with the back of her sweater as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“I hoped and prayed he would come back… I thought he had died up there, just like all of you… I was heartbroken and just when I’d completely lost hope… He came back from freaking Space with that blue chick!” her voice was cracking up with emotion by now, Peter wished he could’ve walked up to give her a warm, comforting hug, but she seemed furious at him.

He realized just how much she resented him when she kept on talking.

“I was so relieved, it was genuinely the happiest day of my life… To have him back, I felt lucky, I felt blessed…” she paused “but do you know what his first words to us were?”

Peter shook his head no.

“I’ve lost the kid” she said, recalling her father’s words as vividly as ever.

Peter looked up to stare into her eyes, his own watering from the aching pain in his stomach. No one had ever told him about this before Y/N. To hear this was a terrible reminder of his loss.

“You think that’s painful? Try and have your father losing sleep for months, staying up all night trying to figure out how to turn things back so he can bring YOU, precious Peter Parker back.” She snapped “He didn’t do this to save the world, he wanted to save you! He left me and my mom knowing this would be a one way trip!”

She was properly crying now, sobbing through her words as she recalled the day he left her, never to come back again.

“I’m—“ Peter started “I’m so deeply sorry Y/N… I didn’t know… I—“

“Of course you didn’t! That’s what makes it so hard for me to hate you!” she bawled, unable to contain herself now at the wound inside her heart seemed to have opened wide for the first time since the funeral.

Peter instinctively got up and wrapped her in his arms, hoping she wouldn’t punch him for even touching her. She rested against his chest, rigid as a tree so he wouldn’t feel any of her weaknesses. He could feel her shaky breath against his neck as she sobbed uncontrollably on his shoulder. Resting one hand behind her neck, hoping to soothe her, Peter went completely silent until she felt ready to speak again.

“You know the worst part of this—“ she started, freeing herself from his arms like she wouldn’t allow herself to be that close to him –

“I was actually sad when you didn’t come back with him, can you believe it?” she used both of her sleeves to wipe her eyes off, unbothered about how messy she looked now.

“Part of me was extremely thankful to have my dad back, but I couldn’t help thinking about you. Isn’t that just hilarious really? I cried when he told me about everything, how you vanished in front of his eyes, how you… apologized and cried and… I was genuinely heartbroken because for some reasons, I adored you! Just like my father did!”

Peter was loss for words, it felt like a truck had run over him about ten times. He was just standing there speechless, looking at her with tears in his eyes.

“It haunted me for weeks… But I had my father so I guess, I couldn’t be mad at the universe about a teenage boy from the Queens! But then my father left and suddenly… I’d lost you both.”

She paused, slightly out of breath from all the crying.

“My favorite person in the entire world, my universe, my role model, my guardian angel… and you, that nice, funny guy I had an irrational childish crush on! How stupid really, what a joke.”

Never in a million years would Peter had thought about this. To think she was actually sad he was gone was unthinkable, even if he knew how much she seemed to appreciate him as a child. Talking about this brought back memories from the past, how every time he visited Tony and his family, Y/N seemed so happy to see him. Tony even often joked about how he would become her favorite person someday, never hiding his jealousy whenever Y/N asked for ‘her best friend Peter’. All of this seemed surreal now that she was his age, standing there looking both flawless and broken.

“I don’t know what to say, Y/N… I wish I could do anything, I swear—“he hesitated.

“I swear I would take his place in the blink of an eye if I could turn back time once more… I never asked for any of this to happen, I don’t even recall the snap, it’s just a blur… Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real and I expect to wake up and everything’s back to normal”.

She could tell he was as upset as she was now, only slightly more disturb by his own memories.

“I know you’re going through the worst kind of pain right now but… I’ve lost him too.”

“Don’t you dare!” she threatened “he wasn’t your father!! How can you—“

“HE WAS THE CLOSEST THING I HAD TO A FATHER!!” he cried out, completely losing it now as he realized all of his father figures were long gone.

“You’ve lost your father… I’ve lost three.” He sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head buried in his hands at the thought of his own dad, his uncle Ben, and now Tony.

 “I think you should go” May’s voice came out of nowhere, unexpected. None of them knew how long she had been standing there but her face said it all. She couldn’t handle the pain Peter was going through.

Y/N watched as May stood in the doorway with a concerned look.

“I’m sorry Ms Parker” Y/N simply stated, powerless. As she walked closer to Peter to pick up her backpack from the floor, he never looked up to meet her gaze. Part of her wanted to show some sign of support, a hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, anything, but she couldn’t. That pain mixed with resentment was too conflicted, that wound was too fresh.

“Do you want me to call Happy so he drives you home?” May asked as she realized Y/N seemed to be as distressed as her nephew.

“I’ll walk. Thank you Ms. Parker”

With that, she left the room.

May sat next to Peter on his bed as soon as they both heard the front door closing.

“So… that was a shitty date” she smiled, wrapping an arm around Peter, hoping her usually goofiness would save the day, once again.

“Really, May?”

“Sorry… Do you want to talk about this? I can do adult talk”

“I think I’d rather be alone if that’s okay” he sighed, finally lifting his head up to wipe off the tears from his eyes. He looked drenched from all the energy he had left in his body.

Of all of May’s qualities, Peter appreciated the fact she wasn’t over reaching when he asked for privacy. She knew how to be discreet and how to respect his need for loneliness. He knew he could always count on her any time of the day.

“I’m just saying this” she added while leaving the room “this could either end with a physical fight… or the most intense love story”.

“May, please” he sighed “now is not really a perfect time for jokes”.

“You just wait…” she smiled before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Peter immediately crashed against his pillow, feeling drained.

As he tried to fall asleep, he felt something poke his back and reached for it only to find out Y/N’s had left her notebook behind. Out of curiosity, he flipped through the pages, mostly homework and notes from different classes, until a piece of folded paper dropped from behind the front cover.

Part of him knew this wasn’t right. He wasn’t usually that curious but somehow, he felt the need to catch a glimpse.

His heart sunk in his chest when he recognized Tony’s handwriting.

The two couple words were enough for him to lose it.

“Give this to the kid—“

[pezberry-week]

So I have to admit this is a little bit of a cheat for my Pezberry Secret Santa fill for @angel-hummel - as in, it’s both my present fill and a prompt fill for my 25 Days of Christmas (AO3) fic collection. As it is, I have plans to revisit this someday, but I hope you enjoy this self contained bit anyway. Happy Pezberry Secret Santa, angel-hummel!

*

Day 21: Character A is pretending to be their friend’s lover for the sake of the friend’s family. Character B is said friend’s sibling.

*

“Santí! Come down and meet your brother’s girlfriend!”

“That’s really not necessary.” Rachel smiled at Maribel, hoping the woman wouldn’t see her unease. “If she’s busy we can always meet later.”

“Nonsense. It’s time for her to come down anyway.” Frowning, Maribel sighed, saying under her breath, “That girl,” before taking a step on the staircase, rapping harshly against the wall. “Santí! Get off the computer and come meet Rachel! Your brother’s girlfriend!” She turned her head, smiling at Rachel, “I’m so sorry. She’s always playing around with those music programs of hers.”

“Puck did tell me that she worked for Big Machine Records…” Rachel tried to placate, starting to feel even more awkward than she originally had when she’d first walked into her friend’s father and step-mother’s house as his fake girlfriend. “Perhaps she’s busy mixing and can’t hear you?”

Maribel huffed. “That would be just like her. Here,” she turned, descending the step she’d taken, “Can you be a dear and fetch her for me? I have to check on dinner, and this way you can introduce yourself.”

Blinking, feeling a little blindsided, Rachel barely had the chance to agree before Maribel was hustling her up the stairs, calling out a thank you as she turned to make her way back to the kitchen. Figuring there was no point in pausing in the middle of the stairs, she finished her walk up, pausing and wavering at the top before sighing and squaring her shoulders, turning to the hall of doors. About to start worrying about which she should knock on, she relaxed when she could see a door proudly proclaiming, “Santana’s Room Keep Out!!!” from where she stood. That was lucky.

The door opened after Rachel’s second smattering of hesitant knocks, Rachel still pulling her hand away. “I told you, Mamí, I have a deadline I have to – – you’re not mom.”

Beautiful brown eyes blinked down at her. Framed by thick, curly bangs and above a thin nose and plush, red lips, Santana Lopez practically took Rachel’s breath away. When the striking eyes narrowed, Rachel realized she was still staring, and she took a step back, shoving her hands behind her back so they wouldn’t fidget in front of her. “I’m Rachel. R-Rachel Berry,” she stuttered, “Puck’s… Girlfriend.”

“You don’t sound so confident about that,” Santana smirked at her, leaning against the side of her doorway.

Red slashed across Rachel’s face. “Oh, no, I am. I, er, just…” Trailing off, she remembered herself, standing forward to offer her hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Untangling her arm from the doorway, Santana accepted the handshake, and suddenly long, warm fingers were wrapped around Rachel’s. “Rachel, eh? Puck’s bandmate?” She made vocal bunny ears, “The tiny fellow Jew hottie?”

More red bloomed on Rachel’s cheeks. “Ah, yes, that’s me. Apparently…” She’d have to have a talk with Puck about how he described her in the future. Not wanting to relinquish the handshake, but knowing she had to before it became weird, Rachel pulled her hand back, Santana’s grip briefly tightening before releasing her, sliding her hand into the pocket of her skinny jeans. Following the motion, Rachel wondered why she’d thought it be a good idea to wear one of her ‘best impression wholesome girl’ dresses when she could have worn something like what Santana was and have given her an extremely different impression than what she was probably giving her.

“Seems like a pretty accurate description,” Santana smiled, bringing Rachel’s attention back up to her face.

Rachel laughed self-consciously. “You should hear how he describes you.”

Fine eyebrows rose. “Oh, you’ve gotta tell me.”

“Well, you know…” Taking a second to come up with a response, Rachel affected her voice lower, “’Santana Puckerman? My totally pain in the ass step-sister.’”

Rolling her eyes, Santana shook her head, a smirk still curling her lips up. “He just never stops complaining about when I almost castrated him with a s’mores fork, doesn’t he?”

“What?”

“We were eight.”

“Wait, his pain is literal?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen his ass. Is the scar still visible?”

“That’s… Actually not something I would know.” Thank god.

“Really?” Santana’s eyebrows shot up again. “Normally bro’s faster with getting his chicks naked. Boy does not know how to do the romance.”

“And you do?” Rachel immediately lobbed back, both out of curiosity and automatic defense of her friend.

Santana smirked. “I’m sure you’ve heard the tales about me. What do you think?”

Opening her mouth, Rachel was saved from making some obvious and pathetic attempt at not being flirty by the loud racket of Puck loping up the stairs. “Babe,” he called out carelessly, swinging himself around the banister, “Stop flirting with my sis and come make me look good. Mom’s wantin’ us all down there.”

“Puck,” Rachel snapped, not bothering to hide her mortification at his words as Puck wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

Puck smirked at Santana. “Ain’t she hot?”

Again, “Puck,” and Rachel elbowed his side, using his indrawn breath and flinch to disentangle herself, stepping aside and straightening her dress.

Santana surveyed them curiously, a lazy tilt of her lips showing her amusement. “At least this one seems to know how to handle you,” she teased, shaking her head; disappearing into her bedroom – Rachel getting a glimpse of black and white and a sumptuous looking bed – she called over her shoulder, “Give me a sec to save my work and I’ll be there.”

Once Rachel was secure she was far enough away to be able to hold a furiously whispered conversation, she rounded onto Puck. “You,” she jutted her finger at him, “Didn’t tell me how… Attractive she was!”

That elicited a loud, full-belly laugh, Puck even going so far to pretend to wipe away tears. “You’ve seen pics, haven’t ya?”

“Those were crazy, unflattering ones, and you know it!”

Still laughing, Puck shook his head, urging Rachel down and in front of him, meeting his mother in the kitchen. “Well now you know, eh?”

Giving Maribel a calm, benign smile, Rachel elbowed him again the second she was turned away.

*

A couple of hours later, gathered at the family table with a mug of spiked eggnog and reams of awkward, fake relationship comments behind her, Rachel couldn’t look away from Santana.

“You’re being obvious,” Puck teased, breath hot against her ear, lips curled up.

“Not caring,” Rachel lilted back, raising her mug in a toast when prompted, her tongue lapping up foam when it clung to her upper lip.

A strong finger poked her side. “Have you forgotten you’re my girlfriend?” he prodded.

Rachel grit her teeth. Turning her head, angling back to glare at him, she humphed. “Shhh. You, grateful, me going to ogle if I want to.”

“You do so criminally rarely ogle,” Puck hummed agreeably. “Should I let slip that you’re an out and proud bisexual?”

Rachel didn’t feel bad about the strength of the kick behind the side of her foot impacting her bandmate’s shin. She took a sip of her eggnog to cover the proud smirk at his fumbling of covering up the reason for his squeak. As her eyes traveled along aimlessly, she had to stop and blink, a blush covering her cheeks at the dark eyes smirking at her. Well. At least it was only Santana who had seemed to catch on. Rachel softly cleared her throat. “Dear, you alright?”

“No thanks to you,” Puck hissed, but gathered himself. “Hey, sis,” he abruptly burst out, motioning at Santana when both Abby and Santana looked at him, “Now that Show and Tell’s done with me n’ Rache, how ‘bout you? Got any hot tail in LA?”

“Noah,” Maribel sighed from her spot down the table, lowering her mug to the table, “Must you speak like that? I swear, I don’t know where you and Santana got it.”

Santana and Puck exchanged grins. “Lima Heights Adjacent,” they chorused.

Maribel closed her eyes. “We never lived in Lima Height Adjacent.”

“Tell that to the jocks and nerds who were terrified of Santana in high school,” Puck laughed. He affected his voice, lifting his hands, “’I’m ‘bout to go Lima Heights Adjacent on your ass if yous don’ts. Step. Offs. Afores I ends you.’”

Santana grinned. “You forgot the razors ‘all up in my weave’.”

Abby tched, rolling her eyes. “I went to William McKinley after you guys and heard nothing. So I think you’re lying. Or exaggerating.”

Grinning, her teeth biting lightly on the rim of her mug, Rachel watched the play-by-play. She jerked, cheeks glowing bright as Santana suddenly winked at her.

“Puh-lease. Puck was the one exaggerating,” Santana grinned, tossing her hair and adopting a teasing tone, “Who was the one who was a ‘sex shark’ who died if they stopped having sex?”

“Ay Dios mio and the Mother Mary!” Maribel groaned, her palm slapping on the table, stopping Puck’s retort, “Who raised you children? Have you no tact? Do I need to hear this, hmm?”

Santana snorted. “Ask your son, Mamí. He’s the one who used that excuse.”

“Oh, and you didn’t use tricks to get the girls into your bed,” Puck snapped, looking actually insulted, his chin and chest jutting forward.

Santana clicked her tongue at him. “Unlike you, I didn’t need to.”

“Oh god,” Abby muttered, hands covering her face, “Stop! Forget about need, I don’t want to hear this!”

“I agree,” Rachel chimed in, steel filling her voice as she pressed her hand into Puck’s thigh, stopping him. “Noah.” She didn’t actually really care, having made peace with how much of a horn dog her friend was years ago, but she figured his girlfriend probably wouldn’t be amused at all.

Puck frowned at her. “Why do you care? You’ve always listened to me talk about girls…” he asked, Rachel’s eyes widening as she figured out, before him, what he was saying.

Rachel didn’t dare look at the stares she could feel until, taking a deep breath and pasting a large smile on her face, she looked up with a, “We… Have a very open relationship.”

The first person she looked at was Santana, who quirked her eyebrows at her. “How open?”

“Santana Maria Puckerman, please stop antagonizing your brother’s girlfriend.”

“Who’s antagonizing?” Santana asked ‘innocently’, hands raised, “It’s a legitimate question.”

Though obviously a little uncomfortable with the confession, Maribel helped (made) the conversation pivot, and with only a few moments of grumbling and heated glares at his sister, Puck settled down. Doing so as well, though expressing it with a dark smirk instead, Santana hummed, turned to Rachel, winked again, and only turned away in satisfaction as Rachel’s ears heated up.

Rachel had a week more of this. Of Santana.

Rachel’s teeth bit lightly into the rim of her eggnog mug.

Oh god.

[rt8815]

OC Ask Game

I was tagged by the amazing @illegalcerebral

I put a Keep Reading link because this is looong.

1) Name (and why you chose it if you like) McKinley Campbell Durand. I named her after McKinley Morganfield, better known as Muddy Waters. However, the “in universe?” reason that will be given - which I haven’t written yet - is that McKinley and Campbell are family names from a few generations back.

Campbell comes from the Gaelic words for ‘crooked’ and ‘mouth.’ I just like the name. Here’s a post (that I had to rewrite because Tumblr’s a dick and wouldn’t let me edit the typos in the original. The rewrite had typos too! Blargh!) that discusses her first and last names. I thought it would be funny for her full name to consist solely of last names.

2) Fandom and how they fit into the story Criminal Minds. She works at a D.C. museum practically around the corner from the J. Edgar Hoover building (as indicated in “Let It Bleed”). That’s a tiny hint that it’s the National Museum of African American History & Culture, but I don’t think I’ll mention it very often, if for no other reason than I’ve never been to the NMAAHC and don’t want to describe it inaccurately.

The official story is that Spencer and McKinley met at the museum (again, in “Let It Bleed,” which is probably the least favorite thing of mine that I’ve written). However, they’d met once before, and texted a few times after that. Because my brain is all over the place, and because I’m telling the story in non-chronological order, I haven’t written their first meeting yet. The only details I’ve revealed thus far are that it was nighttime in a park, McKinley caught Spencer off guard and made him fall to the ground, and whatever they talked about set Spencer straight and lifted his spirits. Also, a swingset was involved. Beyond that, I’ve inserted McKinley into the plotlines and events of the show, with necessary alterations, and there’s a ton of domestic Spencer and off-duty team stuffs.

3) Do they have any family? Biological family: daughter Sophie and son Jason; her Mom (no name yet); maternal grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins; and her estranged father (no name yet). Chosen/found family: husband Spencer; the BAU.

4) As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up? When she was a toddler, McKinley wanted to be a pediatrician (a doctor just for kids?! Cool!) or an ophthalmologist (she’s worn glasses practically her whole life). As an older child she aspired to be an entomologist or herpetologist. In her teenage years she considered a career in forensic pathology or criminal psychology. While earning her BA in English, she discovered that Public History was her true calling.

5) Their greatest dream To be a good Mom. To inspire learning in others.

6) Their worst nightmare Losing her family; having to see her father again.

7) Strengths Empathy, insight/self awareness, forgiving nature but knowing when to cut her losses

8) Weaknesses McKinley struggles with imposter syndrome.

She can be very mean. I mean, downright nasty cruel, verbally. This is rare though because, and I’m paraphrasing a future bit of dialogue here, anyone whose behavior could arguably warrant such a response is beneath her notice and not worth the effort. She’s more likely to close the door on someone. When she’s removed a person from her life, she is done. They become literally nothing to her. McKinley will rightly claim that this is about self-preservation and boundaries, but she really takes it to the next level.

9) What would they chose between: morning and night, sweet and savoury, beaches or meadows, cities or countryside, winter or summer, Christmas or Halloween (sorry, Spencer!), movies or TV shows, action or rom-com, clowns or vampires, stars or the moon (both!), cocktails or pints [Neither. McKinley doesn’t care for cocktails or beer. Scotch, brandy, rum, and dry wines are her poisons. She’s been known to add Kahlúah to vanilla ice cream, Baileys Irish Cream to coffee (she wants to try Drambuie next), or make hot toddies when she has a cold (obviously not mixing any alcohol with any medicine)]

10) How do they relax? Reading, or having Spencer read to her; knitting; listening to her records or playing her guitar; exercising with Boogie so she’s exhausted enough to sleep that night; baking and cooking

11) What makes them angry? Injustice, apathy/indifference, ableism, willful ignorance

12) What makes them afraid? The awful things she’d possibly do under duress; her family getting hurt or worse; spiders and other bugs that bite and/or sting

13) What is a moment from their childhood that has shaped who they are? It’s not a single event, but growing up with an abusive parent has certainly had a lifelong impact on McKinley. You’ve heard the expression “once bitten, twice shy?” She’s “once bitten, there’s no twice because you no longer exist.” She’s working on that. It’s also cultivated empathy, though, and is part of the reason she volunteers in the hospital’s rehab wing.

14) Do they have a sense of humour? Intellectual humor, pop culture references, puns/Dad jokes, science jokes. Sometimes morbid.

15) What do they value in their friends/loved ones? Honesty and empathy

16) Do they have any pets? An Aussie Collie/Border Aussie named Boogie-Woogie. He’s her first child.

17) Worst memory? Probably the day Meadows shot her and she thought she’d never see Spencer and Penny again.

18) Best memory? The days Sophie and Jason were born. Minus, y’know, the agonizing pain of labor and delivery.

19) Do they have any tattoos? (If no would they get one?) Nope and nope

20) If you could write them into another fandom, which one would you choose? If I knew the MCU better, I’d love to write her in as a Stark Tower employee! She’d be an anthropologist and would study alien societies the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have encountered. She’d naturally be drawn to Loki, initially in a professional capacity (they quickly discover they relate to each other on a personal level as well).

He’d first find her annoying: “Why are you pestering me, Mortal? Surely you’d rather interview my oaf of a brother?”

“No, not even remotely. He only ever wants to discuss battles he’s won. There’s so much more to Asgard and the other realms than that. I want - I need - to learn your literature, your science, your culture and history. You’re well versed in all of these subjects and you’re an excellent teacher.”

He stares at her impassively over his mug of tea, but his heart - that Judas of an organ - flutters slightly at the compliment. And how can he say no to a fellow scholar?

“I prefer your company to Thor’s too. You have this calming presence. Thor’s sweet but he’s also obnoxiously loud and brash and he always hugs me even though I keep telling him I don’t like it. And he’s constantly swinging his hammer around, which makes me think he’s overcompensating for something.”

Loki nearly chokes on his tea. Yes, this mortal is considerably more tolerable than others.

“Very well. Friday evenings at 6:00, my chambers. Arrive late and suffer my wrath.”

From that day forward, whenever Thor tries to hug her, he gets mildly electrocuted.

Did I accidentally sorta kinda write a drabble? Would anyone be interested in making this a collab? That’s what they’re called, right? (Can you tell I’ve given this some thought? Haha! I have even more details in my head.)

21) Do they like their job? (What else would they do if they could?) She loves it! Hmmm, what else…? A librarian maybe. Or animate and produce an educational cartoon series.

22) What is their sexuality? Demisexual

23) Do they believe in love at first sight? Soulmates? One true love? McKinley believes in “seeing the potential for a good relationship at first conversation.”

Yes, although she feels that term has become overused and poorly redefined.

People can find love again after it’s been lost.

24) What music do they listen to? Has that changed over time? I actually recently answered an ask about this. Yes, she grew up on what passed for country in the ‘90s. God help her, she had a boyband phase in junior high.

25) Can they cook? What food do they love? McKinley does pretty well in the kitchen. She loves a wide variety of food. She grew up in the south, so tons of carbs/comfort foods. She loves Thai, Japanese, and Indian food. She cooks up Middle Earth-inspired dishes (ha! nerd). She’s especially proud of a seed cake she bakes.

26) What are their hopes for the future? For her family to be healthy, safe and happy. To be debt free.

27) How do they react to being threatened? It’s a coin flip. McKinley might curl up like an armadillo and hope the predator gets bored and leaves, or she might kick the stool out from under them and cause their chin to slam into the bar and crack several teeth.

28) What is their love language? McKinley and Spencer both exhibit the Acts of Service love language, because just saying “I love you” isn’t enough. You ought to show it. She’ll randomly bake doughnuts for Spencer or play guitar for him in bed, and he’ll take care of laundry, dishes, and any other chores he sees need doing.

Quality Time is important for them too. Once a month, Luke and Penny babysit so Spencer and McKinley have a day alone together. It doesn’t really matter what they do. The point is it’s just them.

It caught McKinley by surprise how much she enjoys physical affection, given that she can be touch averse but holy moly she was more touch starved than she realized. She lives for snuggles and makeout sessions and playing with each others’ hair. When one of them doesn’t want to be touched, they hook their pinkies together.

29) What do they find most challenging in relationships? At work? In general? At work she struggles to gain her colleagues’ respect (think “Boy Genius” treatment except she has lady bits). In general, she struggles with trusting people.

30) What do you as a creator love best about writing this character? Giving her everything I wish I had but don’t.

Bonus: Include a link to your favourite work with this OC or write a small drabble.

October 12, 2021

Warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, gently rousing Spencer from a pleasant sleep. Just when he’d decided to get up, he felt the mattress dip behind him and his wife’s breath fanning over his ear.

“Who’s the birthday boy?” whispered McKinley.

Spencer smiled softly but feigned being asleep.

“Who’s the birthdaaay boooy?” she repeated, bouncing slightly.

“The good-looking guy to your left?”

“Happy Birthday!” she laughed, pressing kisses along his neck, suddenly shifting the mood from playful to sexy.

“Would the birthday boy like his birthday present?” she asked as she lifted the covers.

“Well, look at that - it’s already unwrapped!”

[enbyleighlines]

For the MDZS modern AU prompts, I'm intrigued by Qin Su and your OC. So maybe them and "falling leaves" ~chi-zi

Oooooooh, okay! I certainly wasn’t expecting this request! But I’m very happy to fill it~

I hope you like this!

—

Qin Su is excited. Granted, she is usually in a state of near-perpetual excitement, but today, she’s more excited than usual.

It’s Saturday, but she wakes up early. She’s too excited to sleep in.

Because today, Qin Su is going on a date.

It’s not her first date, but it’s her first date with a girl, and it’s a girl she really, really likes. The girl’s name is Zhao Zhiruo, and she’s one grade higher than Qin Su. They met at the school’s GSA club last year.

By all accounts, senior Zhao Zhiruo is far out of Qin Su’s league— not that she’s ever given much merit to high school popularity measurements. But according to every high school TV drama that’s ever existed, Qin Su would be classified as a bookworm, or a teacher’s pet. Something that translates to “nerd, but a girl.”

Zhao Zhiruo would be typecast as the self-absorbed cheerleader, the rich girl, the queen bee. Or, if not the queen bee, then one of the worker bees.

But real high school is different than the movies. That’s why Qin Su was able to ask Zhao Zhiruo out on a date.

The morning creeps by way too slowly. Qin Su sits at the kitchen counter, swinging her feet, and trying not to look at the digital clock on the microwave too often. She is already doing this long before anyone else in the house wakes up. Her date isn’t until 3 in the afternoon.

Qin Su doesn’t know what to do to make time move faster. She feels too restless to read, or to watch television.

Hope comes in the form of Mo Xuanyu, her fourteen-year-old Didi. He grins toothily when he catches sight of Qin Su, fully dressed at seven in the morning on a Saturday. In contrast, Mo Xuanyu is still in his pajamas, with a full on rat’s nest on his head.

“Couldn’t sleep, A-jie?” He guesses.

Qin Su pops up to her feet, to pull a chair back for her baby bro. “What about you, Yu-er?” She asks, “What are you doing up so early on the weekend?”

Mo Xuanyu sits down and pats her arm. “Nightmares,” he answers, “I watched that new slasher thriller last night.”

“I’ll never understand why you watch those kinds of movies when they scare you so much,” Qin Su says, and goes off to start making breakfast now that at least one other family member is up.

“Being scared is the entire point,” Mo Xuanyu explains, not for the first time. “Besides,” he adds, “it’s spooky season. I’m trying to be festive.”

Qin Su rolls her eyes. She pours the cup of rice into the saucepan full of water, and stirs, starting the process of making congee. She also tosses in some leftover fried chicken from the refrigerator, and heats the rest of it up in the microwave for them to snack on while their breakfast simmers.

They enjoy a companionable silence for a few minutes. Mo Xuanyu yawns into his palm, and Qin Su nibbles on the fried skin of the chicken.

“Want some tea, too?” Qin Su asks, already taking out the kettle.

“Please,” Mo Xuanyu says. He combs his fingers through his tangled hair, and scrunches his face up when his fingers get stuck. “Ugh,” he complains, “I bet I look so ugly right now.”

Qin Su giggles. “You look like a mop,” she admits, “but a cute mop.”

He smiles back at her.

It’s a typical Saturday morning, but today Qin Su takes the time to appreciate it. She knows she’s lucky. Her family has always been supportive, even when they don’t quite understand each other. It’s because of them that she had the courage to come out, to join the school GSA, and to ask Zhao Zhiruo on a date.

Slowly, other people begin to wake up: Qin Su’s mother, Mo Xuanyu’s mother Mo Hou, and last but not least, once the congee is finally finished, Jin Zixuan’s mother Ouyang Jiangnu.

Qin Su adds the toppings to the congee and serves everyone a bowl.

The three mothers are too sleepy to talk at first. They’re busy women, working long hours to support their children with only minimal financial assistance from the father, and Qin Su admires them all very much.

But with time, and full bellies, the women begin to perk up. And naturally, Qin Su’s date becomes the hot topic of the morning.

“What time is your date again, A-Su?” Luo Pingyang, her mother, asks.

“Three.”

“And you’re sure you won’t need a ride to the movie theater? It’s really no trouble.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only a fifteen minute walk if we take a shortcut through the park. I wanted to see all the beautiful foliage, anyway.”

Mo Hou hums her agreement. “It really is beautiful,” she says, “I might have to go for a walk in the park later myself.”

“Hmm, I’m more worried about the yard,” Ouyang Jiangnu admits, “The front lawn is already swimming with leaves! It’ll take at least an hour to rake it all up. Maybe two. I’ll ask Zixuan to do that the next time he comes home to do his laundry.”

Jin Zixuan is a freshman in college now, and he’s living on campus. It’s still weird, not having him in the house.

“Why wait for him?” Mo Hou asks, “We’ve got two strong, capable kids right here.”

Mo Xuanyu snorts, but he says, “Sure, I can rake the lawn.” He stretches out his spine, and adds, “First I have to get dressed, and comb my hair, and wash my face. Maybe put on some foundation—“

“Yes, yes,” Mo Hou cuts him off with a laugh, “You can go get pretty first.”

“I’ll help, too,” Qin Su offers, because she can’t think of any better way to kill time until her date. And also, because she likes to help out.

“If you’re going to help me, then you should change into something else first. I don’t want you ruining that nice outfit with dirt and sweat.” Mo Xuanyu stands from his seat, taking his dishes to the sink. “You can do that while I ‘get pretty’, as my Mama so kindly put it.”

Mo Hou giggles. “That was a joke,” she says, “You’re always pretty.”

“Uh-huh,” Mo Xuanyu hums.

Because of the cute back and forth banter between mother and son, Qin Su is smiling as she retreats to her room to change.

She loves her family so very much.

—

Unfortunately, Ouyang Jiangnu’s time estimates are way off. By the time three rolls around, Mo Xuanyu and Qin Su are still stuffing leaves into brown paper bags. They only learn it’s three because Zhao Zhiruo arrives.

“Uh, hello?”

Qin Su’s head whips up. She stares, confused, at her date.

Zhao Zhiruo is popular for a reason. She comes from old money, and it’s evident in her choice of clothing. She’s wearing a designer fall coat, white and pristine, that likely costs about as much as Qin Su’s entire wardrobe.

“Zhao Zhiruo!” Qin Su laughs, and hopes there aren’t any leaves stuck in her hair. “I haven’t forgotten about our date! I just... wanted to take care of some chores, and I lost track of time!”

“It’s okay,” Zhao Zhiruo says. She looks from Qin Su to the leaf pile at her feet. “Are you... almost done?”

Mo Xuanyu jumps forward to rescue Qin Su. “Go and get dressed for your date,” he tells her, “I’ll finish up here.” Then he turns to Zhao Zhiruo and waves sheepishly.

Though they’re all regular members of the GSA meetings, Mo Xuanyu continues to be intimidated by Zhao Zhiruo.

“Right,” Qin Su says, “Thanks, Yu-er! Zhiruo, I’ll be right back!”

She rushes back inside, heart beating wildly. She can only imagine what she looks like. When she gets to her bedroom mirror, her fears are confirmed. Her face is smudged with dirt, and there are multiple leaves sticking out of her hair.

Qin Su smacks her forehead, and prays that Zhao Zhiruo won’t hold any of this against her.

—

Both girls are quiet as they take the shortcut through the park. Qin Su is in her own head, berating herself for already setting a bad first impression.

But when Zhao Zhiruo speaks up, her first words are, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Qin Su looks to her. “For what?”

Zhao Zhiruo fidgets, wringing her fingers together through her gloves. “For being rude... asking you if you were ‘almost done’.”

“Oh.” Qin Su thinks it over, and decides, “I didn’t think you were being rude.”

Zhao Zhiruo gives a small, hesitant smile. “That’s good,” she says, “Sometimes, when I talk, I come across as rude. I have a mean-sounding voice.”

“I don’t think so!” Qin Su is appalled. Who would dare say such a thing to Zhao Zhiruo?

“You don’t?” Zhao Zhiruo blinks, clearly surprised.

“Not at all! And anyone who’s ever told you that is the real meanie!” Qin Su flushes at her choice of insult. But it’s too late to take it back now. “I think you have a lovely voice.”

The other girl blushes, too. “I wish I had a voice like yours,” Zhao Zhiruo confesses, “It’s bubbly, and sweet. Everyone knows you’re friendly just by talking to you.”

“Well, thank you!” In truth, many people find Qin Su’s voice annoying, especially her laugh. It’s too shrill, they say. Qin Su is pleased as punch that Zhao Zhiruo apparently begs to differ. “But you should really appreciate your own voice more. It’s very charming.”

“You don’t think it’s too deep?” Zhao Zhiruo asks, unconvinced, “People say I sound like I’m always being sarcastic.”

Qin Su thinks that over. “Well, you are sarcastic an awful lot,” she admits, “but I can tell when you’re joking, and when you’re being sincere.”

“Oh? How can you tell?”

Qin Su thinks even harder. “I don’t know,” she admits, “It just sounds different.”

Zhao Zhiruo finally relaxes. “I guess I’ll just take your word for it,” she says, and begins skipping a little with each step. She looks up towards the sky and gives a pleased hum. “Autumn leaves are so beautiful,” she says suddenly, “Too bad it’s so cold, or it’d be my favorite season.”

“If it wasn’t be cold, it wouldn’t be fall,” Qin Su points out, “I like it! Fall is my favorite season. Yours?”

“Mine’s summer,” Zhao Zhiruo replies. She kicks at a collection of leaves on the paved pathway. “But fall is good, too. I know it makes me a basic bitch, but I like all the pumpkin spice flavored stuff.”

Qin Su laughs. “Yeah, me too! But sometimes things are popular for a reason.” Like you, she thinks.

“Hmm, yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

After that, conversation comes more easily to them. They enjoy the scenery, and talk about their favorite things. Qin Su gushes about horses and cats. Zhao Zhiruo tries to explain all the convoluted love triangles going on in her favorite TV dramas. Even before they get to the theater, they start holding hands— for warmth, Zhao Zhiruo insists.

Qin Su smiles the entire time. Admittedly, she’s a bit naive about romance... but she feels like she’s experiencing the start of something very special.

[driversmutbucket]

Second Chances.

Part 1

Adam Sackler x Reader

Warnings: cursing

Author note: I’ve been wanting to whittle away at this for a while. I think I will slow burn this in between smutty filth. I wrote this as occurring post season 6. Basically I just want to give baby boi a happy ending. K bye.

———

“Mom! I can’t find my shoes!”

You groaned, swearing under your breath.

“Have you looked properly? Under your bed?”

“Oh! found them!”

You shoveled cereal into your mouth, knowing full well it was going to be the last thing you ate for hours.

“Mom, we need to go I don’t want to be late”, Celia stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. The school bag on her back looked almost as big as her.

“Alright, keep your hair on”, you sighed as your threw things into your purse before following Celia out the front door.

———

You breathed a sigh of relief as you watched Celia dash through the front doors of the school.

You looked forward to the post drop-off coffee at the cafe nearby and even going to work.

The theatre was busy, people milled everywhere as you walked through the main doors, the excitement and nervous energy was palpable. Today was the day everyone was finally meeting, thus far, each department had only met separately to become acquainted while casting was wrapping up.

Heading backstage you waved and greeted a few of the crew members you had come to know. You could already hear the laughter and general chatter from behind the doors of the makeup, hair and costume department.

Smiling you pushed through the swing doors, greeted with a loud “Hey Boss lady!” From your colleague Clinton.

“Hey! Good morning” you smiled as you approached the designated makeup/hair area.

“I took the liberty of grabbing you a coffee, creamer and sweetener right?” Clinton motion to the cup at your station.

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I love and adore you” you grinned.

After some initial gossip and chat you got down to figuring out a plan of attack for the day together. Today was the beginning of trialing makeup and hair on the cast.

A head of department meeting and a hurried lunch break later it was early afternoon. The assistant director poked her head in the door,

“Y/n? I’m going to send you Adam in about 10 minutes” she called across the room.

Giving the thumbs up, you turned to the cast list, scanning for an Adam.

Fiyero......................Adam Sackler

“Oh he plays the love interest” you said excitedly as you started flicking through the folder you had compiled of reference material.

“I have honestly never worked with anyone who is this nerdy” Clinton mused, “but goddam it’s helpful”.

“Thanks? So anyway, I’m thinking for the hair per-” you stopped, noticing Clinton grinning like an idiot at someone behind you.

“Hi uhhh, y/n?”

You turned and looked up at a towering, built man, I mean, you weren’t exactly short yourself but he dwarfed you.

“Adam?” You smiled warmly, he nodded.

“Come have a seat” you said patting the client chair.

As he sat down, you could see Clinton trying to mouth words to you, but you ignored him. You knew enough about Clinton to know it was probably something very unprofessional.

“I’m going to have to lower the seat if I’m to have any hope of looking at your hair” you grinned as you stepped on the pedal at the base of the chair so he came down to eye level with you.

Finally looking at Clinton, who was staring at Adam like he was a slice of cake, you broke his trance. “Hey Clinton, wanna heat up some of the hair tools and we will mess around a bit, see what’s possible?” His head snapped up to look at you before he mouthed “holy fuck”.

Turning back to Adam, you ruffled and ran your fingers through his hair, “you have great hair Adam” you gushed. It was long and thick, just grazing his shoulders. You could feel him studying your face.

“So I’m thinking, Fiyero, he is kind of living behind this facade. So perhaps we should try a kind of super polished, Prince Charming vibe to begin....”, you trailed off, staring at Adam, lost in thought.

“Oh shit, you’ve actually read the script!” He seemed excited.

For the next 10 minutes you became engrossed in character discourse.

“Uhhh y/n.....” Clinton interrupted, handing you a straightener.

“Oh fuck, sorry!” You laughed “I get carried away talking about this sort of thing”.

Clinton snorted, “I’ll say it again, biggest nerd....”

You swatted at him.

The next half an hour you spent styling Adam’s hair into various look, and photographing each one.

“Ok, great I think that wraps up hair” you said as you smoothed some flyaways.

Placing your hand on Adam’s arm you smiled sympathetically “Thanks for being so patient Adam, I’m a bit of a perfectionist”.

He grinned, “Oh honestly it’s no problem, I get it, I can turn into a bit of a lunatic when I’m learning lines.”

“Could you grab the ring light Clinton? Let’s start some makeup.”

You took a moment to study Adam’s face, his features were strong, some would say, handsome.

“You have lovely skin and features for makeup” you mused.

“I must add that to my resume” he chuckled.

“Honestly, some people’s features can get completely lost under heavy stage make up, and then you have to do all this extra work to redefine...” you waved your hand, “I’m getting off track again”.

You got into your zone, testing makeup. It didn’t stop you admiring the little beauty marks on his face, or his plump lips. He watched you work, intently. Especially when you gave Clinton pointers on application. It was a little weird, but you didn’t mind. You caught his eye, smiling from time to time. He asked the odd question about your brushes or a specific technique, seeming genuinely interested. He was different to most actors you dealt with. Quirky, but in an endearing way.

By the time you had finished with Adam, it was late afternoon. You gently wiped the heavy makeup off his face,

“Thanks Adam” you beamed, “I’m really happy with what we achieved”.

“Hey, did you hear a bunch of us are grabbing dinner later, are you coming?”

“Oh yeah, I am, see you then?”

He grinned “See you then”.

After he had left, you checked your phone, seeing a message from Celia’s stepmom saying she had picked her up from school as planned, for the weekend. You fired off quick reply, hoping to go grab a coffee before the next actor turned up.

As you cleaned your brushes Clinton cleared his throat, “so...Adam is a delicious beast of a man” he said coyly.

“Oh Jesus Christ” you snorted “but yes, he is a good looking guy”.

“I would climb him like a fucking tree” Clinton sighed “my god, his buttons looked like they were going to pop off his shirt, he is so big.”

“Note to self, make sure Clinton is not assigned to Adam, ever” you joked.

——

When the day was finally wrapped up it was after 7pm. Feeling absolutely drained you considered ditching the dinner with your colleagues. However, the prospect of getting to chat with Adam was more than appealing.

Arriving at the restaurant you could hear the group before you saw them.

“Y/N get that fine ass over here!!” Someone yelled.

You rolled your eyes, but grinned and made your way over to the table. Seeing Adam you gave him a little wave.

“Hey, I saved you a spot” he yelled over the music and chatter, patting the space on the bench beside him.

“Thanks!” You smiled, squeezing in next to him.

A waitress came over and asked for drink orders.

“House red please.”

The waitress joted it down and looked expectantly at Adam, “soda water please”.

“Not drinking tonight?” You asked, having to lean close to his ear so he could hear you.

“Not drinking ever” he shrugged.

“Oh, good on you” you smiled, placing a hand on his lower arm reassuringly.

Before he could reply, the assistant director tapped her glass with her knife.

“Oi! Shut up, I want to make a toast” she yelled standing up.

“Lets cheers to the beginning of an amazing run. I’m gonna call it early, best cast and crew ever!”

Cheers and whoops erupted from the 30 odd people crammed around the big table as everyone clinked their glasses.

As the dinner progressed, it became more and more impossible to have a conversation as the establishment became rowdier.

Giving up on talking completely Adam motioned at the door. Nodding you stood up and he followed you to the door.

“That was fucking ridiculous” he breathed as the door shut behind him.

“Jesus Christ I’ve been in quieter nightclubs” you laughed, “want to grab a coffee or something?”

“Love to” he grinned.

———

Finding a 24/7 diner down the block you went in and picked a booth in a dim, quiet corner.

You hummed happily as your wrapped your hands around a steaming mug of coffee. Taking a sip you closed your mouth eyes blissfully.

You could feel Adam’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet them, smiling.

“Sorry I was just having a moment with my true love, coffee.”

He snorted a laugh, you noticed the way his eyes crinkled, they were warm, kind eyes.

“No husband or whoever then?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh no, not anymore, I mean, no, nobody.”

You could have sworn you saw relief flutter across his face.

“You?”

“No, nobody” he said softly.

“Well aren’t we a pair” you murmured, smiling gently.

After a beat of silence you sighed, “Sorry i’m expectionally shit at small talk, which is ironic considering I do makeup and hair”

“Oh me too, there no fucking point to it, I’d just rather sit in silence”

“I can’t believe we have never ran into each other on the theatre circuit” you mused “I’ve been working around for a few years now”.

Adam shrugged “I’ve been in and out, some shit happened...”.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you act”.

Adam chewed his cheek, “oh god...”

“Oh come on, you are obviously very good to be cast in something like Wicked”.

He gave a crooked smile, “I just overthink everything I guess”.

“I think the best people do.”

You talked through 2 cups of coffee and a milkshake. It was after midnight and you yawned.

“Where’s home Adam?”

“Brooklyn”

“Me too! Should we share a cab?”

“I was actually gonna walk”

You burst into laughter, “to fucking Brooklyn?!”

He grinned, “do it all the time”.

Maybe it was due to the large quantities of caffeine but you felt inspired. “Fuck you are a strange one, but I like it, let’s walk to fucking Brooklyn!”

“Fuck yeah!” Adam banged the table with his hand grinning.

———

By the time you got to the Brooklyn bridge you were feeling slightly exhausted. However when you turned and looked at the city from the bridge you gasped. It was beautiful, and the bridge was empty. Leaning against the rail you took in the view.

“This is beautiful” you said in awe.

Adam pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, offering you one.

“Thanks” you smiled, taking one. You smoked socially, but never at home or around Celia. It was something you had had to cold turkey when you found out you were pregnant with her. There was a comfort to having a cigarette in your mouth. It reminded you of college, the wild, carefree times.

You stood there side by side, in silence for a few minutes, drinking in the twinkling lights of the city.

“I miss having someone to do this shit with”, you sighed.

“Your doing it with me right now?” Adam turned to you smiling.

You waved your hand, “you know what I mean.”

He sighed, “yea, I do”.

“Ever been in love?” You asked, quietly, looking at the water.

“Yup, you”.

“Yup”.

“What happened?”

He sighed. It was a sad sigh.

“You don’t have to answer that, sorry” you lay you hand on his forearm that rested on the bridge rail.

“No, it’s ok, I just haven’t talked about it in a while, tried to move on you know?”

“Yeah I know...”

“We were a fucked up couple, it was just never going to work. We were off and on. She was fucking stubborn and messed up. I had my own shit. I even fucking offered to raise a kid that wasn’t mine, when she got pregnant while we weren’t together, I just...” he trailed off.

“Didn’t want it to end?” You offered gently.

“Yeah something like that.”

He looked at you, contemplating, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You?”

“We got together when we were both in college. Young, you know, just kids really? We are very different people, I just don’t think it was ever going to work. We tried really hard for the sake of our daughter.”

Adam whipped his head to look at you, eyes bright.

“You have a kid?!”

You grinned, “Yeah, she’s 5”.

“Fucking awesome, I love kids, I have a niece, she’s fucking cool”.

You laughed, “I’ve never had a guy so enthused at my single parent status before. It’s usually what I pull out of the bag when I want them to make them run for the hills”.

“People are fucking stupid” he snorted, “what’s her name?”

“Celia.”

“Wait, Shakespeare?” Adam raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes! Holy shit nobody ever gets that!” You almost squealed.

You started walking over the bridge and discussing various Shakespeare plays with enthusiasm, laughing loudly at Adam’s sudden monologue performances in ridiculous accents.

By the time you reached your apartment you hardly even noticed the mammoth distance you had walked.

“This is me.”

“Oh I’m not far from here actually.”

“Thanks so much Adam, actually this has been the best time I’ve had in ages,” you smiled.

He grinned, “likewise”.

You wrapped you arms around him, hugging tightly. He reciprocated immediately, engulfing you.

“Let’s do this again ok?” You mumbled into his chest.

“We will” he promised. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 / Epilogue

[depressedtoast93]

For one of my best friend's birthday we all pitched in and got her a computer, wacom tablet and drawing programs but nothing beings me more joy than seeing her try and fail at Papers, Please again. 😂😂

@hippehlonghair ily girl🥰🥰🥰

[anastasiaskarsgard]

X marks the spot

Part 5

Mark POV

Midsummer

Warning: little bit of cussing and bullying behavior.

A/n: if you need the earlier chapters search #xmarksthespot2k19. This is the story of Mark after high school. Lots of other people from movie mentioned. Is he a good guy after all, or do old habits rear their ugly head?

I just fucked Brooke. I just fucked Brooke. Oh my fuck.

I looked down at Brooke’s peaceful face, and naked body, and could feel myself getting hard again. She’s so fucking hot. And I fucked her.

It’s not just sex tho. I’ve fucked tons of broads, but this felt different. I could lay here forever with only Brooke, and be so happy.

What the fuck am I going to do? How do I make her my girlfriend? Will she be my girlfriend? The thought of her with another guy makes me see red. I gotta make it just us.

Even when things were perfect with Lily, it was never about us; it was about everyone. The parties, the drama, going out, getting wasted, fighting and fucking, but never really about us.

At least not for me.

The only time I ever wanted to be stuck with just lily was when we were going to fuck around, but after that, we’d return to our friends. We never hung out as just the two of us. We never had conversations really, unless they were arguments.

I probably could of handled Lily better, but fuck her for real. Not only was she cheating on me, with some guy twice her age, she let him watch us fuck! Oh and let’s not forget that the guy was married AND she was friends with the family.

When Sarah sent me the text conversations between Lily and Nick, and pointed out the dates and times, I felt like I was gonna be sick. I mean she was with me most of them. All those phone calls from “her mom”, or multiple bathroom breaks were just her being a whore. I can’t believe I went down on her. I fucking hate that bitch.

I really like Brooke though. I don’t want her to know about all that bs. There’s enough bs with Sarah, I don’t want her finding shit about Lily. She already said she looked at Twitter.

I grabbed my phone and went on every account that video was posted and I deleted it. I even went through and deleted anything about it. Any comments, jokes, etc. were deleted. Just as I felt secure I’d gotten all of it, Brooke started to talk in her sleep.

“But I want berry waffles...” she mumbled. “You look like a turkey man.”

I can’t stand how fucking cute she is. I feel totally like a psycho right now, but I’m obsessed with everything about her. The way she laughs and smiles. Her long hair, long legs and cute feet. How she covers her mouth when she eats, and even how she acts when she’s drunk. And oh my fuck, the sounds she makes when I fuck her. I cannot think about that or I’m gonna have to wake her up.

Its rather funny that I’ve never really tried to keep a girl around. I usually try to get rid of them, but here I was freaking myself out over this one. I closed my eyes and finally let sleep take me, sure I’d wake up if she tried to get up. I feel so good with her in my arms. It’s been a long time since I could say, I’m happy. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t stop smiling.

—————————————————-

When I woke up, it was dark, and I was alone. I leaped out of bed, threw shorts on, and went to find Brooke.

I couldn’t believe how panicked I was she had gotten away from me. I thought I would wake up when I felt her move but I must of been more tired than I thought.

I look in the bathroom, living room and kitchen but no Brooke. I feel a lump in my throat and wanna punch somebody in the face. I am not about to cry over some bitch.

But that’s just it, Brooke isn’t some bitch. I sank in my recliner and put my head in my hands. I had to get ahold of myself. I was being ridiculous.

I tried to calm myself before I walked back into my bedroom. Wow. The one time I wanted a girl to stay, she snuck out.

I missed her already. Who did she think she was? I checked my phone, and there were tons of messages from everybody under the sun. Everyone but Brooke.

Apparently there was a rager at Diamonds place. He and Bex split up, so he was trying to be straight again, which seemed pointless to me. Honestly, it made no difference to me who he fucked. I hit him up on FaceTime, and it was in full swing, so I decided to stop by to distract myself from obsessing over Brooke.

I threw on clothes and headed over to Diamonds house. There was a black Prius idling out front with no one in it, but when I walked around the front, there was an Uber sticker, so I just disregarded it and went inside.

It was packed with people, and there were several girls id gotten with before giving me the eye. Sorry ladies, not interested. My baby is probably at home taking a bath or telling her best girlfriend about me. I need to just feel confident in myself.

It’s not like she’s out partying which made me realize that I was. I will just have a beer and go home and call her. I said what’s up to a few people, and I made my way over to the bar. Then I stopped so abruptly, the kid behind me slammed into me.

”wow bro, my bad!” he exclaimed, eyes wide hoping I wasn't pissed.

”No worries player.” I said distractedly.

Brooke was standing there next to some girl I’d never seen, talking to some fucking douchebag. It took every bit of self-control I had, not to make a scene. I wanted to beat his ass, and grab her by her fucking hair and drag her out of there.

Who the fuck does she think she is? Fucks me and then sneaks out to a fucking party? I was so mad; I could barely see straight. Mad doesn’t even come close to what the fuck I’m feeling. She wants to play games? We shall see.

I spotted three girls to my right, that were pointing at me and giggling. They were not as hot as Brooke, but they'd work. I smiled, and they all laughed and whispered to one another as I walked over. Easy prey.

“Hey, I’m Mark,” I flirted, winking at them.

“We know who you are!” The short blonde one said. “I’m Tammy, and this is My cousin Kelly, and this is her exchange student Kimmy, from Japan. She wants to know how tall you are.”

“I’m 6’4.” I said standing up straight.

They all squeaked, and giggled, showering praise on me till their demeanor suddenly changed. I looked at where they were glaring and turned around to find Brooke.

“Hi, Mark. I thought you’d be too tired to come out. Who are your friends?” She asked all cutesy. I’m not gonna give in to her. She needs to be put in her fucking place. Fuck me and leave? No.

“Oh hey girls, this is one of my clients, Brooke. I just helped her with a home renovation to get her house sold. If any of you ladies need any help around the house or yard, gimme a call.” I said as flirty as I could manage and winked at them, as I breezed past Brooke, on the way to the bar. Brooke didnt follow me; she was still talking to the girls, who were now being 100 times nicer since they thought I had just blown her off. I kept track of her in the corner of my eye, and noticed she looked at me a lot. She wasn’t smooth at all.

I finished my beer, and decided to slip out and give Brooke a taste of her own medicine. As much as I wanted to guard her and hold her in my arms all night, I had to play it cool. I have never had a problem getting a girl, and I’m not starting now with the one I give a fuck about.

To be safe, I went and found the douchebag Brooke was talking to earlier. He was still standing with the same, strange girl.

“Hey bud, can I talk to you real quick?”

He looked nervously at the girl and then back to me before asking if there was a problem.

“Oh no! We’re buddies I thought, I just wanted to talk to ya about something, a lady shouldn’t hear.” I lied, winking at the girl who started blushing and looking at her feet. How does Brooke know these lame ass nerds?

“Ok, I’ll be right back, Jane. After you, my man.” He chirped.

I walked out in the garage and as soon as the door closed, I turned and grabbed the guy by his shirt, getting mere inches from his face.

“Wow, bro! What’s up I thought we were cool!” The guy said shakily, as he looked at all the exits and back to me.

“Well, that all depends on you Bro. How do you know Brooke?” I growled.

“She’s Janes friend, I could get you an introduction if you want. She’s not seeing anyone.”

I punched the wall next to the guys head, putting a hole in the drywall and shocking both of us with the sudden outburst of rage. This guy was fucking terrified, so I took it down a notch, loosened my grip and asked, “She said that?” I was trying to hide how much this revelation hurt me.

“She said she needs to drop some fuckboy that she’s getting too caught up with and needs a nice guy. I can tell her you’re nice.” He volunteered.

I released him and took a step back. So she thought I was a fucking fuckboy? But a fuckboy that she is getting caught up with... hmm. Shit, I could work with that.

“Brooke is mine, got it?”

He nodded his head overzealously. “I get it, bro, hands off.”

“I gotta leave, but I’m trusting you to make sure no dudes get too friendly with her. If you see anyone talking to her, pull them aside and let them know Mark is already in that, and I don’t fucking share. And don’t do anything stupid like tell the girls, cuz I’d like to like you, and not break your fucking face.”

“Got it! Loud and clear!” He said with his eyes wide, and sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Good. I’m leaving, but I always got eyes on so don’t fuck this up.” I patted him on the back a bit too hard and exited out the garage side door.

The Prius was still out front idling. In my younger days, I’d have jacked it and done stupid shit in it till the wheels fell off, but I was past that.

Suddenly, It occurred to me that one of the people with Brooke must be her Uber Driver. I checked to make sure no one was out front, and I walked over to the driver door took its keys. I double checked no one was paying attention and slipped the keys in my pocket, before jumping in my truck and driving off.

It only took 10 minutes for the text to come

Brooke: Wow thanks for saying goodbye asshole

Me: I didn’t think you cared

Brooke: what the fuck is that supposed to mean???

Me: well you didn’t say bye at my house, so I just thought that’s how you do things.

Brooke: I’m not going to do this with you Mark

Me: do what?

Me: hello?

Me: earth to Brooke

Me:...

Shit, I didn’t see this coming. Was she really going to ignore me? Like hell she was. I flipped my truck around and raced back to Diamonds, just in time to see Jane crying by her Prius. Brooke was comforting her and she looked so fucking hot. All my lousy mood disappeared, and now I just wanted to be her knight in shining armor.

I pulled up to them and rolled down my window.

“What’s going on guys?” I asked.

“Someone stole the keys to her car, and her spare set is all the way across town at her house, but no one is sober or willing to take her to get them.” Brooke steamed.

“Well, lucky for you, your knight in shining armor got his cigarettes and is back to drive you, ladies, wherever you need to go,” I smiled.

Brooke’s face lit up, and she led Jane in my truck bouncy and happy. They fucked with my radio, and squealed and giggled about a bunch of shit I didn’t care about, but I WAS happy she was with me and I got to be the hero. (Even though I caused the problem, and had the keys in my pocket.)

“Mark, I want to apologize to you,” Jane said out of nowhere.

“Why? you don’t live that far.”

“Actually I told Brooke to be cautious about you, because you’re a selfish womanizer, and every girl that gives you the time of day, gets her heart broken. Now maybe it’s all bad reputation, because I mean, you helped her with the house, saved her earlier today, and now you’re saving us!”

I looked at Brooke, and her eyes were wide as she turned eight shades of red. Was she embarrassed by me?

“Well I just have a bad rep, I’m not that cool. I just have made the error of trusting girls, that had their fun with me, and then told everyone about it, or even lie about it. At the end of the day though, I’m just chilling by myself.” I was really gonna lay it on thick with these two.

“I can see that now. Rumors are so unfair, and I wanna tell you to give him a chance now Brooke.” She said, taking both of Brooke’s hands in hers.

Brooke smiled at Jane. Jane was my new favorite person.

I pulled up to Janes’ and she hopped out and ran in, while we waited in the car.

“So you’re ashamed of me?” I couldn’t hold it in, I had to ask her.

She was fidgeting, and staring at her lap. I couldn’t see what was up with her face since her curtain of hair was blocking it. I waited for a response, but when nothing came, I unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her, pulling her onto my lap. She didn’t even try to fight me, just let me drag her over. She still wasn’t looking at me, so I tipped her chin up to meet her eyes.

“Hey,” I said.

She tried to look away, but I didn’t let her.

“If you need to take things slow and just wanna be my friend that’s ok. I am gonna be here for you, no matter what.”

“I like you too much Mark, and I’m not a fuck buddy type.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I knew Brooke was a good girl. I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged her and kissed her hair. I didn’t think it was possible to love her more, but I felt so much for this girl right now, I thought I’d burst. She fucking liked me too.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

“For what dork?” She giggled.

“For taking me seriously. For giving me a chance to be your boyfriend.”

“ I think friendship is what we should focus on now, and maybe relationship someday.”

Although her words hurt, she was mine and if she wanted to call it friends, fine. We could label it whatever she wanted.

“Friends that maybe kiss sometimes?” I asked, gently kissing her lips and then pressing my forehead to hers.

“And other stuff,” she said as she rubbed against me. “Seems you’re kinda excited to see me.”

“Well ya, you’re on my lap. What do you expect?” I could feel myself blushing. She made me so nervous, it’s crazy. I’m not shy, but with her...

“Wanna come over to my place tonight?” She asked as she bit that damn bottom lip.

“Absolutely.”

Jane got back in the truck, “good job Brooke! I’m so happy you’re giving him a shot.”

Jane is my new best friend.

The girls sang along and had a blast on the way back to the car. I ran in and got them drinks at a convenience store, so I could throw away janes keys before Brooke finds them.

We dropped off Jane and headed to Brooke’s apartment, and I was so happy it was disgusting. In the back of my mind, there was this voice telling me I had to do whatever I had to, to keep her. She was gorgeous, and I couldn’t be the only one that noticed.

This was very confusing and stressful. I’d never fucking cared if I ever saw a girl again, so I didn’t put much thought into making them stick around. This was new for me, and to be honest, I wasn’t fucking enjoying it. Relationships, feelings, and girls are all just nightmares, but it was too late. I might even already love her, and there was no talking me out of it.

Not even when I was doing the talking.

[pushspacetocontinue]

Russell Tolbert TV Tropes

Below the read more (because it is a long long list) are a list of TV Tropes (because I love them) that apply to Russell. There is a list for his main verse, Gemsona/SU Verse, his TF2 Verse, and his Superhero verse (the rest haven’t had much of a chance to be used) and I plan to add more of them as I find them, along with the ones for AUs. 

So if you decided to read them, click on and enjoy. Trigger warning for mentions of abusive parents, alcohol addiction and a suicide attempt below.

Normal Verse TV Tropes

Abusive Parents: His Mother, Cassandra. He and his brothers were all victims of her abusive behaviour. While her favourite thing to do was verbally and emotionally hurt then via humiliation, degradation, and manipulation, she wasn’t afraid to get physical with them either. She was also neglectful and dismissive, leaving her oldest sons to look after the others while she did whatever she wanted. Thankfully, his Father, Jean-Luc, is none of these things.

Adorkable: Loyal? Check. Shy? Check. Kind? Check. An absolute nerd when it comes to videogames, space, and drumming? Check. 

Affluent Ascetic: Lives in a modest but nice apartment with basic furniture and a few luxuries despite having the money for more. His reason being is that he’s perfectly happy with what he has already. 

Animal Motifs: Moths and Butterflies. 

Apologises a Lot: Part of him being an Extreme Doormat. 

The Baby of the Bunch: He has seven brothers, and they’re all older. 

Bad Dreams: He has them often, usually after something particularly distressing or painful. 

Befriending the Enemy: Usually his first option. If that doesn’t work and the enemy isn’t backing down, then the switch-blade comes out. 

Beware the Nice Ones: Will not hesitate to jump in and protect someone he cares about, even if it means kicking ass. 

Bookworm: Books and games were his biggest forms of escapism when he was a child. He’s carried his love for both into his adulthood. 

Bungled Suicide: Also combined with Interrupted Suicide. He tried to die but was too drunk to make himself bleed out quickly, which gave Gertrude enough time to find him and call an ambulance to save him.

- This led to a Happily Failed Suicide, where he had managed to start turning his life around since the attempt and making positive changes. He’s not where he wants to be yet, but he’s doing better than he was.

Character Tics: He laughs awkwardly when he’s nervous or embarrassed about something. 

Chronic Hero Syndrome: He admits that he just cannot leave someone in need behind.

Cool Uncle: Viewed as such by his eldest niece, Gracie. 

Combat Pragmatist: He’s not strong, but tries to make up for this by using speed and agility, fighting dirty, and thinking quickly. He’ll go for the eyes, crotch and neck if he has to. 

Cowardly Lion: He’s shy, socially awkward, insecure, and tries to avoid conflict whenever possible, but when it comes to protecting his friends or defending himself, then he’ll jump straight in. 

Disappeared Dad: For most of his childhood and teen years, although not his father’s fault. Thankfully, they’ve since reunited. 

Extreme Doormat: Something that he needs to change.

Friends Are Chosen, Family Aren’t: While reconnecting with his living brothers again, he still chose new people as his family after his mother disowned and vowed to kill him if she saw him again, and cares for him like they’re his siblings too. 

Guilty Pleasure: Nintendo games (particularly Pokemon and Yokai Watch). While his colleagues at the cafe like them too, he still feels a little bit embarrassed about it. 

Hair of Gold, Heart of Gold: A man who tries to be good and decent to those around him. His sandy/straw-coloured locks fit the bill. 

I Am Not my Mother: Partially why he does his best to be the good man that he is; he refuses to continue any pain or suffering his Mother caused him and his brothers, especially now that she’s gone.

The Insomniac: Has trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep if he does. 

Le Parkour: One of his main hobbies and skills, having kept up the practice for years. 

Massive Numbered Siblings: Lived with his seven older brothers and mother in the same house until they started moving out. 

Musician: A drummer for a (mostly) Electro Swing band known as Midnight Swarm. 

Must Have Caffeine: He honestly has no idea what he would do without coffee or other such caffeinated substances. 

Near-Death Experience: Has experienced a few of these in his life time. The most serious left him unconscious in hospital for two days, and needing time to recover after he woke up. 

Never Speak Ill of the Dead: A mild example. When people find out his mother died, he tries to downplay it simply by telling them ‘she wasn’t a good woman’ and leaving it at that.

Platonic Life Partners: With his dear friend, Pari Vass. 

Plays Games at Work: Plays on his 3DS or Switch when it’s slow at the cafe. 

Pungeon Master: He admits that he really likes puns a little bit too much for his good. 

Rage Breaking Point: How his anger presents itself. He holds it back and if it doesn’t get vented out, one more straw will eventually break the metaphorical camel’s back. There are warning signs though, such as increased irritability. He inherited this from his mother. 

Recovered Addict: Used to drink alcohol to excess. He has since stopped and has been clean just over a year and a half.

Right Hand Cat: A non-villainous example in Misty, who he inherited from his previous landlady, Gertrude. 

Secretly Wealthy: Thanks to a very large inheritance he received from his late landlady, Gertrude. He doesn’t like to flaunt it for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. That doesn’t stop from making regular anonymous donations to crowdfunding sites, charity organisations and from paying for other people whenever he can. 

Self-Deprecation: Guilty of doing this a lot. 

Sir Swears-a-Lot: Having a bunch of sailor-mouthed older brothers and a foul-mouthed mother has had this effect on him. He swears even in his casual speech, although he does rein it in when around  kids or the elderly. 

Speech Impediment: He has a noticeable stammer. He has got it somewhat under control thanks to spending a lot of time practising his talking, but it still comes out on occasion. 

Stage Names: When he’s drumming for the band, he’s Luna Moth. 

Straight Gay: Is attracted to other men, but has been mistaken for straight or asexual on several occasions. 

Weak but Skilled: Is fast, agile and knows how to move. But he can easily be taken down if he makes one wrong step. 

Unfazed Everyman: Has met multiple supernatural beings, monsters, or otherwise odd people, but has already learnt to accept their presence.

Why did it Have to be Snakes?: He’s absolutely terrified of the ocean. 

TF2 Verse TV Tropes

Breaking the Fourth Wall: Has done this a few times now. It seems to be a Scout thing.

Double Jump: A Scout standard. 

Death is a slap on a Wrist: He respawns when he dies, making any kind of death this. That said, he tries to avoid it whenever possible. 

Eaten Alive: Has been a victim of this twice now. He respawned both times, but he’s been left with a deep aversion to that kind of death. 

Fish out of Temporal Water: A very mild example. He was killed and remained dead and stuck in respawn for two years. When he came out, it felt like no time had passed, leaving him very surprised to see that he really had been gone for an extended period. However, he quickly became used to the idea and accepted it. If anything, he was glad for having more movies, books, and music to catch up on. 

Fragile Speedster: Once again, a Scout standard.

Friendly Enemy: Is this to REDs when off the clock (see Punch-Clock villain below.)   

Never Hurt an Innocent: He won’t attack civilians unless absolutely necessary, and even then, he does his best not to use lethal force.

Nothing Personal: How he views his job. 

Older than they Look: While this happens in his normal verse, it happens a lot more in the TF2 Verse. He’s often mistaken for a newbie, or someone way too young to be fighting.

Only in it for Money: Why he chose to work a job killing people in an endless war in the first place. That, and getting away from his mother.

Punch-Clock Villain: Is this to the REDs. Once battles are done, he treats them like any other person; with decency and respect. 

Railroad Tracks of Doom: How he was killed and spent two years in respawn.

Stereotype Flip: Scouts are often viewed as being loud mouthed, arrogant, and bratty. He is none of those things, not even in battle. This has surprised many a merc. 

Why did it have to be Snakes: Due to a previous medic’s experiments, he has been left terrified of snakes and spiders. He’s also very afraid of being eaten, having been swallowed alive before and finding it less than pleasant.

Super Hero/ Luna Moth Tropes: 

Lunacy: The night sky, particular the moon and the stars, bring out his full abilities. While he can still fight and use his abilities during the day, his performance suffers greatly. 

Mutant: How he feels it’s the best way to describe him, due to his zombie-like traits, he way he makes no noise (no rustling of clothing or a voice), and millions of stars can be seen beyond his pupils. That said, he uses his powers for good. 

Revenant Zombie: He spent a year ‘pupating’ when his mutation occurred. He was considered dead when it happened and even now, he doesn’t need to breath, eat, or sleep. He doesn’t even have a heartbeat or bleed. However, he does feel pain, he can become injured, and become fatigued. He theorises that whatever developed in his corpse happens to possess his memories and has yet to develop any consciousness if it even has one.

Rise From your Grave: The first thing he did after he first revived as the mutant he is now was claw out of the hole he was buried in. 

The Speechless: Due to his inability to make any noise, this also affects his ability to talk. He communicates via sign language, text, typing, and a special device that reads his brain waves in his base.

Star Power: In addition to his enhanced speed, agility, and stamina, the easiest way to describe his powers is ‘summoning pieces of the night sky from within and shaping them into whatever he chooses’. 

The Stoic: Comes across as this due to his emotions being severely numbed since his resurrection into Luna Moth. 

Uncanny Valley: Has invoked in a few people if they hang around him for too long without knowing what he really is. So he tries not to get too close to them.

Gemsona/ SU Verse Tropes: 

Alas, poor Villain: Feels this for Pink Diamond. He wishes she hadn’t been shattered and that things hadn’t gone as far as they had. 

Amazing Technicolour Population: A standard among gems like him. His especially so due to being a Bornite. 

Because You Were Nice to Me: Pretty much the main reason he defected to Rose Quart’s side. After the other gems believing he was flawed and treating him as such, he exchanged Rose Quart’s acceptance for his services. 

Desperately Looking for a Purpose in Life: He was originally dismissed by the Crystal Gems, who told him they would call him if his services were needed by them again. He still feels lost even now, despite trying to fill his life with different drives. 

Dual Tonfas: Has a pair of bladed ones that his Energy Bow (see below) turns into when he ends up in a situation that necessitates close combat. 

Energy Bow: The weapon of choice he summons from his gem, the arrows are made of Hard Light and infinite. However, he needs to take time to concentrate on ‘reloading’. It splits into Dual Tonfas (see above) for close combat situations. 

Inside Job: Before the shattering, some of his jobs were to pretend he was still on the side of Homeworld and give false messages. 

Martial Pacifist: Since the shattering of Pink Diamond, he refuses to raise his weapons unless absolutely necessary. However, despite all the years he’s been dodging combat, he still has some prowess and will fight if he has to. 

Really 700 Years Old: While he vaguely looks like a young human male, he’s just over 6000 years old. And it shows.

Sure, Let’s Go With That: Early humans who happened to meet him often assumed he was a fairy or other magical creature due to magic being widely believed in. He just went along with it. The same thing happened when people assumed he had a strange skin condition, which is now the excuse he often gives. 

Super Speed: Was designed to be fast and agile, so that he could deliver items and messages as fast and efficiently as possible. 

Trade Mark Favourite Food: Even though he doesn’t need to eat, he does enjoy coffee and noodles, although not at the same time. 

Video Game Dashing: Has the ability to ‘dash’ in a burst of speed in the air or on the ground. This ability even works on the surface of water.

Wall Crawl: Has the ability to do this, most likely to get past as many obstacles as possible while on messenger missions. 

We Are as Mayflies: Makes this observation a lot, about how humans and other organic Earth species live such short lives. He finds it endearing that they still make the best of the time they have.

[prettylittlesestras]

i hear your heart beat to the beat of the drum

Beca lets out a sigh of relief as she hears the final bell of the day ring. She ambles through the halls of Barden High aimlessly, absentmindedly kicking a balled up piece of paper down the hall as music blares through the speakers in her headphones, killing time before reporting to the auditorium at 3:30. She doesn’t want to be late, but there’s certainly no need in being 25 minutes early.

She mosies toward her locker, stopping along the way to buy a bag of nacho cheese Doritos from the vending machine. She snacks on the chips as she walks and finds a lukewarm powerade in the bottom of her backpack from lunch a few days prior to wash them down with. She wastes as much time as she can, but she eventually makes her way to the band room. Beca gathers her things and heads over to the auditorium.

Today was the first ever combined after-school practice with the band and chorus. It had been decided that the band and chorus would now be having combined concerts, so one month before each concert, they were to begin practicing together three days a week.

Beca wasn’t really worried. She’d been drumming on pots and pans since she was old enough to hold a spoon, and she’d been using actual drums and drumsticks since she joined the band her sixth grade year. Drumming had always come easy to Beca; her hands moved swiftly and smoothly as she crafted sophisticated beats without much more than a simple thought.

She arrives at the auditorium a few minutes ahead of most people and finds that her concert toms have already been set up. Lucky for her, all of the percussion instruments get set up by the stage crew, so she doesn’t have to worry about lugging around a case of drums that’s almost as big as she is. As she walks up the steps to the stage, she notices that she is one of only four people who have arrived so far. Two clarinet players are sitting side by side, quietly whispering back and forth, and one member of the choir, the first to arrive, is organizing his sheet music.

Somewhere offstage, she hears someone yelling in a loud whisper, disrupting the quiet atmosphere onstage. She turns and sees a tall boy dressed in a full Barden High soccer uniform whisper-yelling at someone hidden behind a column that’s obscuring her view. She can tell, even by just the side of his face, that the guy is the ever-popular Tom Bailey. He’s the “Mr. Wonderful” of Barden High and captain of the soccer team even though he’s only a junior. He is seemingly loved by everyone, but something about him rubs Beca the wrong way.

What a dick, Beca thinks as she turns and starts making sure her drums are secure and everything is ready to go for practice. She hears the boy storm off, his cleats clomping across the stage floor and down the stairs. She hears the deep breath of someone slightly offstage and turns to see none other than Chloe Beale. So that’s who he was yelling at, Beca thinks with a slight pang in her stomach.

She knows who Chloe is, but, then again, everyone knows who Chloe is. She’s the type of girl who, despite her popularity, takes the time to greet almost everyone she passes in the hallways and someone who gives personalized, bedazzled birthday cards to the lunch ladies. She’s that girl who is always exuberantly happy no matter the circumstance. Beca had known who Chloe was since third grade recess when she was swinging alone (and quite liked it that way), but Chloe insisted on swinging with her. She swore that swinging was somehow more fun with someone else beside you. Whether or not that was true, it had left an impression on Beca, just as Tom Bailey had left an impression on her just now. She didn’t know what he could have been yelling about, but she did know for certain that someone as sweet as Chloe Beale didn’t deserve a scolding that harsh.

Practice soon begins, and to call it a mess is an understatement. The altos were struggling to hit their notes, and it sounded like the flute section was playing from an entirely different piece of music. Beca looked up every now and then to check on Chloe and make sure she was okay. She’s not normally the type of person to be aware of other people’s emotions, or even care about them for that matter, but she felt compelled to make sure that Chloe was okay after what she had witnessed before practice.

She looks up near the end of practice to check on Chloe, and, strangely enough, Chloe is looking right back at her. Beca gives her a quick smile, and, feeling caught, she decides to keep her eyes on her drums for the rest of practice. Even without looking at her, Beca hears Chloe singing. Her voice isn’t hard to pick out; it’s easily the most beautiful voice in the entire choir, and, in that moment, she can’t remember ever hearing someone sing so well.

The rest of the practice crawls by slowly, the only bright spot being when the bass drum player, Ashley, tries to hit her drum, but her mallet flies out of her hand, skitters across the floor, and drops off of the front of the stage. Beca lets out a laugh under her breath, and that bit of comedic relief is enough to sustain her through the rest of the practice.

The next two practices are uneventful. The altos are seemingly improving, and they actually start to blend well with the rest of the choir, but the flute section seems to be beyond reproach. Beca rolls her eyes at the dramatics of the section leader as she berates them in the middle of practice and calls for 6 A.M. practices every day for the next week (but to be honest they could use the practice).

Throughout the practices, Beca gets glimpses of Chloe Beale staring at her. Why does she keep looking at me? Beca asks herself. I wonder if I have something in my teeth.

At the first available pause in the practice, Beca smiles into the chrome on her drum set, but her teeth are free of debris. Beca tries to keep her eyes off of Chloe, but, having no self control, she looks over at Chloe in a moment of weakness and finds her looking right back at her. They make eye contact for longer than two people who are practically strangers typically do. Her hands falter, and her rhythm becomes so off that the band director silences everyone and has them start again at the top of the page. Beca looks back at Chloe, embarrassed, and her face turns beet red when she sees Chloe look away and giggle. She wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Practice ends quickly without another hitch, and Beca desperately hopes everyone has forgotten about her mistake now that practice is over. She tries to tell herself that she doesn't care what any of these band nerds think, but the embarrassment of messing up the entire band and chorus is overpowering her usual apathetic attitude.

As she gathers her things, she wastes time so she doesn’t have to walk out in the large crowd and make pointless conversation or relive that shitshow of a practice. She stuffs her drumsticks into a small bag, and, as she gathers her backpack and other things from the floor, she looks up to see Chloe Beale approaching. I cannot deal with Miss Sunshine and Rainbows after a practice like that, she thinks as Chloe advances toward her.

“How are you so good at drumming?” Chloe asks innocently with a smile so bright it could blind a person if they looked directly at it.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Beca laughed, “I screwed up the entire band when I messed up.”

“Okay, fair enough. But it was only because I distracted you. I didn’t mean to stare, but sometimes I look over at you, and I just get mesmerized by how good you are. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says with a soft smile and a far-off look in her eyes as if she is replaying Beca’s drumming in her head. She snaps back into reality, and her smile intensifies.

A slight blush brushes across Beca’s cheeks. “Thanks, but, I mean, I’m really nothing special. I promise. Just your average high school drummer, I guess.” Beca looks at the ground as she speaks, embarrassed to have the conversation focused on her.

“I’d say you’re much more than that,” Chloe adds with a wink.

Beca smiles, shakes her head, and takes a few steps toward the edge of the stage as she hoists her backpack onto her back. Chloe follows her step for step, and the two walk down the steps and out of the auditorium together.

They exit the auditorium and take no more than five steps before they see two boys coming through the doors at the other end of the hallway.

“Shit!” Chloe whispers as she grabs Beca’s hand and the two girls dart into the computer lab on the left side of the hall.

“Be really quiet. Sorry, I’ll explain in a minute.” Chloe whispers.

Beca looks down at her hand, her fingers still wrapped in Chloe’s. Chloe sees Beca look down by the dim light of the computers and immediately releases her hand, the blush on Chloe’s cheeks undetectable in the dark room. Chloe peeks out the window and sees the two boys walk past, never noticing the girls behind the door.

“Okay good. They’re gone,” Chloe says with a relieved look on her face.

“Care to explain what that was about?” Beca asks, sitting on the edge of a computer table.

Chloe glances up at the ceiling looking worried. “Okay, well, that was Robby Jordan, and he asked me to get ice cream with him three times last week and again on Monday, and I keep turning him down. I figure it’s better to avoid him than have to go through the embarrassment all over again.” Chloe looks more tense than Beca has ever seen the typically happy-go-lucky girl.

“You know, Beale, you hiding from people in random computer labs might be ruining your sweet-as-sugar reputation,” Beca says with a smirk, joking to lighten Chloe’s mood.

“I know. I really want to be nice to him, but he knows I’m dating Tom,” Chloe continues, somehow looking more worried than before, “I keep trying to be gentle, but Tom found out before practice on Monday, and he was really upset about it. I just don’t want to make him mad. He doesn’t need to be distracted by something stupid going on with me; the soccer team has some really big games coming up. I’d rather just keep my distance from Robby and avoid it all completely.”

The fight Beca witnessed on Monday flashes quickly through her mind, but she decides not to let Chloe know she saw that, not wanting her to embarrass her or have her think she was eavesdropping.

“Dude, no. I was just joking. Robby’s a jerk for putting you in that situation when he knows you have a boyfriend. Don’t worry about him,” She says with an earnest smile, wanting Chloe to know she’s being sincere.

Beca hops off of the table and heads toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. If I spend much more time at school on a Friday afternoon I’ll probably start breaking out into hives.”

She opens the door and looks both ways to make sure the coast is clear. They walk down the hall in the same direction. “Which way are you going?” Chloe asks when they reach the point where three halls intersect.

“Oh, I’m just heading out the lunchroom door and down Kennesaw. My house isn’t far, so I usually just walk home school.” Beca answered.

“Me too, actually. Lets go!” Chloe says, looking excited to have a partner for her walk home. The two set off out the door and down the street. Chloe asks what Beca thinks must be more than three, maybe four, hundred questions. Beca answers some, but not all of them. She never has been the type of person to talk a lot about herself or tell other people about her life, but somehow talking to Chloe is easy.

“So how’d you become a drummer, anyway?”

Beca pauses, not knowing if she wants to start a potentially long story, but she decides to proceed anyway. “Well, I always drummed around the house with whatever I could get my hands on: spoons, pens, sticks. There was this one time with paint brushes. That one didn’t end well. When I got into sixth grade, my mom signed me up for band. I know she meant well and she wanted me to take a class doing something I would like, but it was probably just as much for the sake of her silverware,” Beca said with a hearty laugh. Chloe laughed along and seemed to be enjoying her story, so she continued. “My dad left right after I started sixth grade. Cash was always tight, but my mom saved up for a year and bought me my very own drum kit for Christmas in seventh grade. It was the best present I could’ve ever gotten, and it made me really fall in love with drumming. I still drum with the band and on my drums at home, but making mixes on my laptop is more my thing now. When I found out about mixing, it took my love for making beats to the next level. I had to save up for a long time, but when I finally had enough money to buy some mixing equipment it changed my life; it made me realize that I want to become a music producer after high school.”

Beca finishes her story and goes quiet, walking in silence and letting Chloe ponder over her words. She feels like she’s been rambling, but she also feels an unusual lightness after telling Chloe something so personal. She can’t put her finger on what exactly made her open up to someone with whom she’d had a total of only two conversations, but it isn’t a terrible feeling. Just different.

They walk and chat until Beca stops on the sidewalk in front of a small cottage-style house with beautiful rows of blue hydrangeas in two flower beds bordering the house.

“This is me,” Beca says very matter-of-factly.

“This is where you live?” Chloe asks in disbelief.

“Um...yes?” Beca says, not knowing what to make of Chloe’s tone.

“I live like two houses behind you! I bet you can see my house from your backyard!” Chloe leaves the sidewalk and walks into the grass and to the backyard. They both look through the single line of trees, and Chloe points to a large house on the next street over. The house is huge and looks over-the-top nice.

“That’s my house! I can’t believe we live so close together and didn’t even know it.” Beca honestly can’t believe it either. She didn’t make it a point to get to know her neighbors, but she did wonder how someone like Chloe Beale could live so close to her and she never know it.

“You could let an entire football team live in that house and still have your own bathroom,” Beca says dryly with wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she looks up at the house, the top of the house visible even above the trees.

“Thanks, but, I mean, it’s really nothing special. I promise. Just your average house, I guess,” Chloe says, playfully mocking Beca’s words from earlier. Chloe flits across the rest of the yard and through the trees toward her house. She shouts over her shoulder, “see you at practice on Monday,” only looking back to wink, and then she’s gone.

Beca flops down onto her bed and lets out a dramatic sigh. It’s been two days since she and Chloe walked home together, and she hasn’t been able to get her off her mind all weekend. The memory of her hand in Chloe’s and the way it made her feel runs through her mind on a loop. She replays their conversation over and over again; she can’t stop thinking about the way Chloe listened to her talk about drumming and mixing, never once interrupting and seeming to enjoy hearing what Beca had to say. She remembers feeling like Chloe asked so many questions, not to fill the dead air, but because she was genuinely interested in her life.

Beca shakes her head and rolls over, trying to rid herself of the feeling she keeps getting as she thinks about how beautiful Chloe looked as the wind blew through her bright red hair or the way Chloe looked back and winked at her.

She gets up and grabs her drumsticks, slamming herself down onto the stool behind her drum set. She starts to drum loudly, trying desperately to drown out the voices in her head telling her to run away from Chloe and every emotion and feeling that surrounds her.

I’ve really gotta stop. I’m being gross. This girl was just being nice to me, and here I am being a full-on mess on a Sunday afternoon. I don’t even know her. And she has a boyfriend! If she was so distraught about Robby Jordan asking her out, I’m sure she would love to find out the that I haven’t been able to get her out of my head after the first conversation we’ve had since the third grade. This is ridiculous.

Beca drums louder and faster until she realizes she’s out of breath and sweating. She apparently can’t keep a steady beat in her current state, but it doesn’t matter; it’s not helping, anyway. Thoughts of Chloe somehow fight through the mind numbing sound of her drumsticks clamoring over the drums and crashing over the cymbals.

Okay. Whatever. I’ve been overthinking all of this all weekend. I’m going to sleep, and when I wake up, I’m not thinking about Chloe anymore. I don’t want anything more than a friendship with her. Maybe not even that. We can go back to being strangers for all I care. She doesn’t need me looking at her the way all the boys at school do; she gets enough of that from them. So she climbs back into bed and shuts her eyes tight, wanting to fall asleep without another thought. She falls asleep quickly even though the clock on her bedside table only reads 8:17pm.

Beca jumps out of sleep when her alarm sounds the next morning, the blaring noise of the alarm shocking her into consciousness. She gets up and heads to the coffee maker, caffeine being the only thing that ever gets her through her first three classes. After getting ready, she heads off to school and arrives just in time. The school day breezes by, and Beca doesn’t think of Chloe at all until practice that afternoon. Beca is distracted by Chloe throughout practice, but it isn’t so bad that she can’t keep her rhythm. She feels Chloe’s eyes on her while she drums, and she can’t contain her smile. After practice, the two walk home together again.

Without realizing it, the two have made an unspoken rule. They walk home together every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and even on some days when they don’t have practice. As the practices progress, so does their friendship. Chloe tells Beca about her recent troubles with Tom. She tells her that around everyone else, he acts like they have the perfect relationship, but in private, he’s very controlling. He monopolizes her time when he’s not at soccer, and he gets mad if another guy so much as likes one of her pictures on instagram. Chloe tries to hide how he makes her feel, but Beca can see through it.

“You know you don’t have to take that shit, right? That doesn’t sound like a loving relationship to me. It sounds like he’s a jerk. You deserve better than that,” Beca says at a break in Chloe’s story.

“I know, but I really do love him. He hasn’t always been like this. I know he loves me, and I think he’s just being protective,” Chloe says sheepishly. Beca can tell it’s more serious than Chloe lets on, and she thinks Chloe knows it too, but she decides not to push any further, at least for today.

Chloe changes the subject and asks Beca questions about her family. Beca can feel Chloe trying to break down her walls, and she wants to let her in, but after years of reinforcement, she’s hesitant to open up. Even to Chloe. It’s nothing against her. She’s actually the only person Beca has even thought about opening up to in years.Chloe has become Beca’s closest friend since sixth grade when her best friend moved away and her dad left and she shut everyone out. Beca decided way back then to not let anyone get too close so it wouldn’t hurt when they inevitably left. Her only other real friend is Jesse Swanson, but they don’t have the kind of conversations that she and Chloe have. They’re in band together, so they mostly just play drums together, and sometimes Jesse comes over on the weekends to play video games with Beca. Maybe it’s just that she’s a girl or that Chloe is more in tune with her emotions or something, but whatever it is, it’s different. And Beca is actually starting to like it.

The route that the two girls walk home each day changes. They sometimes arrive at Beca’s first. Other times, they go down Chloe’s street first, and Beca walks through the yard of Chloe’s across the street neighbor, a sweet elderly lady named Mrs. Mayfield, to get to her house. On days like today when the weather is nice, they take the long way home and go through the park and walk around the lake. Beca starts to make sure she has quarters every morning before she leaves the house just in case they go to the park because she loves seeing how excited Chloe gets to feed the ducks.

Beca jams a quarter into the old machine and turns the crank to dispense two handfuls of duck food, and they both double over with laughter as they try to contain it in their hands but fail as some of it falls onto the ground. They walk around the pond, feeding the ducks and talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Beca can’t remember the last time she just purely enjoyed someone’s company like she enjoys Chloe’s. She’s content with walking with her and not even talking; just being with her is enough.

When all the ducks swim away with full bellies, they continue on their path home. From the park, they arrive at Chloe’s house first, and she pauses on the sidewalk in front of her house. “Hey, do you want to come in and hang out? We could work on that history project Mr. Whitehead assigned a few weeks ago since it’s due on Monday. You have him for history, right?”

Beca debates on whether or not to go inside with Chloe. She feels nervous to take their friendship from their daily walks home to becoming friends who hang out at each other's houses. She does have that stupid project due on Monday, though, so she agrees, and they head inside.

As the door opens into the kitchen, Beca is greeted with the smell of fresh flowers and the sight of dark cherry hardwood floors and granite countertops. Beca is astounded. Her mom works hard to provide the best home and meet every need that her daughter requires, but none of it could ever compare to this. This is certainly the nicest house Beca’s ever set foot in, but Chloe seems unfazed (which is what you’d expect since she lives in this palace).

She opens up the refrigerator, grabs two sodas, takes a bag of popcorn from the pantry, and places it in the microwave to start popping. She gives Beca her drink, and they stand around waiting on the popcorn to cook. Beca walks around the counter to admire the pictures on the fridge. Some are pictures of Chloe and her brothers, some of the cutest puppy Beca has ever seen, and one particularly adorable photo of Chloe that she can’t help but pick up. She’s hanging upside down on a bar on the swingset which, presumably, used to occupy their backyard. With her bright red hair hanging down almost to the ground and her two front teeth missing, she’s smiling with the biggest smile, and Beca can’t help but smirk and let out a little chuckle. Chloe steps in front of her and snatches the photo from her fingers. “Don’t laugh at me. I was adorable,” Chloe says, feigning anger.

“I’m not laughing at you, Beale. Who wouldn’t smile while looking at that face? Pure cuteness.” Beca says while tapping Chloe on the top of her nose. Did I just do that? That was weird. Who am I? I need to calm down. I can’t let this girl get in my head again.

Chloe smiles and shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink as she walks to the microwave. She grabs the steaming bag of popcorn, dumps it into a bowl, and heads down the hall and up the stairs with Beca following closely behind.

As they enter Chloe’s room, Beca sees a giant king size bed with a fluffy yellow and grey duvet and more pillows than any one person should have on their bed (but of course Chloe would be that person who sleeps with four pillows and uses eight more just for decoration). The room is huge but somehow still cozy. It’s light and bright with yellows and whites which come across as very Chloe.

She crawls onto her bed amongst the pillows, settles in around them, and pats the other side of the bed to motion for Beca to come and sit beside her. The bed is gloriously soft and exceedingly enormous; it’s big enough for the both of them, their laptops and textbooks, the twelve pillows, and the bowl of popcorn between them.

When Beca settles in, she and Chloe snack on the popcorn and work on their history projects. When Beca reaches for a handful of popcorn, her hand brushes Chloe’s hand, and their hands linger there together. She has to cough to stifle the small gasp she lets out when they touch. It’s as if the spark that Beca tried to deny feeling when Chloe held her hand in the computer lab has all of a sudden become a gasoline-fueled fire. Chloe smiles a knowing smile but never looks away from her textbook.

Instead of reading about the War of 1812, Chloe is all Beca can think about. She sits and ponders over how nice it is to have such a great friend. A real friend who wants to hang out with her and is actually interested when she talks about things that no one else in her life ever seemed to care to listen to. And someone who doesn’t bore her to tears when she has to listen to them talk for more than three minutes. She enjoys Chloe’s company and has so quickly come to cherish their friendship.

No. I can’t do this. I won’t. I won’t ruin this friendship and the one good thing I have in my life for some stupid feelings that she would never reciprocate.

So she tries to put it out of her mind. To put Chloe out of her mind. Which was harder than it sounds since she is sitting all of 36 inches away from the girl. She stares blankly at her textbook for about ten minutes, praying she can think of anything other than Chloe and the fact that all she wants to do is lean over and kiss her, but she can’t. So she stands up.

“Oh, I forgot, my mom needs me to go to this thing with her. I’d better get going.” Beca says nervously, already shoving her school supplies into her backpack.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asks with a defeated look on her face. “We’ve barely even gotten started.”

Beca feels a physical pain when she sees the sadness on Chloe’s face, but it doesn’t stop her from going. Leaving was the only thing her dad ever taught her.

“I’ll see you at practice on Friday,” Beca says with a forced smile on her face. She walked down the stairs and out the front door. She tore through Mrs. Mayfield’s yard, not even speaking to the woman who was outside sweeping her porch.

She didn’t stop until she reached her drum set. Drumming had become the way she knew how to deal with her emotions. She grabs her drumsticks and starts pounding the drums with more force than she ever had before. She notices how hard it is for her to see because of how much her eyes are watering (she obviously isn’t crying), but it doesn’t matter; she could play these drums in the dark.

She plays until her body hurts and her neighbor’s dog won’t quit howling. She flings herself down onto her bed since she doesn’t know how else to cope other than sleeping.

This isn’t happening. I can’t have feelings for Chloe Beale. Every boy in school has feelings for her, and it’ll ruin our friendship. What would she even think if she knew that’s how I felt? She’d probably think I’m disgusting.

Beca continues her internal pity party for at least an hour, thoughts running back and forth through her mind. She desperately hopes that sleep will come soon. It does.

It’d been over a week since Beca started distancing herself from Chloe. She skipped practice on Friday and Monday to avoid her completely. Chloe texted Beca asking why she wasn’t there, but Beca dismissed her both times, saying she wasn’t feeling well. After a text from her band director telling her to be at the next practice or he was demoting her from head of the percussion section to triangle player, she decided to go to the Wednesday’s practice. When it was over, she rushed out of the auditorium. She didn’t want Chloe to wait around, so she texted her to say she was making up a test for her Dr. Lee’s biology class, but she just took a different route and headed home.

If I can just keep my distance long enough to get rid of these stupid feelings, we can go back to the way we were, Beca thinks, knowing that ignoring Chloe is the reason she’s been so miserable for the past week.

On Friday, Beca doesn’t have a plan for avoiding Chloe (and if she’s honest she really doesn’t want to), but she decides to wing it and just escape through the back door behind the stage. Beca takes a few steps, and Chloe immediately spots her and calls out to her.

“Beca! Wait up!” Chloe shouts over the crowd of bustling band members in her way. Beca turns and walks toward Chloe, deciding that maybe one walk home won’t hurt. She can’t blow her off for an entire week and not raise Chloe’s suspicions. The two girls breeze through the double doors and exit the auditorium.

Beca notices that Chloe seems off, but she can’t put her finger on what seems to be bothering her.

“Hey, Chlo, is something wro—“ The two stop dead in their tracks, staring at the scene in front of him. The halls were littered with papers. On the floor, taped to the walls, hanging out of lockers. They were everywhere. Chloe bends down to pick one up, and a single tear escapes her eye as she stares down at the photograph.

Beca bolts into action. She gathers every paper she can find, ripping them from the lockers and tearing them off the walls, tears welling up in her eyes. Beca tries, but the damage is done. She rushes back to Chloe’s side.

“It isn’t even me,” Beca hears Chloe say softly as her knees give out. Beca catches her and guides her to the ground, helping her lean back onto the lockers. Beca stares at the pictures with red hot rage. The papers show Chloe’s head poorly photoshopped onto an almost naked body. The photoshop job is one of the worst Beca’s ever seen, but there’s no doubt there’ll be people who believe it’s real.

Beca is fuming, needing to take out her anger on whoever did this. She doesn’t need to know why, she just needs to know who.

“Who did this?” Beca asks sharply, her anger apparent in her voice.

Chloe lets out a sob, and Beca softens, crawling into the place beside Chloe and letting her lay her head on her shoulder. The anger can wait. Chloe needs her here.

They stay like that for a long time, Chloe’s head on Beca’s shoulder and Beca rubbing Chloe’s hand back and forth with her thumb to calm her down. They sit in silence, and after a while, Chloe straightens up and eventually stands. She holds out her hand and helps Beca up, the two never speaking a word, and they set off toward home.

They walk in silence for a long time until Chloe finally speaks,

“It was Tom.”

“Tom did that? What? Why would he—,”

“We broke up this morning,” Chloe cuts Beca off to explain, “Or I broke up with him, I guess I should say. He saw me talking to Robby Jordan this morning, and he flipped. Nothing was even happening. I would never do that, and Robby hasn’t bothered me about going out with him in weeks. I was just asking him for the anatomy notes that I missed on Monday when I went to the dentist, but Tom didn’t care. He wouldn’t even let me explain. He told me I was embarrassing him in front of the whole school by flirting with other guys and called me a slut in front of his friends. I figured that would be the end of it, but I guess not,” Chloe says quietly as she trails off.

“I swear to God I’m going to beat his fucking face in the first chance I get.” Beca’s anger is starting to boil over.

Chloe grabs Beca’s hand and holds it, partly to force her fist to unclench, and partly just to be in contact with her.

“Don’t. He doesn’t deserve your anger. Or mine for that matter. I’m through with that asshole. For good.” Chloe looks hopeful for the first time since they left the school.

“How are you even semi-okay after what just happened?” Beca asks, genuinely curious.

“I realized a couple of weeks ago that I deserve better than him. The Tom that hung those pictures on the walls isn’t the Tom I fell in love with, and it doesn’t seem like he’s ever coming back. You told me that I didn’t have to take his shit anymore and that I deserved better. I didn’t believe it when you said it, but the next time I was standing in the grocery store parking lot getting yelled at for something I didn’t even do by someone who claimed to love me, I remembered. And I believed it. I still do.”

Beca looked over at Chloe, and they both smiled at each other through tear-filled eyes.

“I knew I was right all along,” Beca says with a smirk, “You deserve the world, Beale.” She gives a light squeeze to Chloe’s hand that’s still holding her own.

“I deserve someone like you,” Chloe says very matter-of-factly.

And just like that, the voices in Beca’s head stop. All of the voices that, although more quiet than they were the previous week, were still yelling at her telling her to run or hide or do anything to stop her feelings for Chloe had been silenced at the sound of those five words.

“What?” Beca releases Chloe’s hand and stops walking, dumbfounded.

“You show me more love every day in the little things you do than Tom ever did. It really is just the little things. You listen to me babble on about God knows what every single day, and you always bring quarters so we can feed the ducks. Nobody has that many quarters just by coincidence. Nobody.”

Beca laughs as a light blush spreads across her cheeks.

“You make me feel wanted and appreciated and cared for and special, and that’s all i could ever want. In a friendship but also in a relationship. I actually realized it when you left my house in a rush last week, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Everyday this week I’ve walked home from school alone and everyday I’ve thought about how much I miss you being with me, all while dreading having to see Tom after soccer practice. I just realized that you treat me better than he does, and we aren’t even dating.”

Beca grins and grabs Chloe’s hand once more, lacing their fingers together, “Well, I think we might be able to arrange something like that.”