#ignore that one green text box just hanging out by itself.

[famiglia-lealta]

[yslkook]

BRIGHT (2)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you and jungkook share a moment in a bookstore. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names…bc its me

“Oh, lighten up Jeon,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You look like someone told you that your cat died.”

“The only kitty he wants won’t give him the time of day,” Mina grins, earning herself a glare from Jungkook.

“More like I can't get her time of day because her stupid best friend has a stick up her ass,” Jungkook mutters.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Mei observes, “Our baby tattoo artist pining over a girl…”

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now, Mei,” Yoongi says pointedly, “Now stop wasting time meddling in Jungkook’s love life, Jin will have all of our heads-”

“Love life? I don’t have a love life,” Jungkook protests, eyes adorably round.

“And that’s why you’re so broody today, honey,” Mina teases, “More so than usual at least.”

“I am not broody,” Jungkook grumbles, turning his back on his laughing coworkers and friends. He can’t help but smile at their teasing.

“Oh, lighten up, Kookie,” Mei says lightly, clapping his shoulder, “If it makes you feel any better, that girl couldn’t stop staring at you at Hobi’s birthday. And she definitely wants a piece of this.”

Jungkook ignores the raucous laughter of his friends (which only increases when Jin comes out from the backroom to add on to his suffering) and the reddening of his cheeks as he gets ready for his full day of tattoo consultations and appointments.

Jungkook’s day ends about an hour earlier than he had anticipated- his last client for the day had to reschedule due to a last minute conflict. That’s fine by him. It gives him time to stop by the bookstore a few blocks away from the tattoo parlor before it closes.

Jungkook tries his best to read at least one new book a month. He’s known the older shop owner, Jia and her young son, Jae-sung, for years now, as he had basically grown up with Jia from childhood.

He loves the quiet of the store and the immediate scent of vanilla and cedar that surrounds him as soon as he walks in. The bookstore itself has a vintage sort of feel, with dimmed lights, old shelves of mahogany and candles placed throughout the store.

Jungkook always brings croissants from the bakery nearby for Jia and little Jae-sung. Usually when he comes by, the bookstore is empty (or close to it).

Jae-sung screeches when he sees Jungkook walk in the door and immediately runs up to him, hugging his legs. Jungkook crouches, ruffling his hair fondly and Jae-sung is nearly bouncing off of the heels of his feet.

“Mommy say she have new book for you, Kookie!” Jae-sung beams, eyeing the box of croissants in Jungkook’s free hand.

“Does she?” Jungkook muses, “Your mommy always knows what kind of books I like.”

“Me too! Me too!”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jia’s voice filters through the store as she approaches, “It’s been a while.”

“It took me a while to finish the last book. But so worth it,” He says apologetically, “I also brought croissants. Enjoy.”

“You spoil us,” Jia rolls her eyes, “The new arrivals are in the back, third aisle from the left. You know the drill.”

Jia has known Jungkook since he was a baby in diapers- she’s been his aunt’s close friend for years and years now. Jungkook likes to joke that he likes Jia more than his own aunt, and Jia always reprimands him (without really meaning it).

He thought the bookstore was empty, save for Jia and Jae-sung. But he’s clearly mistaken, when he sees a figure in an olive green sweater and black jeans perusing through the new arrivals with their bottom lip tucked between their teeth in concentration.

He recognizes them immediately and when the person raises their head in curiosity, he sees your wide eyes and a shy smile starting to pull across your lips.

You’re here, in his favorite bookstore where he feels like he’s at home. If he was looking for a sign, then this was it.

“Hi,” You say softly, waving your fingers at him, “So you like reading, huh?”

You visibly cringe and Jungkook chuckles. Your cheeks feel warm when you take him in, swirls and dots of his tattoos peeking out of his black leather jacket and beckoning you closer to him. The three hoops in his left ear glint with the light and the dangling earring on his right ear dangles with the movement of his head. His hair is tied back into a ponytail, accentuating the curve of his jaw and his soft dimples.

Your breath is stolen away when you meet his eyes, deep brown and murky, popping against the peach eyeshadow on his eyelids.

You nearly swoon on the spot before you get your bearings. Maybe he’d catch you if your knees buckled, you think dryly. How embarrassing.

“I try reading something new once a month,” Jungkook replies, pulling you out of your reverie, “And I just like the bookstore in general. Sometimes I like to just come here and hang out with Jia and Jae-sung.”

“Oh! Jia makes my favorite lavender chamomile tea. There’s nothing like it,” You say a little dreamily, “Jae-sung is a cutie. That boy can just look at you and you’d be putty in his hands. Kinda like you.”

The last bit slips out of your mouth without you meaning for it to.

“Kinda like me, huh,” Jungkook smirks, eyes glittering, “It would be fun to see if you’d be putty in my hands, wouldn’t it?”

“The world may never know,” You mumble sheepishly and avoid his eyes again, “What kind of book are you looking for?”

“The one you’re holding, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, looking past your shoulder for another copy of the same book.

“Are you looking for this book just because I’m reading it or because you’ve been genuinely eyeing it?” You ask boldly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Jungkook snorts, walking past you to grab the book off of the shelf.

“So I’ve been told,” Your eyes flash, “We should do a boozy book club.”

“Is it a book club if it’s just the two of us?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” You shrug, “Besides, don’t you wanna hang out with me?” You tilt your head and Jungkook’s resolve weakens. His heart does something funny- is this how it’s supposed to be?

“Of course I wanna hang out with you, baby,” Jungkook murmurs smoothly, “C’mon, let’s go have some of Jia’s tea. And a croissant too, if Jae hasn’t eaten them already.”

Jungkook glares at Jia the entire time that she’s making tea for both of you. He knows her sly, curious eyes and was unable to keep the surprise off of her face when you had both walked down the stairs together.

She even had the audacity to wink at him. He hopes that the family groupchat doesn’t start blowing up when Jia inevitably informs his aunt and mother about this new development.

“Kookie,” Jae-sung whispers (loudly) when you step away to use the bathroom, “Is dat your girlfriend?”

“What?” Jungkook hisses, “Who told you that?”

“My mommy say I ask you! I not know!”

“No, Jae, that’s not my girlfriend,” Jungkook mumbles, shooting Jia another death glare. She only smiles smugly at him from her spot behind the counter.

Jia leaves him alone for the most part when you return and take your seat next to him. He can still feel her eyes on you both as she washes teacups, watching like a hawk.

“These croissants are so good,” You nearly moan, “Where’d you get them?”

“There’s a bakery near the tattoo parlor,” Jungkook says, “You should come by sometime.”

“The bakery or the parlor?”

“Both?”

“I’ve only been there a few times,” You muse, “I hear you’re the best tattoo artist there. From the mouth of Hobi and Jin themselves.”

“Don’t let Mina and Mei hear you say that,” Jungkook says weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are a little pink and you resist chuckling to yourself.

“I’ve always wanted to get a second piercing,” You trail off, “But never really committed to it.”

“What would you want to get? We do piercings, too,” Jungkook says.

“Cartilage? Industrial? I don’t know,” You shrug, sipping your tea.

“Mina usually has a good eye for that,” Jungkook admits, “Now you have more of a reason to stop by.”

“Oh, I already had a reason to stop by the parlor,” You say brazenly with a sweet smile.

“Is that so?” Jungkook says, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You hum and continue to sip your tea, wondering if he can somehow hear the loud rattling of your eager heart in your ribcage.

Conversation with him comes so easily and you don’t know when the last time you had spent this long with him was. Something always seems to interrupt you both when you eventually do find yourselves alone with each other during outings with friends. But this time, it’s just you and him tucked away in this bookstore.

The sun has long gone down and Jia was about to close the bookstore for the day. In fact, the only reason she kept it open for this long was because of you both. You apologize profusely with worried eyes when you realize the time and see Jae-sung fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

She waves you off, giving Jungkook a lingering look that you don’t understand.

“I’ll be back soon,” You promise Jia in a soft voice, so as to not wake Jae-sung, “Be well, Jia.”

She bids you both goodnight, and unbeknownst to you, she shoots Jungkook a simple text. It states: “keep her close, i like her”.

Jungkook ignores it in favor of focusing on you.

“How you getting home, baby?” Jungkook asks as you both walk up the block shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmm… I’m supposed to meet Sora for dinner but she said she’s stuck at work,” You murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scroll on your phone, “But I was just on social media and it looks like she’s getting drinks with her other friends…”

You look at him with a frown tugging at your lips and your eyes wide. “Maybe it was a last minute thing,” You mumble to yourself.

“Or maybe she lied to you,” Jungkook says sharply. You only look at him in silence for a few moments with furrowed brows.

“Maybe there was a reason,” You shrug, “Why would she lie about that?”

Because she’s Sora, and she just would. But Jungkook stays silent. You don’t need to hear about how he dislikes your best friend, at least not yet. Not when you’re not ready to hear it.

“Forget about her,” Jungkook says easily, “Lemme take you home, baby.”

“I’m not riding that metal death contraption,” You say flatly, “You just got it! Like two weeks ago! You don’t even have an extra helmet, and forget a helmet, I need elbow pads and knee pads-”

“Will you relax,” Jungkook says, putting your books in the small basket he built into the front of the motorcycle.

“No, I will not relax, Jeon Jungkook!” You nearly screech, “This is so dangerous, we could both fall in the road and then what? Become roadkill for the next soccer mom van to run us both over? Death by soccer mom, what a way to go-”

“Are you done?” Jungkook says dryly.

“No, actually, I’m not done-”

“You trust me, baby?” Jungkook asks, hand on your shoulder. You can’t even properly appreciate the warmth of his large hand over your jacket.

“Of course I trust you, I don’t trust that,” You point at the motorcycle accusingly and Jungkook rolls his eyes. You can already feel your resolve weakening. He wordlessly places his own helmet over your own head and you glare at him, about to start your tirade again.

“You take mine,” Jungkook murmurs, “And hold on to me.”

“You can’t just give me your helmet, what if you fall? Or worse, get pulled over?”

“Or worse, get pulled over, are you joking-”

“Jungkook! Be serious!”

“I am being serious! You said you only live ten minutes from here, just relax. I won’t let anything happen to either of us,” Jungkook says, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“If anything happens, it’s your head on a platter and I’m bringing it to the tattoo parlor.”

“How can you do that if we both die?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You say, but a laugh escapes your lips. Jungkook sits on his bike and looks at you expectantly.

“C’mon, baby,” Jungkook coaxes you and you awkwardly sit behind him, making sure that your legs don’t touch his and your arms are safely away from him.

“If you sit like that, you’ll definitely fall off,” Jungkook snorts, “Wrap your arms around me.”

You hesitate, afraid of touching him like this for whatever reason. He unnerves you and you feel completely exposed like this. You’ve never really been this close to anyone, at least anyone who made you feel the way Jungkook makes you feel.

Biting the bullet, you tensely wrap your arms around his narrow waist loosely. “Good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, “Tighter, baby. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.”

Your stomach flips at his words, subconsciously wrapping your arms around his narrow waist even more tightly. Your fingers graze the hard press of his tummy over his jacket and you almost moan at how warm and strong he feels. He smells nice, like Sunday morning laundry.

“Ugh, you’re annoying-” And then you shriek as he pulls away from the road and shoots off into the night with you plastered against his backside.

“See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jungkook says, taking the helmet off of you. He’s met with a glare but you sigh in defeat.

“No, I guess it wasn’t. But I never want you driving this hunk of death without a helmet for yourself,” You say, poking his chest.

“You should be nicer to her,” Jungkook says, taking your finger in his large hand.

“You’re right, it’s you that I should be mean to,” You roll your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook could feel your heart slamming in your chest (in fear, adrenaline and excitement) as you hung tight to him. You had refused to look up, pressing your face into his back and squeezing your eyes shut the entire way. Jungkook had only chuckled.

The heat in your eyes melts away quickly once Jungkook helps you off of the motorcycle. “Thanks for taking me home, Jungkook,” You murmur, “I’m glad I ran into you at the bookstore.”

“Any time, baby,” Jungkook says. A strand of dark hair falls from his ponytail and into his face. You reach your fingers up to thread through his hair before pushing it back behind his ear for him.

“Get home safe,” You say, with stars in your eyes, “Can I hug you?” When he nods, and before you can change your mind or convince yourself out of it, you wrap your arms around him. And before he can properly return it, you dash into your apartment building while calling out “text me when you get home!”

Hours later, when he’s in the comfort of his home, he decides that he likes the way your spicy vanilla scented perfume clings to his leather jacket.

tags: @kookdbean @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

For One More Hour or One More Day

Dukeceit Week Day 6: Horror/Comedy

Remus and Janus work in IT, and Remus never fails to make Janus' life a bit more exciting than it should be. Janus wouldn't have it any other way.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 1416

Warnings: swearing, typical Remus-levels of implied sexual content. 

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[06032021 Network Node Down- 172.12.203.1 - Dee Why ]

Janus stared at the next ticket in his queue. He didn't even have to look at which tech wrote it. He just knew. He picked up his phone and dialed. 

“'Sup, DeeDee?" 

"Because they use ancient technology and refuse to upgrade, that's why." 

There was a beat of silence on the line. Janus didn't need to see him to know Remus was grinning like a maniac. 

“Oh, JD, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Remus said finally. His voice was laced with barely-contained glee. 

“Uh-huh, sure," Janus replied dryly. He watched on his screen as an incoming call diverted from his in-use line. "Do you want to clarify for me, in excruciating detail, what, exactly, it is that broke this time? After all, if it's something I can fix from here, it would save the company an awful lot of money. And you know how I love saving this company money." 

“You don't feel like taking work calls either, huh?" 

“Ree, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

-

[06142021 CRITICAL | Device failed Availability and Latency checks - Dispatch Requested]

Janus sat in his truck for a few minutes, cross-checking the address across his e-mail, Slack, and the ticket itself. And yeah, they all matched. This wasn’t a repeat of that time Remus had changed the address on the ticket from 96th St. to 69th St. as a joke. 

(Janus had almost gotten mugged. He was still a little salty about that one.)

But this time, all the addresses matched. The problem was, he was parked in front of a restaurant instead of the usual office building, and that just didn’t seem right. He opened up Slack on his phone. 

Janus D’lyre: Are you sure the address is right?

Remus Rey: Yeah, it’s right.

Janus D’lyre: It’s a restaurant. 

Remus Rey:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Janus D’lyre: Are you positive it’s right?

Remus Rey: I just write the tickets, Dee, I don’t do a background check. Just go in.

Janus sighed. He got out of his truck, hefted his tech bag over his shoulder, and went inside.

It was a nice restaurant. Very fancy, with a goddamn chandelier hanging over the front lobby. Field engineers weren’t required to dress in a suit and tie, but Janus did by habit- and he was glad he did, because he would feel like a horrible slob standing here in jeans and a polo.

“Can I help you?”

Janus looked over to the host, standing at the counter with a bright smile that only looked 52% faked.

“Yes,” Janus answered. “I’m here about the network issues?”

“Oh!” The host- his name tag read ‘Patton’- brightened up a bit. “Yeah! Remus is waiting for you, this way!”

“Remus is what?”

It was too late. Patton had already darted around the counter and off into the dining area. Janus sighed and, regretting every life choice leading up to this exact moment, followed.

Sure enough, Remus was waiting for him. Patton led him to a quieter area of the restaurant, where Remus was sitting at a table. Well, sitting was a generous way to phrase it, because in reality, he was tipped back on the rear two legs of the chair, combat boot-clad feet up on the table. He jumped up eagerly at the sight of Janus, and somehow managed not to fall backwards and crack his skull open. 

“Hey! You made it! Thanks, Pat!” 

“No problemo!” the host replied with a grin before heading back to the front counter. Janus briefly considered that he might be having a fever dream right now.

“Remus, what the fuck?” 

“Told you it was the right address!”

Janus glared. “That is not what I’m ‘what the fuck’-ing you about.”

“I mean, I’d prefer me fucking you-”

“Remus.”

“Well, you work so hard, DeeDee,” Remus said calmly, as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of the fanciest restaurant on this side of town, dressed in his usual tank-top and leather vest combo and probably mashing dirt into the plush red carpet, and definitely doing something that should get him fired. “I thought you could take a break, and we could have a nice dinner.”

No, he wasn’t doing something that should get him fired. He was doing something that should get them both fired. 

“You’re joking, right?”

“Kinda a lame joke.”

“Remus, you had me dispatched to a random address for a fake problem, to have dinner with you on company time?”

“‘Course not, who do you think I am?”

Janus did not dignify that with an answer. He turned to walk away.

“Jannie, wait!” Remus darted around the table to get in front of him. Janus stopped, and glared. “This is Roman’s restaurant! It’s not a random address, he’s an actual client.”

Janus’ glare lessened. Ok, sure, they did have some smaller commercial clients. And sure, Remus had mentioned his brother’s restaurant was using them as tech support now after a bad experience with a different company. But- “It’s still a fake problem, Remus.”

A shit-eating grin spread across Remus’ face. “Nah. I unplugged the router.”

Janus snorted in a totally dignified manner. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“...Well, I suppose… I’d better investigate the issue. Couldn’t be solved remotely, hardware problem and all.”

Remus held out a hand. Janus took it, and let Remus lead him back to the table.

“Great, cause I already ordered!”

-

[06192021 Switch is problematic. Unable to get into the switch || Serial No. 111-0203-2018]

Janus very calmly cleared the ticket, set his work phone to away, pulled out his personal phone, and sent Remus a text. 

Jannie-D: I know you’re upset I didn’t let you fuck me last night. Get over it. 

Remster: i will not 

- 

Virgil Caligo: yo are u and remus like good?

Janus D’lyre: We had a small argument last night. Why?

Virgil Caligo: [image attached]

Janus sighed. Virgil had sent him a screenshot of a ticket update Remus had just posted.

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘The device is not only unresponsive to simple ping requests, but is being kind of a jerk about it. 100% package loss, a tragedy. Device was confirmed to be connected to a working power source, but they all say that, so who can really be sure. Dispatch requested, please confirm maintenance window. Actually showing up would be great, too.’

Janus hastily typed a message to Virgil. 

Janus D’lyre: Did you take that one?

Virgil Caligo: ya. logan didnt see dw

Janus D’lyre: Thanks. You can transfer it to me, I’ll take care of it. 

Janus leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. What a comedy of errors this day had been. It was the last time he’d forget he and Remus had a date night planned, that’s for sure. 

- 

Remus sighed when a priority ticket popped up in his queue. He was having a grand time ignoring his other queues in favor of sculpting a rather elaborate dick out of the green Play-Doh he kept at his desk, but he really did not feel like getting bitched out by Logan for missing a priority ticket. Grumbling to himself, he stuffed the Play-Doh back into its tub and opened the ticket. 

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘Likely a hardware bug. Possible remote fix with reset and reconfigure. Device information missing from online records. Please check file and update record.’ 

Fuck. Remus hated pulling files. What a pain. He trudged his way upstairs to the records room, which was always dark and depressing because nobody ever went there because who the fuck used physical paper in 2021?

But when he unlocked the door and pushed it open, the light was on. And every surface was covered in flowers.

“What the fuck?” Remus asked the flowers. They didn’t answer. But, at the small desk near the door, there was a stack of green boxes from his favorite bakery- and on top of that, he saw an envelope with his name on it. Eagerly, Remus tore open the envelope. 

Inside, he found a single sheet of Janus’ fancy stationery paper, the kind with the little holographic snakes along the edge that he only ever used for special occasions. And on that paper, one single sentence, penned in Janus’ elegant, flourishy handwriting: Ok, you can fuck me tonight.

- - -

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘I take it back, the device is no longer being a jerk, and I love the device very much.’ 

[retrievablememories]

a day with you | taeyong (m)

title: a day with you pairing: taeyong x reader genre: fluff, smut, friends to lovers summary: you spend your birthday with one of your closest friends—lee taeyong. word count: 4.7k warnings: fingering, oral sex (female receiving), PIV sex, a lil dirty talk a/n: i know he can’t drive(?) but let’s pretend lol. some parts of this fic are little vague and you’ll see what i mean but that’s so you can imagine your own preferences

Taeyong wakes up first thing in the morning with you already on his mind. 

He can’t help but smile to himself as he thinks about spending time with you on a day as special as this—your birthday. He doesn’t always get to spend as much time with you as he’d like because of his neverendingly busy schedule, but this is one day he wouldn’t miss.

Wiping his blurry eyes, he reaches for his phone and opens the text message box with your name on it.

To: Y/N Hi sleepyhead~ are you awake yet? Probably not. But i’m coming to get you soon ^^

Taeyong takes a shower and dresses himself, all while still thinking of you. Once he’s ready to his liking, he leaves the dorm to drive to your favorite breakfast place nearby. The sun is just making its appearance over the horizon, warming the land and making everything seem brand new again.

When Taeyong arrives at your place with food in hand, it’s still fairly early in the morning. As he predicted, you aren’t awake yet—at least not fully. It takes you a minute to answer the door, and only after he knocks incessantly. When you do, you’re still in your pajamas from last night.

“I’m guessing you didn’t see my message?” He laughs and pats your head.

“Honestly, I was knocked out…sorry, Yongie,” you say, stifling a yawn. You move aside so he can come in and close the door after him. Suddenly awakened by the smell of food wafting past your nose, you follow Taeyong into the kitchen. “But I see you have food...what’d you bring me?”

“Only your favorite, of course. What else would I get the birthday girl on her special day?”

“You know me so well,” you say, giving Taeyong a side hug before diving into the bag to get your meal. You and Taeyong eat together at the table, enjoying each other’s company. You’re still a bit sleepy so you don’t say much, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. He likes seeing you enjoying your food, and it makes him happy to treat you to gestures like this.

Once you finish eating, you slide out of your seat and stretch. “Wow, that was great. Thank you Yongie,” you giggle, pinching his cheek. He blushes at your attention and shrugs bashfully.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and get dressed now. Can you tell me where we’re going so I know how to dress at least? A hint? Pleaseee?”

“Not yet! You’ll see when we get there,” Taeyong says smugly, putting his arms behind his head. “It’s not just one place anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what you wear.”

“Oh, fine. You won’t be too bored without me, right?” you ask, turning to look at him from the bedroom doorway. 

“I’m fine Y/N, I can handle myself for an hour while you get ready.” He chuckles.

“If you insist!”

Once you’re ready, you and Taeyong go out to his car and take off to wherever the first destination is, which you’re excited to find out. You watch the scenery go by as you travel there.

“I hope work’s been treating you well,” you say, turning back to look at Taeyong.

“You don’t have to worry about me today,” he insists.

“I’m always gonna worry about you!” You put your hand on his leg, and his eyes widen a tad at that. “I know it’s hard sometimes. You said you wanted to make me happy—knowing you’re doing okay is what makes me happy.”

A grin spreads across his face. Taeyong glances at you and places his hand on yours. “I’m doing fine. Promise.” He nudges his pinky finger under yours, linking them together. “I wouldn’t lie to you!”

You squeeze his pinky finger back. “I’m trusting you. If I hear you’re overworking yourself again, I’m gonna force you to take a vacation. Just watch!”

You start to realize where you’re headed pretty soon when the city’s scenery gives way to more greenery. This lake, and the park it’s located in, is one of your favorite places to hang out with Taeyong, although you haven’t been there lately because he’s been so busy with work.

“Remember the first time we came here?” you ask, gazing at the lake’s surface glittering from between the trees.

“That was such a fun day. I didn’t even know this place existed back then...it feels like a hundred years ago now, though.”

Once the car is in the parking lot, you two head to the boardwalk. A good portion of it extends out into the lake itself before meeting the shore again and trailing off onto a nature trail among the trees. You walk along the portion that sits over the lake, stopping every so often to watch the water lap at the wooden posts. There are only a few other people out here besides you two; it’s still too early for the afternoon crowds.

Taeyong stands beside you as you peer into the waters, his hair blowing across his face from the cool breeze.

“You should drop in a coin. Make a wish or something.”

“I thought that was only for fountains?”

“Maybe it’ll work here, too.” He leans forward to see both of your reflections staring back at him.

You giggle. “The fish will get mad at me. I think I’ll pass on that one. We should go see the trail though, there’s a flower bush there...I know you remember it.”

“The one that has those flowers with the funny-looking petals?”

“Yes! I wanna take a picture of it,” you say, already feet ahead of Taeyong. “Come on, or you’re getting left behind!”

You and Taeyong end up walking through the park for a couple of hours; it offers enough land to trek through for days and still be able to find something new every hour. With the sun rising higher in the sky, the temperature quickly starts shooting up. You wipe the sweat away from your forehead, stopping underneath a tree near the side of the park that faces the main road.

You’ve stayed in the park long enough for other people and food trucks to start appearing, and there’s already a line of different vendors camping along the sidewalk.

“I’m hot. We need some ice cream,” you sigh dramatically, leaning against the tree for strength.

“Come on, there’s an ice cream truck down the road.”

Taeyong pays for both your ice creams and you walk along the edge of the park after getting them, eating happily and pointing out birds and flowers to each other every few minutes.

The heat does a number on your ice cream, making it melt onto your hand before you’re even halfway through with the cone. “Damn.” You look at the sticky mess covering your hand. “I should’ve gotten a napkin! Hold on, I’ll just go—”

“Wait.” Taeyong grabs your arm. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he bends his head to lick the ice cream dripping across your fingers. Your eyes grow big, and you stutter trying to think of how to respond, but you end up merely watching him.

He soon pulls back after he finishes his job on your hand. “See? All gone now,” he grins, but his smile comes out more nervous than he intended. The atmosphere isn’t awkward, per se, but it’s definitely more tense than it was a few minutes ago.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say weakly, trying to ignore the heat flooding through your body at his actions. “Don’t get us kicked out of here for public indecency!”

After you finish your ice cream, you and Taeyong decide to leave the park before you melt into the pavement. You stretch your hands in front of the air vents when you get back into his car, letting the pleasant chill run up your arms as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, pressing your hand to the window. The park’s green scenery grows sparse and gives way to roads and familiar hardscapes, which means you’re probably heading to the busiest part of the city.

“Will you ever let me give you a surprise?” Taeyong whines, laughing. “I’ll give you one hint: you’ll need my credit card for it.”

“You mean mine?”

“No way, mine. You can buy whatever you want today, all on me. I already know what you’re thinking, but seriously, it’s fine; charge however much you want.”

“You’re too good to me, seriously. How did I find someone like you?”

“Luck, maybe.”

As you suspected, Taeyong takes you to the busier—and also more expensive—part of the city, packed with shops and boutiques on every corner and filled with people walking to and fro.

When you get out, you and Taeyong stand on the sidewalk gazing at the different stores. “I don’t know where to start,” you admit, gazing at the numerous options laid out in front of you. “You’re all into this luxury stuff, give me a recommendation for something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please?”

“Okay, here.” Taeyong pulls you to the first clothing store he sees, which happens to be Chanel. You haven’t been in here before, so you’re a bit taken aback at how spacious it is...and how just many clothes there are.

“Wow. I could probably shop forever and still not buy everything,” you say jokingly, drifting away from Taeyong to go over to a jacket that catches your eye.

You spend a lot of time going through the store—and the ones after that—trying to decide what you like. Taeyong buys you a few things from each one. He gives you suggestions at every place you stop in, but at the last store, he becomes drawn to a particular dress hanging on the rack. It’s black with big daisy patterns all over it, and the skirt is made of a flowing, silky material.

“Do you see something you like?” You peek over his shoulder at the dress.

“Yes, for you.” He takes it off the rack and holds it up to your body. “I think it’d look cute on you. Will you try it on?”

You give him a look before taking the dress from his hand. “Okay, let’s see how it looks.” You take it to the dressing room and undress so you can pull it on. The daisy patterns seemed a little overdone at first, but it looks better than you expected. After examining yourself in the mirror, you step outside the dressing room so Taeyong can see it.

“Well, what do you think of it?” you ask, spinning around so Taeyong can see it full-view. He taps his finger against his chin and nods, his eyes lingering on your form. 

“You should wear it. Like, for the rest of the day.”

You turn to a nearby mirror and examine the dress again. “Hmm, you really think so?”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve to look good, don’t you?”

“Geez, are you saying my previous outfit was bad?” You snort, throwing Taeyong a skeptical look over your shoulder.

“No, I’m saying...this one is even better.” He’s practically eating you up with his eyes now, and there’s no room for doubt that he means what he says. You’re a bit flustered by the way he’s looking at you, so you turn back the mirror, staring at your reflection.

“Okay, I trust your taste,” you say, willing your heart rate to calm down a little. Taeyong smirks at you in the mirror’s reflection.

You try on a couple more things before leaving the last store—or more like, Taeyong convinces you that every item would look good on you and you decide to get it because you can’t resist his puppy dog eyes.

You drop your shopping bags off at your place before heading back out again. The next stop: the movie theater. Taeyong tells you to pick a movie and promises to stay awake through the whole thing even if he dislikes it, which you roll your eyes at.

“When have you ever known me to pick a bad movie?”

“Well…”

“On second thought, don’t answer that question.”

“Are you hungry?” Taeyong asks a couple hours after you leave the theater. It’s early evening now, but there’s still daylight from the long hours of summer. You had some popcorn in the theater, but you’re ready for the main course now.

“Yes, do you have something special planned for that too?” you ask, poking him in the side. 

“Sure, but let’s go back to your place first, I think I left something there,” Taeyong says casually. You don’t suspect anything, so you happily agree, wondering where he’s gonna take you for dinner.

You get back to the building not too long after and head up the stairs to your floor with Taeyong trailing behind you. “This isn’t an excuse to look up my dress, is it?” you say jokingly, glancing back at him. Taeyong blushes at that and laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s not like that!”

You think Taeyong’s going to stop at your apartment once you get to it, but he keeps walking past it and towards the set of stairs that lead to the apartment’s rooftop.

“I’m hungry, Taeyong, why are we going to the roof? There isn’t any food up there,” you laugh, though you follow him as he tugs on your hand and guides you up the steps.

“You’ll see!”

When you get to the top of the stairs, Taeyong swings open the door. On the other side is your apartment’s rooftop, but it looks much different from the last time you saw it. On normal days, there’s a little hangout spot up there with tables and chairs, a fire pit, and an array of potted plants dotting each of the rooftop’s corners.

Now, there are little glowing fairy lights strung up everywhere, decorating the assortment of potted plants native to the rooftop’s decor. The chairs have been pushed to the sides of the roof to make room for a huge blanket in the middle, a quaint little picnic basket on top of it.

“Whoa,” you say, your eyes widening at the setup. “I’ve actually only been up here a few times...I guess I’ve been so busy I haven’t had proper time to appreciate it. It looks really different now...” You gaze at the city’s skyline in awe. The sun is still shining brightly, though darker oranges are already bleeding into the sky’s lighter hue in preparation for sunset. It won’t be long before the city is draped in darkness.

“Well, now you get to enjoy it with me!” Taeyong pulls you over to the blanket. The fire pit isn’t lit yet, but maybe you can do that later tonight.

“When did you even have time to set all this up, anyway? Seriously!” you ask as you and Taeyong sit down.

“I know people,” is his only explanation. “And it’s easy to pull strings when you’re cute.” He does an aegyo move and you shove him, laughing.

You and Taeyong dig into the picnic basket. “I made it myself too, ‘cause I know how much you like whatever you make.” He says this with a gentle smile.

“Ever the humble chef,” you laugh, taking the rest of the food out. There’s an array of fruits and other snacks in addition to the main meal. “Your cooking is always so good. How do you do it?” Taeyong shrugs.

“Sheer talent. Or magic. You should let me teach you one day,” Taeyong says with his mouth full.

“I should,” you say absentmindedly, looking across the skyline as you eat. “We should come up here more, too.”

After you finish the main meal, you and Taeyong feed each other pieces of fruit as he lies his head in your lap, his soft hair fanning across your bare legs. His eyes are soft as he looks up at you, and it makes your mind go warm and fuzzy with all the things you want to say to him.

Eventually, you lie back too, reclining on the soft blanket and gazing at the endless sheet of stars above you, glittering from light years away. Taeyong pulls away from you momentarily to light the fire pit, and the flames lick at the edges of your vision as you watch the starry sky.

“Do you ever think about how some of the stars have already long burned out? And their light is only just now reaching us?”

Taeyong makes a face as he settles beside you. “That’s a bit scary.”

“What if they were all gone? And there were actually no more stars left in our galaxy?” You turn your head to look at Taeyong. “What we would look at at night, then?”

Taeyong pauses for a moment before choosing his answer. “There would still be stars to look at. Like the ones here on Earth.” You smile at that.

The night gets darker as time wears on, and the temperature outside drops. Despite the warmth of the fire pit, Taeyong notices you shiver at the sudden breeze and pulls you closer to him, rubbing his hands on your arms. “Maybe we should go inside?”

“Sounds good to me, I’m starting to get a little sleepy anyway…we’ve been out all day,” you say, stretching your arms and legs. Taeyong cleans up all the food and empty containers spread around, refusing to let you lift a finger to help. Once the picnic basket is packed, you both roll off the blanket so he can fold it up and sling it over his arm. He puts the fire out and gets ready to leave with you, taking your hand. 

“What about the lights and stuff?” you ask, glancing back at the fairy lighting still dangling off the potted plants.

“Later,” Taeyong says, waving it away. “Somebody will get to enjoy it tomorrow, maybe.”

You both head back down the stairs and to your apartment. Taeyong sets the stuff down and pulls you into a hug once you both enter your place.

“Today was so fun,” you say, hugging Taeyong back and relishing the feel of his arms around you. “It was the best birthday ever. You’re the best friend anyone could have, you know?”

“I could say the same.” Taeyong murmurs. You pull away from each other, but Taeyong’s fingertips linger at the hemline of your dress; he rubs the fabric between his fingers, a thoughtful look on his face. “You look so cute in this dress...really pretty.” His hand drifts higher and his fingers skirt across your waistline, to your arm, and up your shoulder until he’s hovering at your face.

Taeyong touches the side of your face, a gentle smile on his lips. Your eyes linger on each other’s for a tense moment, and then, Taeyong steps closer and closes the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. Maybe you should be surprised, but you’re not. Taeyong pulls your body closer, his hand sliding to the nape of your neck and into your hair, cradling the back of your head.

His lips are soft and his tongue is warm against yours. His other hand finds its way back to your skirt and drifts higher, higher, and higher underneath, dangerously close to the hemline of your underwear. He pulls away, panting against your lips, and you chase him for more. He acquiesces and gives you another hot kiss, but then breaks it to speak against your lips,

“I’ve been wanting to slip underneath this dress all day.” His fingers come around to your front, pressing into your sex. “Why do you think I picked it? In the shop...wouldn’t it have been nice if we fucked there?”

You moan at that as Taeyong’s lips drift to your jaw, then the side of your neck. You grip Taeyong’s wrist, bringing his hand closer, pressing his knuckles to your clit. You shudder, and Taeyong responds by dragging his fingers over that spot more firmly, feeling you grow wetter and warmer against him.

“Sit on the couch for me, baby.” Taeyong guides you backwards until your knees hit the back of the couch. Your dress spreads out around you as you sit, and Taeyong kneels in front of you, dragging the fabric higher to rest above your thighs. He leans closer to lay soft kisses over your inner thighs, his fingers pressing into the skin as he pulls your body closer to his mouth. You tremble and press your back against the couch when he mouths at your clit through your underwear.

“Taeyong…” He licks you slowly through your underwear and you have to resist the urge to close your legs around his head as his tongue dances over your clit. He pulls back, looking up at you deviously, only to hook his fingers into your underwear and pull them down. You lift your hips to help him, and he holds you firmly in his grip, bringing your pussy closer to meet his warm and wanting mouth. You gasp at the feeling of his lips on your bare skin, pushing your hand through his hair, wanting him to bury himself inside you.

He slips a finger into you as he licks you and makes you pliable, and then he adds another as he presses them upwards to find the spot that will have you shaking for him. Taeyong finds it soon after and keeps thrusting into it as he lets his tongue trace circles over and over your clit, drawing out more moans and whines from you.

You’re wet and sticky with pleasure at this point, moving your hips along with Taeyong’s movements to draw out as much ecstasy as you can. You feel the orgasm building in your lower body as you grind yourself onto Taeyong’s fingers, and he brings you nearer to it until you’re teetering on the edge.

You tip over the precipice when Taeyong moans into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted and wiggles his fingers against your spot a little harder. You come hard on his fingers and face, and all you can do is grab onto his free hand for support as your legs shake and your stomach tenses from the waves of bliss flowing through you. When Taeyong thinks you’ve had enough, he pulls away from you with his face glistening. He licks his lips clean and lets go of your thighs, letting your relaxed form rest against the couch.

“Let’s go to your room,” he says, and gathers you up in his arms, taking you down the hall to where your bedroom is. He lays you gently on the bed and you watch with anticipation thrumming through your body as he sheds his clothing in front of you until he’s down to his underwear. Though you’ve just come, you’re already leaking and ready for him to pleasure you again.

His hands come up to your body to peel away your dress, and he guides you to lie back on the middle of the bed as his lips cover each new section of exposed skin. He kneads your breasts once they’re revealed to him, pinching your nipples and sucking them between his soft lips, teasing them into hard peaks. His mouth is indescribably warm and wet against your body, his hands equally as soft and gentle as they roam over your waist, down to your hips and legs and back again.

You take Taeyong’s chin between your fingers and bring his face back up to yours so you can kiss his lips and whisper in his ear, “Taeyong, please. I want you.”

Taeyong parts from you for a moment to grab a condom from his jeans, and once he rolls it on he settles between your legs with his cock nudging against your lower lips. He thrusts his hips against you, his tip catching on your entrance, and he keeps rocking himself until he’s fully seated inside of you, both of you moaning from the sensation of filling and being filled.

“You feel so good,” Taeyong murmurs into the side of your neck. He pushes into you slowly, wanting to feel every inch of you around him. With so many sensations flowing through you at once, you’re unsure where to put your hands, and they drift across Taeyong’s back aimlessly. The muscles there clench under your palms as he thrusts into you.

He is tender as he holds you close, kissing you wherever he can and moaning softly in your ear. This is not how you thought your night would end, but you have no complaints as Taeyong fills you over and over again, his hand sliding down your body to rub against your clit. You squeeze his shoulders, your nails pricking his skin slightly as the pleasure doubles inside you.

Droplets of sweat gather at his hairline and at the sides of his face, making the strands stick to his skin. You wipe these away as he looks into your eyes and strokes into you, his hips moving with more vigor as he gets more intense and feels the beginnings of his orgasm creeping up on him.

“I’m close,” Taeyong groans.

“Taeyong…” you sigh and arch against him as your climax overtakes you first, flooding through your body like liquid gold and making you tense and shiver around him.

Taeyong shudders against you when he comes, pulling your body closer to his and lowering his head onto your shoulder as he rides out the throes of pleasure. You both hold onto each other as if you’ll drift away otherwise, your arms tight around him as you listen to his heavy breaths.

He eventually rolls away from you to dispose of the condom. When he comes back, he pulls the bed covers back and draws you into his arms. You cuddle close together, and you can hear his heartbeat steadily next to your ear.

“You know I love you, right?” Taeyong asks quietly, drawing his index finger along your side. It tickles, but you don’t mind much as long as he’s touching you.

“Do you know I love you?” you say back, your lips moving against his collarbone as you speak. He brings his hand up to your hair, breathing in your scent.

“Mmm...maybe.” His body shakes with laughter. “I think maybe I knew it all along.”

“Me too,” you say, closing your eyes. Tiredness sweeps over you, and you know you’ll have to talk more in the morning, but right now you are more than content to leave things as they are. “Maybe we were made for each other.”

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire.  And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all,  but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now.  He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself  in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #4: Stupid For You

Words: ca. 6,100 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: None

Anna adjusts her car visor to block out as much of the sun as possible. Just because the weather feels nice enough to keep her windows down, doesn’t mean she’ll allow the sun cook her through the windshield.

It’s 2:25 PM on a Friday. Back in college, she would have been powering through her final class of the week, racing back to her dorm on her longboard, changing into her pajamas, and replaying the entire Mass Effect trilogy for the fifth time. Now, she spends it idling in the parking lot of West Arendelle Elementary, breathing in exhaust fumes from other idling cars, and pitifully swiping through a dating app.

And to be honest, she might like this routine a little more.

But only because, in a couple of minutes the bell will ring and her favorite ten-year-old will burst through the front doors, skip down to her car, and tap on the passenger windows with both hands.

Not that…she knows any other ten-year-olds, she only knows this one. She doesn’t have like a top ten list of favorite children.

Anyway yeah.

Anna presses against the corner of a parking sticker peeling off at the bottom of her windshield, knowing she’ll have to get a new one soon. The sound of her phone buzzing grabs her attention, and a little bit of hope rises in her as she checks the notification. Unfortunately, it’s just a text from her mother saying not to park behind her when she gets back home.

Anna grumbles, “I swear there’s like zero lesbians in this entire freaking city.”

She’s saved from her petty lamenting by the forementioned bell, and suddenly the barren entrance of the elementary school is buzzing with activity as children pour out of the doors in droves. Some are running, some are walking slowly with their group of friends, but only one of them is skipping.

Or at least Anna could only see one skipping since she wasn’t focusing on any other kid.

Gleefully making her way to Anna’s car is a little girl in a bright-blue skirt, a clean white polo, and a messy braid. Her hands are clutching the straps of her glittery backpack and her lunch box is hanging on for dear life around her neck.

Serah Langford, the self-proclaimed “cooliest” ten year-old in Arendelle.

Serah predictably taps her knuckles against the passenger window and Anna rolls it down. “What’s the password?” she asks.

“Fart Sniffer,” Serah says confidently.

Anna shakes her head, “That was last week’s password. What’s this week’s?”

Serah looks off in the distance and purses her lips. A second later, she says, “Alright I said it!”

“Say it out loud.”

Serah rolls her eyes and says in a dramatically bored voice, “Anna de Milo is the greatest, prettiest, most wonderful babysitter in the world and deserves a million dollars.”

Anna unlocks the door and grins, “That’s the one!”

The embarrassed fourth-grader shuffles into the car, placing her bag by her feet, her lunch box in her lap, and her phone plugged into the AUX cord. Anna would be offended if they didn’t have the exact same taste in music.

A babysitting job wasn’t at the top of her list after she graduated, but when months passed and she exhausted all the search results for “Writer” on Indeed, she was starting to get desperate. Her mother advised her to look for any job so at the very least she could have a steady source of income while she continued to look for writing gigs.

That’s when she found Bizzybee.

Bizzybee is a company that prides itself on being “Tinder for babysitters”, which is a horrible vision statement but she kept from mentioning that during her interview. After a surprisingly long assessment process, Anna was placed into their system and she was free to take on any babysitting/housesitting job she wanted based on the profile of the parent and their needs. Everyone started with the same hourly rate, but with enough good reviews she would be eligible for raises.

The first five families she worked for weren’t a good fit for different reasons (one of the fathers actually tried to make a move on her, which is an entirely different, creepier story). She was beginning to lose hope until she stumbled on the profile of a recently divorced mother named Elsa Langford.

From the very first interview with Elsa, Anna knew she’d finally found the right babysitting job for her. She and Serah hit it off right away, and they worked out a Monday-Friday schedule which allowed Anna to continue searching for jobs while still getting great hours.

Six months later and, despite a couple of job offers, Anna decided to stay on as Serah’s babysitter. It was risky and not at all the path she set out for herself after college, but she found herself enjoying babysitting much more than she thought she would. And because of that, she stayed.

Well…that, and another reason.

Anna snuck a peek inside the lunch box at a red light and frowned at the unopened bag of cookies inside. “Seriously?! I thought you liked Chips Ahoy!”

“Only the chewy ones,” Serah argued.

“They can get chewy if you dip them in milk.” Anna waved the bag obnoxiously close to the little girl’s face. “These things are expensive, you know.”

“They’re $20 on Amazon if you buy them in bulk.”

“$20 is still a lot of money.” The light’s turned green, so Anna has to open the bag with her teeth. When she does so successfully, she pours a couple of the cookies right into her mouth. Chewing with righteous indignation, she says, “You know what you can buy with $20?”

“Dinner with my mom?”

Anna almost chokes on the cookies.

She hears Serah giggling up a storm while handing her a water bottle to keep from dying. After downing half the bottle, Anna takes a deep breath and gets back into the center of her lane to ensure neither of them is going to die. “Serah! What did I tell you about saying that kinda stuff while I’m driving?!”

Serah bounces proudly in her seat, “Well maaaaybe if you didn’t have a crush on my mom, I wouldn’t have to bring it up.”

“It’s not…I’m not…” Anna slumps in her chair, wondering why she even bothers denying it. “Whatever.”

Yes, she has a big, stupid gay crush on the mom of the kid she’s babysitting. But have you seen Elsa Langford? She’s gorgeous. Pale skin, light blonde hair always in a neat, tight ponytail, eyes like calm pools of water, and a killer body she worked tirelessly on after giving birth to Serah. Anna had to drink three glasses of water just to get through the interview with her.

But there’s nothing to it, and nothing’s gonna happen anyway. It’s just a crush.

A stupid, dumb, big, stupid, fleeting, doesn’t-mean-anything, stupid crush on a stupid, sexy mom.

It’s stupid.

[Line Break]

Anna pulls right into the driveway of the Langford’s small, one-story house. It’s in the middle of a long suburbian row of houses that look nearly identical in their mundanity, but this one always stands out to Anna. Not because she’s been to this house countless times, but also because it’s got a vibrant feel to it; like you can feel two main characters live here. Serah skips over to her front door with Anna close behind. She notices the grass is getting a little tall and wonders if Elsa might need some help mowing it this weekend.

She unlocks the front door and Serah immediately takes off her shoes by the front door, places her lunch box on the kitchen table, and hums to herself while she walks to her room. The schedule used to be on the fridge, but by this point Anna’s memorized it.

Make a light snack for Serah, help her with her homework before dinner’s done, clean around the house (that’s not a requirement, Anna just does it), make sure she doesn’t watch the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix yet, and then kick back until Elsa gets home. In between this time, Serah continues to tease her about her crush.

It’s been like that for weeks now, ever since Serah stole her phone one day and read the text Kristoff sent to her about Elsa. The subsequent conversation about what a “MILF” was didn’t exactly help things either.

This time, however, is different. Around 7 PM, while they’re watching an episode of American Ninja Warrior, Serah says something that doesn’t sound like a joke.

“She’d say yes, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Anna asks cautiously.

“If you asked my mom out, she’d say yes.”

Unsure of how she’s supposed to react, Anna goes with an uncomfortable snort/laugh, “Wh- stop it. Stop kidding around, that’s…that’s silly.”

Serah shrugs like she didn’t say something crazy, and then she proceeds to say something even crazier, “She talks about you all the time.”

“Well yeah, I mean duh. I’m the babysitter,” Anna says like that’s supposed to be her superhero identity.

“No, she doesn’t talk about babysitting stuff.”

Finally, unable to help her curiosity, Anna asks, “What does she talk about then?”

Of course, she doesn’t get a chance to hear the answer. The front door unlocks and the woman they were just talking about arrives from work. Serah rushes to greet her mom and Anna stays sitting to let them spend their mother-daughter time together. And also because, like usual, she’s trying to figure out how to greet Elsa.

She decides on a cheerful “Hi!” followed by asking how work went; it’s casual and unassuming, but shows she cares about her. With that game plan prepared, she takes a quick breath, stands up, and walks over to the happy, little family.

“Hi!” she says with a practiced wave of her hand, though her voice is a little higher pitched than she’d like it to be.

Elsa’s clearly tired by the look of her, but when she smiles at Anna it feels like she’s genuinely happy to see her. Which of course makes Anna’s stomach do backflips, especially when Elsa walks over to her and gives her a hug. Even after taking off her heels, the exhausted banker still has a couple of inches on her.

“How are you?” she asks with her sweet, caring voice.

Anna tries to ignore the faint, flowery scent of perfume on Elsa’s neck, and the intrusive thought of wanting to hold her until all of Elsa’s troubles melt away. “Doing good,” she finally answers with her voice still an octave too high.

Elsa pulls away far too soon, keeping Anna at arm’s length while the younger woman is trying her best to pretend she doesn’t want to know how those lips would feel against hers. “Well let me write you a check and you can head out.”

What? No! Thinking fast, she replies, “No, you look exhausted. You can just rest, you don’t need to pay me right away.” Which is a lie, she has bills due next week.

“No I’d feel terrible if I let you go empty-handed. Trust me, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Ms. Langford, it’s okay. I’m in no rush tonight. Give yourself a minute to breathe, at least.”

Elsa frowns, but whatever she’s about to say gets interrupted by a long yawn. “Okay fine, if you can give me half an hour, I’ll have your check ready by then.”

“Sounds perfect!” Anna squeaks.

“And again, you don't have to call me Ms. Langford. Elsa’s fine.”

Elsa pats her on the shoulder and walks over to her room, Anna gets a glimpse of it before the door shuts and she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be in Elsa’s room one day. Her shameful thought is interrupted by someone bumping her hip.

She looks down and sees Serah with a smug grin on her face.

“Oh hush,” Anna says.

[Line Break]

Anna hates taking breaks, and she especially hates days off. Not just because that’s one less day she gets to see Elsa, but also because that’s who she is as a person. Days she isn’t working provide zero structure, and she forgets how to be a human being without a structure.

The weekends, then, are a tumultuous time for her. If she doesn’t have pre-made plans with her friends, she’ll spend the days thinking about doing everything, inevitably end up doing nothing, and then dragging herself out of the house to do something.

This particular Saturday, that “something” happens to be grocery shopping. With a list that only has “Eggs?” on it, she ventures through every single aisle, wondering if she could get herself hungry enough to buy whatever she’s currently looking at.

So far, aside from the eggs, there’s only one other thing in her cart. And it’s not even for her.

“Pop-Tarts…I don’t know, they might sound good later.” She reaches to grab a box of the frosted strawberry ones but waves it off at the last second. Maybe the next aisle will have something she thinks absentmindedly as her cart almost hits the person in front of her.

Who somehow happens to be Elsa.

“Hi! Hey! Wow hi!” Anna says while Elsa looks at her like she’s genuinely startled. “H-hey there, Ms. Langford.”

After registering that the person yelling at her isn’t a threat, Elsa smiles. “Anna! It’s so wonderful to see you.” She looks as if she’s going to take a step towards Anna, but changes her mind at the last second.

Unfortunately, Anna took that as a cue to also step forward and didn’t move back fast enough. So now, she’s just standing between both carts like she’s commandeering both. “I-I didn’t know you went grocery shopping. Here, I mean. I’m sure you shop, but like…I live near here. Like five minutes away actually.”

Elsa chuckles, and honestly it sounds like honey-dipped guitar strings. But less sticky, and more sexy. “Well I was in the area dropping Serah off to her karate lesson, so I figured I might as well do some shopping while I wait.”

Right, Serah started her lessons last week. She told Anna that she was super excited about “getting to punch bricks and stuff”. Still unsure if she should move yet, Anna adds, “Well I like this place a lot. It’s like one of my top ten places to be- to go. Maybe top five.”

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind,” Elsa grins like she really is happy to have run into her. She shifts her gaze down and remarks, “Oh, that’s a really nice chopping board.”

Oh. Right. The chopping board’s…still in her cart. Anna lifts it up and holds it like she’s showing off the finest new features in chopping board technology. “Yeah thanks, it’s on sale actually.”

“That’s good news, I’m looking to replace the one we have. I’m tired of scraping plastic off my chicken when I’m cutting it.” Anna knows this, of course, because Elsa’s muttered it to herself every time she’s in the kitchen. “Which aisle did you find that in?”

Forgetting why she has the chopping board in the first place, Anna holds it out and says, “Oh it’s okay, you can just have this one?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you need it?”

Now remembering why she has it, Anna shamefully pulls it away, “Yes. I mean no. No I don’t, I don’t need it. It’s in my cart, but I don’t need it.”

Elsa’s eyes narrow, “I-I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

Well this is happening. And it’ll be even more awkward to explain things if she shows up with the chopping board on Monday. She sighs, finally admitting defeat, “I…I heard you mention you needed a new chopping board, so I wanted to get one for you. This one, actually. This is the one I was going to buy. And then give it to you on Monday.”

Elsa goes from confused to flattered in a second, and much like all of her expressions there’s an inarguable authenticity to it. There’s no exaggerated gasp or a drawn-out “Awww”, instead there’s a smile that could melt a million hearts and a casual touching of Anna’s upper arm.

“I knew I picked a good one,” Elsa says, oblivious to the screaming and fireworks occurring in Anna’s head.

“Ah, i-it’s nothing really. I’m using my paycheck, so in a way you’re buying it yourself haha,” Anna tries to laugh but she squeaks like someone’s just pumped her full of helium.

“Nonetheless, you’ve helped lift so much stress off your shoulders and I want to show how much I appreciate you.” Elsa straightens up a little and looks at the frazzled redhead curiously, “What do you think about coffee?”

“You mean like a coupon?” Anna shakes her head. “I mean a gift card?”

Elsa opens her mouth to respond, but another thought seemingly goes through her head and she purses her lips. A second later, she smiles again, “Yes. Like a gift card. Young people still drink Starbucks, right?”

Anna scoffs, “Ms. Langford, you’re only nine years older than me.”

“And yet you still insist on calling me ‘Ms. Langford’, which always makes me feel much older than I actually am.”

A ton of bricks falls on Anna as she realizes her grave mistake. “Oh my goodness, Ms. La- ah I mean I uh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I mean that wasn’t my intention. You’re young, a-and beautiful, and still in your prime. No you haven’t even reached your prime yet! If I made you feel like you weren’t, I’m-”

She’s silenced by the feel of Elsa’s hand coming to rest on…her shoulder? Well that’s new. And exciting. Anna focuses half of her mind on calming down and the other half on what Elsa’s saying.

“Relax Anna, it was just a joke. You can call me whatever you want.” Though Elsa’s voice is reassuring, her smile has a glint of proud mischief from catching her off-guard. “I’m not about to police my favorite babysitter on what words she can use.”

Anna tries to speak but finds her throat too dry. She clears it and tries again, “Really? I’m your favorite babysitter? You’re not just saying that?”

“I went through far too many babysitters before I found you,” Elsa lets out a breathy laugh, eyes glancing to the side as if she’s remembering back to the years she’d had to find the right fit to take care of Serah. Anna wonders what makes her so different from the others, but thinks that’s too invasive to ask. “You’re the best.”

The casual yet loaded compliments and the feel of Elsa’s fingers so close to her bare skin combine to create a dangerous, stomach-churning reaction in Anna. One that sets all her impulses alight, screaming at her to kiss Elsa.

Before she even has the chance to compose herself, Elsa’s already pulled away and is back by the safety of the handrails on her cart. “Well I think I’ve used up enough of your time this weekend. And besides, I need to find something for dinner tonight. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

Anna blinks, still trying to register things that happened five minutes ago. “Uh yeah, no problem. Sounds great,” she replies without knowing what she’s saying.

Elsa smiles at her and turns the corner, disappearing from direct sight. After an eternity of standing at the end of the aisle like an idiot, Anna groans and covers her face with her hands.

“Stupid,” she mumbles to herself.

[Line Break]

“The evil scientist shouted, ‘This ain’t over, Super Gal! One day-”

Anna presses the buzzer she bought at a dollar store. “There’s no such thing as the word 'ain’t’,” she corrects.

Serah groans, “You’re the worst.”

“You asked a girl with an English degree for help with your story. What did you expect would happen?” Anna taps against the table like an evil villain.

’“I didn’t expect you to not go easy on-”

Anna presses the buzzer again. “Double negative!”

“I’m not even writing!” Serah protests.

“My buzzer, my rules.”

The sound of the front door opening interrupts them bickering like long-lost sisters. Instead of running over to greet Elsa by the door, Serah shouts with exasperation, “Moooom! Anna’s being a jerk!”

“Well that’s what happens when you ask an English major to look over your story, honey,” Elsa replies.

Anna gives Serah a smug grin, the little girl sticks her tongue out in response. Elsa joins them at the dinner table, the tiredness on her face is less concerning tonight but Anna catches her wince when she sits down.

“You okay?” she asks.

Elsa smiles, “Fell off a ladder at work.”

“Oh my gosh, how bad does it hurt? I could-” Anna has to take a pause to let the unhelpful thought of massaging Elsa’s back go away. “-get you some ibuprofen or an ice pack.”

“Thank you, Anna, but I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning once I sleep it off. After all, I’m not even in my prime yet.” Elsa winks at her, and Anna has to pretend her insides haven’t turned to jelly.

“Is this like that time you fell in the bathroom while trying to pull your pants up?” Serah asks.

“Serah!” Elsa hides her face in her hands, though it’s still possible to tell the remorse she feels through her voice. “Why did I even tell you that story?”

Serah feigns innocence and shrugs, “Because I’m your daughter and you like telling me things?”

Elsa sticks her tongue out in response and it’s much cuter than it has any right to be. Unable to help herself, Anna asks, “Are you sure I can’t do anything for you? I mean like with your back…or whatever.”

Elsa rests her head against one of her hands and doesn’t try to hold back the tiredness in her smile this time. “You’re very sweet, Anna, but I’ll be okay. Just need some rest.” She mumbles afterward, “And a vacation…”

Anna lets her mind wander for a second, thinking of what it would feel like to take Elsa somewhere she could unwind. Like to a spa, or a lake. Elsa feels like the kind of person who finds solitude near water. In her mind, she sees Elsa in a baby blue sundress and a wide brim hat, looking out at the crystal clear waters from a creaky, wooden dock. She sees herself walking down the same dock and Elsa turning to her with a smile, holding a hand out and beckoning her to come over.

“What do you think, Anna?”

The wishful thought dissipates, and Anna’s pulled back into reality by a question she’s not ready for. “Sorry, I was uh…thinking of a story idea. What were you guys talking about?”

Thankfully not asking where Anna’s mind was really at, Elsa repeats herself, “Serah was wondering if you wanted to go to her play tomorrow.”

“I’m playing a tree!” Serah says proudly.

This invitation comes as a wonderful surprise. Serah’s been hyping this play up for forever, but Anna always assumed she would want Elsa to be there. “Oh, I…did something happen? Can you not make it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare miss seeing my little girl play the part of Tree #2. But I really-”

Serah clears her throat obnoxiously loud.

“Right. We would really love it if you came. Tickets are free, but they’ll be selling popcorn and soda for $2.”

“You can sit next to my mom!” Serah adds, and her failed blink shows she knows exactly what she’s implying. It feels odd having a ten-year-old be her wing woman, but Anna’s learning to roll with it.

“No pressure, though,” Elsa says while wringing her hands together. “It’s on a Friday night, and I know you might already have plans.”

“I don’t,” Anna responds far too fast.

Elsa’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh. Then do you want to go?”

The chance to sit next to Elsa for an hour in a dark auditorium? Anna would be an idiot to pass that opportunity up. And it isn’t lost on her that it felt like Elsa was about to say she would personally love it if she went.

“Sure, I’d love to go.”

[Line Break]

Far too many questions are still punching Anna in the brain as she pulls into West Arendelle Elementary’s parking lot and walks towards the auditorium. Should she have eaten something beforehand? Is she overdressed? Is she underdressed? Should she have texted Elsa to coordinate outfits? What if this is all some elaborate prank to make fun of her for her stupid mom crush? Did she sweat through her shirt? Is it noticeable?

Her crazy thoughts are interrupted by her phone buzzing. She pulls it out of the back pocket of her jeans and sees it’s a text from Elsa. She’s waiting by the door so they can find some seats together.

Well, that eases her worry about trying to find Elsa in a crowded auditorium. Though crowded might be an understatement. It’s a fourth-grade play, not an opera at The Met.

Once inside, Anna takes a second to admire the impressive renovations of what used to be a musty, old gymnasium (they even put in carpets and sound dampeners). But she’s not here to appraise this place, she’s here to root for her favorite fourth grader/tree and keep the ogling of Elsa to a minimum-

Holy baloney, Elsa’s wearing a dress.

It’s got blue-and-white stripes, short sleeves, and a similar colored waist sash. And instead of her hair being in a tight ponytail, the nearly silver locks fall across her shoulders and down her back.

It’s casual, it’s cute, it’s gorgeous, it’s beautiful, and it’s a stark reminder of how absolutely smitten Anna is.

“I was getting worried you might not show up,” Elsa says with a smile akin to the one she showed off at the grocery store.

Up close, Anna also notices a thin, snowflake necklace around Elsa’s slender neck and she’s already failed in keeping her ogling to a minimum. “You can always trust me to keep my promises, Ms. Langford,” she says with a goofy grin meant to reflect something called confidence.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Elsa responds.

Feeling like she has to mention it, and also because her brain’s still currently fried from seeing an angel, Anna adds, “You look beautifuller. I-I mean not like fuller, I just mean you look more beautiful than usual. Oh gosh, not that you usually look bad because you don’t. You never look bad, you’re-”

Elsa lays a hand on Anna’s shoulder again, which might as well be her reset button. “Anna, do me a favor and take a breath.”

Anna takes a breath.

“Good job. Now let’s go find some seats, okay?”

Anna follows her, too caught up on the feeling of being told she did a good job.

They find a spot at the end of an aisle and close enough to the stage that Serah will be able to find them without looking too hard. Elsa takes the seat on the left, Anna takes the seat on the right. They don’t start talking again right away, not until the conversations all across the auditorium become a blanket of white noise.

And then Elsa lets out a breath, “This feels nice.”

Anna turns to her and notices her eyes are closed, but she still commits to perfect posture so it looks like she’s meditating. “What do you mean?” Anna asks.

“Being…present. Not having to rush to make dinner or beat traffic or anything like that. It feels nice to have a break and just be.”

Anna finds it hard to understand what constitutes this as a break, but then again she isn’t a mother. And she doesn’t know much about what it means to take a break anyway.

Elsa tilts her head like she’s about to rest it on Anna’s shoulder, but instead, she turns to look at her. “Thank you again.”

“For the chopping board?”

“For the chopping board, for taking care of Serah, for being someone I can trust…for everything. It’s hard to- I mean you know it hasn’t been easy for me relationship-wise.”

Anna nods. Learning about Elsa’s divorce and her subsequent failed relationships was a part of why she took this job in the first place. She sympathized with the single mother and knew even then that Elsa could really use someone to have her back too.

“So thank you, for being my…the person I needed through all this. My knight in shining armor.”

The lights haven’t dimmed yet, so she needs to hope the blush on her cheeks isn’t too noticeable. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide, and then says, “Well, outstanding service is the Bizzybee guarantee.” It’s supposed to be a playful joke, but Elsa doesn’t seem to take it as such.

She frowns, “Do you really only see this as a job?”

This is different, but it doesn’t feel like a good different. Elsa doesn’t usually look like she’s staring into her soul, and she hasn’t asked anything this personal since the initial interview. To Anna, the answer is obvious, but she’s also caught up on wondering what answer Elsa wants to hear. If she says the wrong thing, will she lose her job? What’s the right thing to say? When did it get so warm? And is that citrus she smells in Elsa’s hair? Gosh, why is she so weird?

Shrinking further underneath Elsa’s stone-cold curiosity, Anna finally decides to approach this with honesty. “No,” she starts far too softly. “No, I think I would probably do anything for you…r family. You mean a lot to me. Y-you and Serah, I mean.”

She really hopes that doesn’t sound like a confession. The last thing she wants to do is get fired and have to run out of an elementary school auditorium in tears.

A soft, warmth presses against her hand that’s been resting on her seat. Anna looks down and sees Elsa’s hand on top of where hers should be. If this is a dream, then she never wants to wake up.

“Thank you for saying that,” Elsa replies just as softly.

Finally, the lights dim and the principal is on the stage talking about how hard the fourth-graders have worked on this rendition of The Giving Tree. And maybe it means nothing, but Elsa still hasn’t pulled away. Anna pushes away the thought of her own hand being too sweaty, and the notion that this could be a fulfillment of her craziest wish. Right now, she just tries to enjoy the feeling.

Serah turned out to be an excellent Tree #2.

[Line Break]

Next Monday, everything falls apart.

Or at least that’s what it feels like is going to happen when Elsa gets back from work and immediately asks Serah to go to her room so they can talk alone.

Anna’s never seen her this distraught before. Her ponytail is poorly put together, she’s not wearing any makeup, and there’s a coffee stain below her collar. When she asks if she can do anything to help, Elsa’s response is a quick but harsh, “No.”

She stiffens up. “Oh. O-okay, I’m sorry.”

Elsa shakes her head, places her hand on top of one of the kitchen chairs, but then pulls back like it’s hot to the touch. “Could we maybe sit on the couch?”

Right now, Elsa could tell her to cut off her hand and Anna would do it. She nearly trips walking the five feet from the kitchen to the living room couch, and tries to take up the least amount of space as possible when she sits down. Elsa sits on the far side, clutching a pillow to her chest with her mind probably anywhere else but here.

It’s not a good sight, and Anna’s not only worried about the safety of her job, but Elsa’s condition. She purses her lips to keep from saying anything stupid, and hopes this isn’t the horrible nightmare she’s expecting it to be.

Elsa closes her eyes tight, “I’m afraid I have to let you go, Anna.”

Anna completely deflates. Had she not been expecting this, it would have come as a greater shock to her. But when she pushed her luck at the play by trying to hold Elsa’s hand…she knew her days as a babysitter were numbered. “I understand,” she says sadly.

“I don’t think you do,” Elsa replies, quickly turning to look at Anna. Her eyes look like they’re pleading with her, like she doesn’t want to do this. “You were amazing, and I will give you the best endorsement for any job you apply for. But after the play-”

“I know. I was out of line.”

There’s a tense, awkward second of silence where the two women are looking at each other with equal levels of guilt and remorse. Though their reasons are vastly different. Elsa sighs and places the final nail in the coffin, “No, you weren’t.”

…what?

“Anna, I wanted you to hold my hand.”

What?

“You did?” Anna asks, trying her best to curb her optimism. This can’t possibly be going the way she thinks it is.

Elsa nods, “I’m not- well okay, first of all, I don't want to fire you. Serah, she thinks of you as her big sister, and the thought of separating you two tears me up. But this needs to happen because I…having you around…I feel something for you.”

“Feel something?” Maybe someday she’ll be able to say more than two sentences again.

Again, Elsa closes her eyes. A sternness falls on her face which Anna can tell she’s had to use a lot “Say it out loud,” Elsa mutters.

“What’s wrong?”

One agonizing moment later, Elsa reopens her eyes, and the guilt in them has worsened. “I-I’m attracted to you, Anna, and it’s getting to me. Really bad. I can’t sleep without thinking of you, I got a ticket for speeding a couple of weeks ago because I couldn’t wait to get home to you and Serah, and when you held my hand? Gosh, I felt something I never felt with anyone I’ve ever been with. I have feelings for you, and I have to let you go before I do something I might regret.”

She’s not dreaming, Anna knows that for sure because there’s no weird fog around her and Elsa doesn’t have a horse head. Yet she still can’t wrap her mind around the fact that this is happening.

Elsa Langford, the most beautiful mom- hell, the most beautiful woman- she’s ever known has just confessed she has feelings for her.

But she has to know for certain, so she finally musters up the lucidity to ask more than two words. “Do you really mean that?”

Elsa laughs. But it’s not a “gotcha” laugh, it’s a deeply embarrassed, caught-in-the-act laugh Anna’s far too familiar with. “Yes. I like you a lot.”

That’s all the confirmation she needs. With all the social grace of a bowling ball tumbling down the stairs, Anna responds. “I like you a lot too. Like attractively, I-I mean romantically.”

Elsa’s eyes widen, “Really?”

Anna shows off her expertly crafted awkward laugh. “Of course! You’re sweet, caring, and you’re so beautiful I bet a potato sack would look good on you. When I look at you or even think of you, I just see like rainbows and flutes and warm stuff like blankets or bedrooms- I uh, I mean like…soup. It was just a stupid crush at first, but honestly I don’t think I’ve ever felt this strongly for anyone before. Elsa, you’re a dream come true.”

Elsa’s pale complexion makes the redness that appears on her cheeks much brighter and more beautiful than Anna could ever imagine. This magical moment…it’s something she’ll always cherish and will never forget.

“I love the way you say my name,” Elsa says quietly.

“It’s a very pretty name,” Anna adds.

“Gosh, just kiss each other already!” Serah shouts from the hallway.

They talk for another hour. Despite the looming threat of being fired disappearing, Anna still agrees it’s best she stops working for Elsa. There’s now a conflict of interest, and the last thing they want is for either of them to get in trouble. Which means it’s back to job hunting. On the bright side, however, Anna can now come over whenever she wants so Serah will still have her “big sister”.

As for her and Elsa, they both agree to take things slow to make sure they won’t drive each other crazy. In a bad way, obviously. They both have big, stupid crushes on each other, but with Elsa’s track record for relationships and Anna’s overall social awkwardness, it’s clear that attraction will only get them so far. They have to work for this, if this was something to work for. Nonetheless, they remain optimistic and their first date is set for next week.

Elsa just needs to find a babysitter first.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

summertime sadness .3.

first day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (intercourse, oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: You start your new job as you juggle the men in your life.

Note: back at it again with part 3. I'll keep y'all updated about a possible new posting schedule and an announcement regarding Patreon. Apparently writing every day and stressing myself out is not good for my mental health lmao. But I'm enjoying this one and I'm not sure yet if we're gonna be able to stick to 6 parts. Bon appetit. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I'm loving the feedback from y'all and the excitement! You guys are gold. Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You woke to the buzzer. You rolled over and grabbed you phone from the table. Your voice was thick and groggy as you answered it. 

“Hello?” You nearly coughed through your dry throat.

“Delivery,” The monotone response came.

“Okay,” You shook your head confused and hit the button to let him up. 

You dragged yourself from the bed and staggered to the door. You watched through the peephole as the carriers appeared at the top of the stairs. The two men in their brown uniforms carried a large box between them. They knocked once before you managed to unhook the chain and opened the door. 

“Um?” You stared at them confused.

“Delivery for apartment 6,” The man read off his tablet. “Signature?”

He turned it toward you and you read your name across the top. You hadn’t ordered anything. You couldn’t afford to. You signed, still confused, and held the door open for them to drag the box inside. You thanked them and watched them go before you shut the door. You crossed your arms as you stared at the package. You needed coffee.

You brewed your usual morning potion and sipped it slowly as you paced around the box. It took up much of the space you had left. You set your mug down and grabbed your keys to slice through the plastic tape. Within was an instruction booklet and a litany of boards and screws. It was a desk.

Your phone vibrated on your night table and you stood. You grabbed your coffee and sat on the edge of your bed as you opened your phone. 

‘You got your present?’ Steve’s message popped up.

‘You?’ You responded with an O face.

‘Figured you needed something better than that lumpy double,’ He returned and you tutted.

‘Thanks’ You replied with heart eyes.

‘Don’t worry. I ordered the smallest desk I could find.’

‘Still don’t think it will fit.’

‘You should be used to a tight squeeze.’ He kidded and you finished your coffee.

‘Uh huh. Well I guess I gotta day ahead of me, don’t I?’

‘Good luck.’ He sent a winky face alongside the taunt.

You returned a smiley and tossed your phone on the mattress. You stood and sighed as you once more ruminated over the box. Well, a little something to keep your mind off your nerves on your last day of freedom.

💋

You were pressed, preened, and as professional as you could get. Button up blouse patterned with small daisies, blush-toned blazer, and ironed beige pants. In your bag, you had a fresh notebook, your laptop, and about a dozen pens, including the golden on gifted to you. 

You strode through the front doors of the city tower as your nerves jittered in your chest. You hadn’t been there since the workshop. You and the other students had gone on a tour of the offices and your submission earned you a page in the company’s Sceptre Magazine. It also gained you the unexpected offer for this job.

After an elevator ride which seemed to make time stand still, you stepped off into the shining offices of Adder Press. It was just as you recalled only even more intimidating. You approached the receptionist’s desk tentatively and resisted your habit of wringing your hands. The buoyant redhead greeted you with a bubbly smile.

“Hello, you must be the intern,” She chimed.

“Um, yeah, I guess that’s me,” You answered.

“Well, I’m Stacey, I don’t know if you remember me, and you can just head on over to his office. He’s waiting for you.” She clicked something with her mouse and hit the intercom button on her phone. “Mr. Laufeyson, your 8 a.m. is here.”

“Very well,” His voice replied from the speaker.

She nodded for you to you pass her desk and you ducked your head down as you left her. You vaguely recalled the layout of the office. The round desks and the cozy seating all around. You bit the inside of your lip as you wandered cluelessly through the maze of employees who knew what they were doing.

You looked up and a familiar slim figure appeared in the doorway of the office along the back of the immense space. Loki Laufeyson, the editor and owner of Adder Press, greeted you with a handshake as you neared. His green eyes sparkled above his trademark smirk. In your brief introduction, you found he always looked as if he had a secret.

“Good morning,” He let go of you and stepped back to let you into his office. “You’re early.”

“A habit,” You assured him as you entered his roomy office.

“An admirable one,” He followed and passed you as he rounded his desk. “Sit,” He waved to the seat across from him before he took his own. “First, we’ll go over the job and your expectations. Any questions you have…” He checked his watch as he crossed his legs and leaned back. “And then we have a long day ahead of us.”

“Okay,” You said as you cradled your bag in your lap.

“You’ll be shadowing me for the most part. You’ll get an idea of how the business works and everything that goes into publishing.” He explained. “And we’ll get a taste of your editing skills. I’ll hand you a few minor pieces and go from there. Meetings, pitches, and so on.”

You nodded and listened to him as you sat on the edge of the chair. 

“I trust you will attune well. Your article was exceptional and I have no doubt there is a place for you in this business. Literary or otherwise.” He continued. “You are the first intern we’ve had that wasn’t a fourth year. I hope you realise the gravity of this position. Of this opportunity.”

“Of course,” You assured him. “And I’m am grateful for it.”

He tilted his head and squinted at you as he thought. He sat forward and smiled again. 

“Well then, we should get started. I’ll show you your desk before we attend the morning meeting. Then you can sit in on my next. The board must select the winners of the contest for our Pride Issue of Sceptre, among other significant decisions.” He stood and tapped his desk with two fingers. “Tomorrow, we’ll deal with the marketing side of things. Just as important as the content itself.”

“Alright,” You rose, excited though too nervous to show it.

He seemed amused and turned to guide you out of his office. Your stomach flipped a second time that day and you swallowed down the storm. You had to keep reminding yourself that this was what you wanted. An actual dream come true.

💋

Your first week flew by. The workload kept you busy and your desk was quickly cluttered from it; both at work and at home. Your nights were late and mornings early. The true university experience but not for the usual reasons, though it was just as thrilling as any party.

To your surprise, Loki was an accommodating boss; in his own way. His expectations were clear but not easily met. His standards fueled you; encouraged you to fight harder to meet them. And when you didn’t, he wasn’t disappointed; rather encouraging in his singular discerning manner. That he did expect so much of you, was flattering on its own. 

And your first edited piece, a quarter page review, had passed his grueling rounds of criticism. You couldn’t help but beam as he read over your final submission and uttered that single word, ‘adequate’. He looked up from his screen and across his desk. “It’ll print.”

You were still smiling as you walked out onto the street. You took out your phone, long ignored for your work. The screen was filled with notifications. Both Steve and Bucky sent identical messages; ‘How was your first week?’

You answered Steve first. ‘It was good. I think I’m getting the hang of it.’

Then Bucky. ‘Great! I’m learning so much.’

‘Awesome. Facetime tonight?’ Steve replied and you accepted the invitation.

‘Have you eaten?’ Bucky’s text popped up.

‘Not yet.’ You answered.

‘You still downtown?’ He asked. Another confirmation sent.

‘I’m at the Beer Garden. My treat. They have amazing tacos.’

‘Ten minutes,’ You promised and opened up your Maps.

When you got there, Bucky was waiting. A pitcher sat before him and two glasses; one empty, the other half-finished. You neared and set your bag on one of the tall chairs as you climbed up on another.

“Hey,” You greeted. “Didn’t think I’d ever be here again.”

“Why not? Good beer, good food,” He poured you glass as he spoke. “Good men.”

“Sure, sure,” You laughed as he set the pint before you. “So, how are classes?”

“Ugh, can we not?” He grumbled. “I didn’t come here to think about school.”

“Only to get me tipsy, eh?” You sip from the foamy stout.

“It never takes very much,” He grinned. “And I figured, we could take a walk after. There’s a nice little bookshop down the street.”

“Books? So this night will be worth it after all?” You kidded.

“Free food,” He reminded as he slid a menu over to you.

“I can get food at home, cozy in my bed with a good doc on my laptop,” You chided. “But new books? That’s better than--”

“Sex?” He ventured coyly.

“Almost.” You answered as you lifted the menu. “Though the more I think about it, free food might just change my mind.”

💋

Your stroll to the bookshop led you past Adder Press once more. It was a small nook between a cafe and a foreclosed business. As you entered a bell chimed and the smell of aged paper filled your nostrils. The walls were lined with shelves and small desk sat along the left side of the store. Books; used, new, rare, surrounded you.

You followed Bucky to the back of the shop and perused the non-fiction section as he looked over the military memoirs. The shelves between you and the front of the store blocked the view of the street through the wide bay window. It seemed darker back there; quiet.

As you scanned the back of a book on the old studio system in Hollywood, you felt a tickle along your side. Bucky’s hand gripped your hip as he turned you and slowly edged you back against the shelf. He glanced towards the front desk but cared little as he leaned in. He took the book with his other hand and blindly put it aside.

“Long week,” He purred.

“It was,” You said. “But I think you can wait a little longer.” You patted his chest and tried to push him away. “Maybe until we’re somewhere more...private.”

“Ah come on, have a little fun, miss priss,” He rubbed his nose against yours. “Just a kiss.”

He pressed his lips to your and you squirmed. You kissed him back as he trapped you in the corner. His arms wrapped around you and he slid along the shelves. Several books fell behind you noisily and he pulled away at last. You sneered and bent to pick them up as the cashier craned to look around the shelves.

“Sorry,” You waved to him as you gather the books. “Clumsy.”

You put them back on the shelves as you stood and Bucky watched you with a smirk. You growled and grabbed his arm. 

“Fine, let’s go,” You snarled.

“You want that book, baby?” He teased as you dragged him back down the aisle.

“I want sleep,” You said. “And the quicker we’re out of here, the quicker I get my wish.”

He chuckled as you shoved him out onto the street. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You insisted.

“Sure,” He slung his arm over his shoulder and led you back down the street. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find a way to cheer you up.”

💋

Bucky had never been to your apartment before. You always met at his; it was bigger, cozier, and less stressful. When he pulled up to your building, he killed the engine but you didn’t say anything as he followed. Surely he knew a student couldn’t afford a condo.

When you showed him into your meagre flat, he glanced around and smiled. “Quaint.”

“Affordable,” You said as you set your bag on the chair. 

“Cute.” He commented as he neared your desk.

“New addition,” You explained. “Steve sent it last week.”

“Of course he did,” He mused. “Always practical, isn’t he? Well, in most things.”

“Mmm,” You grumbled and took off your blazer. “I suppose.”

“Did you send him a pic?” He asked and you lifted a brow. “Of the desk?”

“No,” You said. 

“Well, why don’t you?” He winked. “We can do a little photo shoot for him.”

“I don’t think so,” You scoffed.

“For me too,” He said. “Sexy school girl. Classic.”

“Stop,” You neared him as he pulled out his phone and tried to take it from him. “Or I’m gonna send you home early.”

“Take your clothes off,” He held his phone above you. “Come on.”

“No,” You squealed. “Now put that away.”

“You can keep your panties on,” He bartered. “Just give a smile.”

“Bucky…”

“Hey, if it’s gonna be another week, I need something to keep me from getting lonely.” He argued. 

You stepped back and stared up at him. You sucked your lip in and nibbled on it.

“You’re thinking about it,” He said. “I know that look.”

“One photo. That’s it.” You sighed and unbuttoned your blouse. “And it stays between you and Steve.”

“You have my word,” He grinned.

He watched you undress until you were in nothing but your bra and panties. You went to the desk and stood in front of it stiffly. You smiled. “Okay?”

“I said panties,” He intoned. “Nothing about your bra.”

You frowned and swiftly unhooked your bra and tossed it aside. 

“Up,” He gestured with his hand as he held his phone up. 

You pushed aside the chair and turned to clear a spot for you to sit before you climbed up awkwardly. You turned back to him and leaned on your hands.

“Stick your chest out a little,” He directed. “Good, and cross your legs. Mmm, yes. Like that.” He hit capture and lowered his phone. “Wow.”

“What?” You leapt down and scrambled over to him. “I must look awful.”

“You look… hot,” He growled the last word. “Fuck. Get those panties off while I send this to Steve.” He rubbed his crotch as he flicked his thumb over his screen. “I can’t wait much longer.”

You rolled your panties down your legs as you turned away from him. You heard him set his phone down as you neared the bed. 

“No, I want you back on that desk,” He said. “Now.” You spun back and put your hands on your hips. He shook his head in warning. “You know what happens to bad girls.” He warned.

You strutted over to the desk as he pulled his shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes as he slowly closed in on you. He stripped deliberately until he was before you, naked and hard. You stared up at him and he lifted you up onto the desk. He pushed your knees apart and stepped between your legs.

“Do you remember that first time? On my desk? Hmm?” He inhaled your scent as he dragged his nose along your cheek. “I’ve been thinking about that all week.”

“Oh yeah,” You breathed as you felt along his sides and around his broad back. “Do you think about me when you teach?”

“Always,” He snarled. “I think about fucking you, front and centre, right in front of everyone.”

“Really?” His lips tickled your temple as he plied kisses one at a time. You leaned back and bared your throat.

“You know, what I really want,” He nuzzled your neck as he spoke. “I want you under my desk as I mark… help keep me focused.”

“Oh?” You moaned as his fingers inched along your stomach. “When do you mark?”

“Whenever you’re free, baby,” He nibbled at your skin between words.

“Tomorrow?” You felt long his thigh and brushed your fingertips along his sac. He shivered.

“Tomorrow.” He gulped as you gripped him. “Meet me at my office.”

“Mmm,” You pulled him close as rubbed his tip along your folds. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight,” He lifted his head as you guided him to your entrance. “Tonight I’m gonna fuck you till you scream.”

He pushed into you and you gasped. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, hungry for him. Each time he thrust, the desk wobbled and clattered against the wall. You clawed at his back as you curled your pelvis towards him, longing to take every inch of him. You moaned and locked your legs around his ass.

“Make me scream,” You taunted.

He grunted and plunged into you harder. You were at the edge of the desk, entirely at his mercy. He pushed his hand between your bodies and pressed his thumb to your clit. He rubbed you roughly, painfully almost, yet the thrill of it was delicious. Your moans grew louder and louder.

He reached back with one hand and tore your arm from around him. Your other arm slipped as he pushed you onto your back and pulled your ass over the edge of the desk. Your grasped onto the desk above your head as he crashed into you. Your body jerked across the painted white wood and you gritted your teeth as your voice rose.

“Come on, baby,” He rutted into you, harder and harder. “Come on.” He hissed as his thumb worked your clit. “Scream.” 

He impaled you entirely and you obeyed. He wrenched your orgasm from you and your legs quivered around him as you shrieked. Your head lolled and you covered his hand with yours as his thumb kept its motion. When it stopped, he dug his fingers into your hips and began to thrust again.

His own climax was barely smothered as he hung his head back and bit down on his lip. He pulled out and his cum spilled onto your vee and dripped down your cunt. You gulped and gasped as you tried to catch your breath and he lowered your legs back to the floor. Your sat up as his cum cooled along your thigh.

“You still mad, baby?” He asked as he framed your face with his hands. 

You pulled his hands away and placed them on your tits. “You still have some work to do.”

[ilkkawhat]

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Nick Stokes & Cassie McBride, Nick Stokes & Sara Sidle Characters: Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Cassie McBride Word Count: 3,059 Additional Tags: Angst, Episode: s06e05 Gum Drops, Rescue, Father-Daughter Relationship, Adoption, Possible new fic series??? who knows it's 2021 anything can happen Summary: A brief dive into Nick's feelings surrounding Cassie's rescue, and what may have happened to her afterwards.

read on ao3

“Let me out.” 

He couldn’t say the words at the time. Could only choke out a literal cry for help, though there were plenty of words that his brain was firing—and missing—but those three words in particular were just some of the few pleading thoughts he had while he was still enclosed in a glass coffin—one that was ready to collapse at any given second—why didn’t they see that? Why did they all stand on top of it? Why didn’t they open it immediately just to give him some air, just brush the damn ants off, no extinguisher needed.

He didn’t understand why it took so long to get him out. 

To rescue him. 

Maybe it’s cause that’s not what they do. They never really get to, always showing up when the rescue fails.

Or when it never arrives in the first place.

So they don’t really know how to rescue someone. Scramble around because they’re used to placing evidence markers and taking pictures, and unless it’s raining there’s really no rush because well, what’s the need?

And it hadn’t been known to him at the time that they were indeed aware the fan was going to die, that he was going to run out of air—he could only hope the desperation in his screams would tell them that, the ignored cry for help as they all left the hole, left him. 

Did they just assume because the unearthed the coffin that he would suddenly be able to breathe even with the condensing, scratched kept closed? Figure, “we still have another hour or so until the air runs out entirely , maybe even more since he’s not actively breathing.”

He didn’t understand their odd sort of...patience with the situation. Even Grissom took the time to calm him down before the lid was opened. 

His patience, however, in this rescue mission he’s taken upon himself despite Sara’s warnings, her doubt that it may not have a happy ending; is completely gone.

He’s not had any sleep since they started the case. Granted, he’s not had much sleep at all in the past five months but his senses are as sharp as ever, his eyes hyper focused looking for anything that doesn’t belong in the lake’s waters or forested banks. 

Like the body of a little girl.

Or more gum drops.

He almost thinks he sees a trail of them floating in the disturbed water as they pass through, beacons of lights waving over—though he feels like he’s doing a better job than the supposed actual patrolman operating the boat. He’s waving his flashlight all around him, while theirs seems to remain still. 

Then again, he’s the one acting like he’s going to “rescue a person, not recover a body.”

Yes, he knows that’s not usually the case.

He remembers being on the other end of that ray of light searching for a lost soul, remembers how close he was to losing his life, hanging by a last thread that was about to snap—how that light was really a rescue in itself in the darkness that entrapped him. His only light had been shot out to keep himself alive, only a dim green glow to remind him where he was. 

Sara’s words continue to echo, their conversation playing on a loop as that small part of his brain tries to convince him not to get his hopes too high.

But luckily, he proves himself wrong.

“Stop the boat,” Nick commands, his light shining on another fragile thread, one he hopes is not already broken.

“Stop the boat,” he repeats as he throws off his hat to get full view, tossing it aside and nervously gripping the flashlight in his hand. His heart hasn’t raced this fast since it nearly burst in the box.

“Let me out,” he echoes, but it’s not a broken plea. It’s a determined one. He’s not even going to wait for the boat to stop, his legs are itching to run to the pair he sees sticking out between the branches. A pair of shoes small enough for a ten year old girl.

“Let me out,” he says again but he doesn’t wait for any sort of response, nor was he asking for one. If anything, it was for himself. The permission to take the plunge as he jumps out of the boat, not even caring if the water is still deep. He runs as fast as he can through the water and as he approaches his heart soars before it shatters when his light shines onto what he immediately assumes is a corpse. 

There’s a slice on her neck, the classic slit of the throat that would kill anybody within seconds.

Her skin is pale, far too pale to still be alive though sure, it’s cold enough that his own skin is paling too, even more than that, it’s shaking. Is she shaking as his fingers press against her skin, or is it just him?

There’s still a pulse. It’s weak, it’s fading, but it’s there. Or is it the pulse that’s beating out of his own fingers?

There’s still rope around her wrists. Why would she leave it on?

There’s still a piece of gum in her hand, the final breadcrumb that she wasn’t able to put down because this is her resting place. Her premature grave.

But there’s still life in her yet, because like Nick, she’s a survivor. 

And she’s being rescued. 

“Hang on, baby,” he whispers as his soaked hand strokes her dry, matted hair. “I got you. You’re going to be okay.”

He hears the patrol call for the paramedics. They attempt to move her but Nick advises against it. 

At least, not immediately. 

And this is the part he hates the most, that he hated the most when he was the victim. 

Click. Flash. 

The picture of the living dead girl, another for the red room of his own photography of death and violence that haunts his dreams.

He mentally places it next to the picture of himself that he accidentally saw in Grissom’s office one day. 

A morbid sense of hope washes over him; if he was rescued from a horrific crime and has been able to go back to his job—back to his life, there’s hope for Cassie, too. 

Right?

The paramedics were not too far behind, and he had almost hoped that the flash from the camera may have shocked Cassie back to a full state of being. Crying and in deliriously tremendous shock, maybe, like he was when he was rescued; but in the same way as a baby cries when its born, it would be a comforting sign of life while this, right here is just...tragic? Hopeless? Despair? 

He doesn’t know what he really expected, as this rescue is less triumphant than he thought it would be after everything that led to this moment. It feels more...depressing, like they’re still somehow too late. Perhaps it’s due to how he seems to be the only one driven enough, how there was almost a suffocating amount of people crowding his scene. 

Cassie, on the other hand, has nobody.

Nobody but him.

He rides back with her, holding that same hand still clutching her last candied beacon of hope and he can’t tell if it’s still water dripping off of his face, or if tears are streaming as he remembers how his hand was held, how his family—both blood and found—were there for him. How they comforted him. Soothed him. Reassured him that this would never happen again. 

Kept telling him that he wasn’t actually dead.

He texts Sara and Greg, tells them he got her. Being the lead on the case, he instructs them on what to do yet somehow, he feels like he’s lost that role having abandoned them for his own selfish savior complex. 

They still do what he asks anyway.

When they get to the hospital, he’s turned away, because he’s not family. He’s shaking but not just from the cold of his wet clothes slapping against his skin, but from the anger as he lashes out, telling them she doesn’t have any, not anymore, and she needs someone. They express their “sympathy” but the best they agree to is calling him when she’s out of surgery.

He makes more calls, wondering who can be there for her, is there any family left? 

There’s not. 

Sara brings him a new change of clothes. Fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie that he packed for the nights. He’s glad she chose that, as he hunches over in the waiting room. 

“She’s got nobody, Sar,” he sniffles, rubbing his hands together. Even the fourth cup of coffee still hasn’t warmed him up. “Who’s...Who’s gonna take care of this little girl?”

“You know what’s going to happen,” Sara sighs. “She’ll end up in the system.”

“Is it...is it bad?” he dares to ask, knowing he’s crossing a line, he doesn’t meet her eyes when he asks it. Just stares into the swirling black sea between his hands.

“Is what bad?” she puts a hand on his back, sliding up and down beneath the hood. 

“The...the adoption system. Just bein’...passed around like that. Thrown into an already established family, not sure if you’re gonna…”

“Fit in?”

Nick nods.

“It’s...it’s not easy. Doesn’t always happen right away, and when it does, it can...it can be a gamble. You know that well enough from the things we see.”

“Yeah,” he nods into his chest. 

They sit in silence for few more minutes.

“You don’t hafta be here, ya know,” he shrugs. “G’s already halfway back to Vegas.”

“I know.”

“A-And Grissom’s flight probably landed, he might have more cases to assign.”

“I’m not the only CSI he’s got,” Sara smirks. 

“Gonna be a while till she gets outta surgery, so they tell me at least.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“Nah,” he pulls a face. “I just...I hope you’re not doing this cause…”

“Go on, say it. Cause I feel guilty?”

“That’s...not...but sort of…” he mumbles.

“I don’t feel...guilty. It feels good to have found her alive. I didn’t want her to be dead, Nick.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“And I don’t want you to...to be so hurt every time something like this...happens. You’ve changed, Nick and I can’t...I don’t know if it’s necessarily for the better.”

He finally meets her eyes. His face pale, wet and weary. Dark circles under his eyes that he typically conceals with a light coating of makeup, cause he knows people will just worry. His hair’s dried now, sticking up in all directions. 

Anybody would think, and the patrons of the hospital most certainly do at this point, and even Sara seems to think that he’s nothing more than a broken mess.

He’s not. 

“I think it is,” he tells her in a surge of confidence in his voice.

He expects her to be mad.

Instead, she smiles at him with pride. 

“Well...seems like you might be right. I know this case kind of...got under our skins a bit but...I think you did a good job,” Sara tells him, and with a final press to his shoulder to keep him grounded and humble, she walks away, knowing before he even tells her what he’s about to do as she passes by a father walking with a small girl through the entrance to the hospital.

That’s when his mind is made up and he makes more calls, talks to more people including the child services agent assigned to Cassie’s case. He finishes paperwork for the case file, and for an application. He knows it’s going to take time to get approved, just as its going to take time for Cassie to recover enough for him to even...ask her if that’s something she would...want. 

And that’s when the doubts sink in, what if she doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want him? She doesn’t even know him, all he is to her is the guy that found her. And he would understand better than anybody else the mistrust in strangers. And even if he’s a member of law enforcement, a public servant, somebody you’re supposed to be able to trust, what if he would just...mess it all up? Would it even work with his schedule? Unless he started taking more time off, he supposes. Less voluntary overtime—though Ecklie’s trying to cut down on that anyway. 

The fears don’t settle, even with all the votes of confidence he receives from nearly everybody who accounts for him as a person worthy of being a father. 

But more than that, he’s afraid of being a replacement to her, instead of what he really hopes to be; a connection. 

And when he gets the card that she hand-draws for him, that fear goes away.

He doesn’t get to see her right away after the surgery, but the minute visiting hours open up again, he walks to the room with a case file in hand. He does his best to keep himself together, but shows the cracks as he can’t hide his empathy for her pain, though he doesn’t allow himself to fully cry and make her feel even worse. 

Instead, he does what he’s always done best, and listens to her. Holds her arm and keeps her grounded, too, and she gets more and more confident as she continues to talk—though some parts are harder than others. 

“You’re doing great, sweetheart, go on,” he encourages her with a smile. 

They take breaks for her to rest her vocal chords. When her voice goes out, she uses the notepad and he waits patiently, letting her lead their conversation.

She’s just as smart as Nick expected, asking her own questions and discussing the pictures of evidence in the folder. While he’s never quite been a teacher, she’s the best student he’s ever had.

When the story is done, she loses composure and he sits on the edge of the bed, hugging her as her fists ball the sweatshirt stained with tears. 

“You are so brave, Cassie. You are the bravest little girl I’ve ever met,” he comforts her, silent tears streaming down his own face and falling into the same dry, matted hair as they did before. 

She doesn’t say much after that, but when she calms down enough and visiting time comes to an end, she asks one final question that he knew was coming, yet was still unprepared for.

She can’t even say the words. Writes it on another page in the notebook.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” 

He still doesn’t know if he was the right person to answer this question, if this was something that her counselor should answer but he’s both too excited and too anxious to keep waiting.

“Well, honey, you’re...you’ll be going with Ms. Nancy, you met her, she’s going to take you to a place that’s...that’s like a hotel, u-until you can find a new family…” He doesn’t feel confident in his explanation, winces in expecting her to lash out, “I don’t want a new family!” which is exactly what he reads on her face as the crayon rolls from her hand.

“And I...sort of threw my name into the hat, that you could come stay with me, but only if you wanta—”

“I’d like that,” she nods, and smiles.

“Really?”

She nods again more fervently.

“I wanted to keep it a surprise,” a voice startles Nick, the aforementioned counselor he had been consulting with enters the room with a wide smile on her face. “Before you came by, I had a moment with Cassie and discussed it. There’s still some hurdles of paperwork to go through, but by the time she’s out of the hospital, she can go to her new home. With you.”

“That’s...That’s wonderful,” he cries, quickly wiping his tears but they don’t stop coming, especially not when Cassie reaches for his wrist and pulls him back to the bed, reaching out in the same way he reached out to his own surrogate father when he was brought back from the brink of despair. 

That’s what he wanted to happen, at least.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” 

It’s the same question he asked himself when he woke up in the hospital in the restrained trance, tied up in tubes and wires, fearful that he would never return to his life as it was before—and in a way, he never would. There’s pieces of Nick that are still buried, just as there are pieces of Cassie dropped along the trail of gum.

“I don’t know,” he tearfully admits. His application was still in process. The child services counselor, while holding respect for him did seem to kind of...judge him for being so desperate about this. Suspicious, even. He knows everybody would attest to his character but knows that he’s still bogged down with a lot of baggage, no matter how well he’s doing on his journey through this life.

He’s uncertain of the future, both his and Cassie’s, but one thing he is certain of—

“No matter what happens,” he holds her arm again, uses his other hand to brush the hair out of her face, cup her cheek. “Where you go, who you end up with, I will always be there for you, okay? You can call me anytime you need—”

He digs out his own card, not hand drawn and just adorned with his job title and phone number, and knows it’s not much to offer to someone who’s just lost everything, but knows the weight of what he does offer, in two words that he once vowed to his own savior.

“I promise.”

Cassie may not understand all of what’s going on between the shock and her inexperienced age, but she does seem to understand what a promise is, and what a promise means. 

She puts her hand on top of Nick’s, and even though she’s said it before in writing, she says it again out loud with the biggest show of strength he’s seen in any survivor, not even in himself.

“Thank you.”

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act 1 - Part 4

The Game Night

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: Game night with your cast and crew turns into a silent game of cat and mouse between you and Chris.

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual connotations, drunken silliness

Notes: This one was a fun challenge for me. Wanted to make sure there was a decent amount of conflict, but it was hard cos I am the queen of avoiding drama IRL; literally don’t know how that shit starts lol. Enjoy! Read the previous part here and check out the moodboard + music here.

Lush, autumnal trees that have yet to drop their leaves become more abundant and houses fit for large families grow farther apart as your Uber takes you from the bustling Boston city into the neighboring suburbs. Over the last few weeks, between staying with your sister in her Boston brownstone and filming on location on Harvard’s campus, you’ve become familiar with the urban terrain. You’re looking forward to the slowness of the suburbs, even if it’s just for an evening. It’s an experience you missed since being on tour non-stop. Always in an airport, then some large city, then on stage, in front of thousands. The quiet of the suburbs had evaded you the past few years, so you welcomed it with open arms.

“Whatcha got back there?” You had hoped having your earbuds in would keep talking at bay, but Charlie, the older gentleman driving your Uber, had other plans. The stress of his vowels lets you know he’s Boston born and bred. “I won’t say it smells bad, just… interesting!” 

In the backseat with you are a ton of old, dusty games you borrowed from your sister, but no matter how musky, you know he’s talking about the aromatic platters of food. “Oh, it’s um, samosas.”

“Orange juice and bubbly got the cah smelling like that?!”

You giggle slightly at his misunderstanding, “Not MImosa; SAmosa. Here, try one.” You hand Charlie a fried savory pastry.

He screws his face at it, the sight obviously foreign to him. “What is it?”

“It’s a fried pastry with some really flavorful potatoes and peas on the inside. Go on! You’ll love it!”

Charlie takes a tentative bite, then widens his eyes as the food hits his palate. You both begin to nod at each other slowly, knowingly.

“Good right?”

“So good! Where’d you get this?”

“From the Indian place on Columbia.”

“Oh I know that place! Pass it all the time, never go in. Smells weird.”

“It doesn’t smell weird; it’s just different to you. But now that I’ve introduced you to something on the menu, it won’t be so foreign to you, now will it?”

“You know what, you’re right! Next time I pass by, I’ll order me some, um, what’s this called again?”

“Samosa.”

“Yeah, samosa. Thanks miss!”

“No problem.” You love introducing others as well as yourself to new cultures, part of the reason you don’t mind being on the road so much.

“Wanna know something? My Ma has a restaurant on Columbia, too.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?” You ready your phone to look it up, but Charlie is already handing you a takeout menu. “Thanks. ‘L'amore Della Madre’. Mother’s Love?”

“Sì! Puoi parlare Italiano?”

“No, at all. I can read a little if I go slow and the words are short, but that’s just about it.”

“Well if you come by, tell ‘em Charlie sent you, and you’ll get free Italian lessons!”

“Really?”

“No, but they’ll treat you like family and you’ll learn all the bad words you’ll ever need to know.” You both laugh as you pull up to a gate with a call box. You tell Charlie the passcode to let you through —‘Harvard Hottie’, to which he quirks his brow at you through the rear view mirror.

“My friend thinks very highly of himself,” you laugh as you think about how excited Scott was to make that the passcode. He’s been highly excited in general about having some of cast and crew over for game night, insisting it was a great way to bond and team build.

“Your friend has got some money, huh?” Charlie remarks as he drives the stretch of winding road along a sizable amount of land before there’s a grand but understated farmhouse in view. Yeah, I guess so. Scott is living well. Good for him.

The car parks in front of the house, and you bid farewell to Charlie, gifting him another samosa for the road. “Thanks sweetheart, and I’ll see you at Ma’s sometime soon, yeah? We’ll get you set up with a nice Italian boy, ok?”

What is with everyone and setting me up?? “Least of my worries, Charlie. Least of my worries.” You collect your cumbersome party offerings and head for the door, then ring the doorbell with your pinky, as it’s the only appendage you can get free. As you struggle to balance the things in your hand, the door opens. You have a nervous smile ready to greet whatever familiar face that will be on the other side of the door, but it fades into a nervous confused expression as you take in the unexpected, but familiar face opposite yours.

There you are: dumbfounded and face to face with the one person you dutifully have not thought about or seen in the last few weeks since New York. Chris stands across the threshold looking widely at you, just as you are at him. You stare at each other for a few more seconds before you fumble with the stuff in your hands, Chris catching them effortlessly.

“Woah there, I’ll get those for you.”

“No, it’s ok.” The two of you do an awkward little dance trying to keep the things from falling. Just then, Scott comes from another room to greet you, but is met with the sight of you and Chris, each holding a little bit of everything, and one another, in order to keep the things between your bodies from hitting the floor. Scott can’t help but smirk at the two of you before coming over to help some of the things out of your hands. He’s quick to leave you alone with Chris, disappearing around a corner.

“Um… it’s good to see you again…”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice. SCOTT! Can I talk to you a moment?” you say as you go in the direction Scott disappeared in. You’re brought to a large, homey kitchen. You take in the simplistic decor, modern but rustic design and clean state of it. Scott was at the counter, already digging into the samosas and looking through your tattered game selection.

“I thought you said this was a cast and crew get together. What’s your brother doing here?”

“Well, I'm staying with him while we’re filming; couldn’t just kick him out of his own house! Besides, he hosts a WICKED game night and offered to help.”

“What’s with y’all Bostonians and ‘wicked’? Like, who the hell actually says that?”

“Plus I figured you guys hit off ‘cos he only asked me about a million times if you were coming…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Knowing you couldn’t badmouth your costar and new friend’s brother, even if he had done so about you, you were careful with your answer.

“Look, I know what you and Mackie are up to and you gotta stop.”

“What EVER do you mean?”

You clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. “You know what I mean! Stop trying to set me up with your brother, or anyone for that matter. I need to focus on our film, ok?”

“Hey, is everything ok?” Chris comes to check on you and Scott.

“Yep, everything’s everything!” Scott turns to you, “I’m gonna go let everyone know you're here and that we’ll be starting in a few.” Scott excuses himself with a wink at you.You and Chris stand a few apart, stiff as rods. This literally couldn’t get more uncomfortable.

Thinking that if you gave Jimi the coffee and flowers, and focused on your work, you could magically disappear Chris from existence. You let yourself believe that you’d *unrealistically* never see him again, while Chris made sure that wouldn’t be the case. When he didn’t get a response for his green room gift, he knew he’d have to apologize in person, but he didn’t think too much about what he'd say.

Chris breaks the silence. “Soo, how’s filming going?”

You look at him, head tilted, eyes squinted, nose scrunched. Really? That’s what you’ve got to say to me right now?

“Right… that was—  listen, I—“

“Where’s your bathroom?” you interrupt him.

“Uh, down that hall to the left.”

“Thanks.” You briskly make your way there and whip out your phone. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Chris face palming himself. As soon as you’re in the bathroom, you FaceTime Jimi.

“Hey hun! What’s up?”

“Girl, he’s here!” Your voice is panicked.

“Use more descriptive words honey. Who is where?”

“Chris is here at the game night!”

“Ooookay… and that’s a problem because...”

“Because he’s gonna ask me why I didn’t respond to his apology gift and I’m gonna say what? ‘Cos it was lame attempt after you grossly offended me after playing nice in my face all night. Like dude, I thought we vibed!’” You catch your breath before you start again. “Jimi, I may act like I want the smoke, but I really don’t! What do I do?”

“First off, take a chill pill. Secondly, just steer clear, and be neutral. Play nice, but don’t get too friendly. No need to make this bigger than it is.”

You exhale at your friend’s rationality. “Ok. Ok, I can do that!”

“Yeah you can! I have faith in you! Now, leave me alone until tomorrow, I’m catching up on Insecure and this ice cream is NOT gonna finish itself. Love you, bye!” You hang up with Jimi, and repeat “steer clear, be neutral, play nice, not friendly” as a mantra, while opening your messages. You text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10pm. She offered since she knew you’d be drinking and said she didn’t want her “drunk, famous little sister in an Uber at night. They might hold you for ransom!” Simultaneously annoyed and endeared by her concern, you accepted her offer. She replies affirmatively.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, you poke your head out, checking to see that the coast is clear of Chris. When you find that it is, you step out and exhale.

“Hey.”

“OH SHIT!” You jump at the sound of Chris’ voice behind you, clutching your imaginary pearls.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles a bit, but stops as you side eye him. She's not gonna make this easy. He clears his throat. “Um, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few—“

“Hey Kid! Scott said you were here!” Mackie pulls you in for a hug. You hadn’t seen each other all week because you hadn’t shared scenes with him. “What’s up with ya?”

“Oh ya know… same old, same old,” you say with a shrug. You look over to Chris who's rubbing his neck.

“Hey!! Party in the hallway!” Ansel joins the three of you in the hallway already a little tipsy. “What are parlaying about?”

“Not how you use that word.” Ansel boops your nose as the hallway fills with a couple more people, and you were never more grateful for your overly personable, slightly invasive film family. You squeeze out of the “hallway party” towards the living room, relieved to have escaped interaction with Chris, but unsure of if you would be so lucky the rest of the night. 

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

The group of about 30 cast and crew members congragate in the living room and are split into 2 teams: Team 1 In A Million and Team A-fucking-mazing. Team 1 In A Million includes you, Scott, and Jaden while Team A-fucking-mazing has Mackie, Ansel and your director, Sonya.

“Wait, we only have 14, they have 15!” Mackie complains.

“No need to whine, Mackie. Chris, I know you were gonna hang back some tonight, but you mind joining their team?” Scott gestures to the opposite team and Chris reluctantly joins them. He sits with his team on the end of the sofa across from you. He’s dressed like the big brother of a fraternity: cap on backwards that pulls his hair away from his crystal blue eyes, too tight t-shirt that show off his bulging biceps, basic jeans that accentuate his long legs, and a plain pair of color coordinated Nike’s, a size who knows, you just notice how big they are, and quite frankly, you find it all… mouth-watering. He offers you a shy smile and shrug, but you look away before you could melt and forget why you’re icing him in the first place. Chris just sighs to himself.

The games get under way, drinks and conversation are flowing, while both teams compete in a series of minute-to-win-it games. You forget about Chris long enough to have some real fun. Not really one for smack talk, though you love healthy competition, on-the-spot made-up cheers to hype up your teammates is your specialty. Every once in a while, you’ll look up mid-smile or laughter and catch Chris looking and smiling at you. Your expression immediately resolves into a neutral one, and Chris’ heart sinks every time.

“This next one is called ‘Blow Ball’.” Scott announces.

“That’s what she said,” Jaden jokes, and you just shake your head, barely laughing.

“Thank you for that, Jaden. When the timer starts, each player must use only their breath to blow the 73 blue ping pong balls off the pizza tray, while at the same time keep the 3 yellow ping pong balls on the tray. Any questions?”

Jaden raises his hand. “So you’re saying the players have to blow on the blue balls until they get off?” Chris does his classic, boisterous belly laugh, and you’re inclined to smile and sigh to yourself. I forgot how good that sounds.

“You’re exhausting, Jaden. Ok teams, pick your representatives!” After some deliberation, you’re chosen to go for your team, insisting you had the best breath control. You turn from your huddle to see who your opponent is. Of. Fucking. Course.

“May the best player win,” Chris offers his hand to you to shake.

“I intend to,” you reply, slapping his hand away and the group erupts in instigating chorus of “ooo’s”. There’s even a “you gone take that Cap?!” from Mackie. Under normal circumstances, Chris would’ve found your cockiness cute, attractive even. But seeing as you snubbed his apology, have been avoiding him all night, and consistently let your face fall at the sight of him, he couldn’t help but take it personally.

“Alright, alright,” Scott calms everyone down. “On your mark, get set, go!”

The two of you set to work on your trays. Chris struggles to get strong enough breaths out to move the balls thanks to the amount of beers he’s already thrown back and his distracting thoughts. What’s up with this girl? Why won’t she accept my apology? Is she really that full of herself?

Meanwhile, you breezed through your ping pong balls, moving them off the tray with your controlled breath with ease. A couple minutes pass of you going at your trays, your team ridiculously rowdy thanks to the copious amount of alcohol consumed at this point. You’re down to the last few blue ping pong balls on your tray, careful not to blow the yellow ones off.

You look up slightly at Chris who has a little ways to go before catching up to you. You lock eyes with him. He then flicks his eyes down to your tray and notices there’s just a single blue ball between you and victory. He brings his eyes back up to yours, then to your Fenty-glossed lips that are serving him a cocky grin, which turns into a soft ‘O’ as you puff out just enough air to skid the last blue ball off your tray and onto the floor. You win.

You both rise slowly, maintaining strong eye contact, but it’s broken as your team crowds and rough houses you like you’ve just won the Super Bowl. Jaden puts a beer bottle to his mouth like a microphone. “So here we are with the most badass, bodacious Blow Ball player in the land. Tell us, how does it feel to bring your team to victory?” he asks you in his best broadcaster voice.

You patronize him because you’re having fun. “Well, you know, I couldn’t have done it without their support… and my Grammy-award winning singer’s lungs baby!” There’s another round of rowdiness from your team, but looking over at Chris, your smile falters for a different reason. He seems unamused by your antics. What’s his deal? You don’t stay looking at Chris for long, as your team turns you around for more drunken celebration.

“I want to challenge you to a game of beer pong.” Chris pipes at you amongst the loud chatter.

Your back is to him, as you were talking to one of your teammates. You only look over your shoulder as you reply. “Challenge all you want, but I don’t wanna. We won. That’s it. Move on.”

“What, you’re scared cos it’s not in your element you won’t win?” The group quiets down as you turn to face Chris. Studying his face, you come up with nothing, unable to read him. He’s joking, right?

Your mantra about steering clear and playing nice are gone from your tipsy brain. “No, but I’m sure your confidence is coming from the fact that it’s well in your element.” You approach him, sizing him up as he looks down at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Despite your best efforts, you had been watching him tonight. The more drinks he threw back, the more bro-ish he became. Hella loud, overly competitive, with unsolicited coaching. It gave you a headache, but you brushed it off until now.

“Nothing, just that some of us,” motioning to yourself, “spent our college days studying, while others,” poking his chest, “got their frat on. Hence why beer pong is right up your alley.”

“Jokes on you: I didn’t go to college.”

“That explains why you think ‘brown’ and ‘mouth’ rhyme,” you say low enough for only him to hear. So she got the gift... There’s a pang in his chest and it’s evident to you in his eyes. The look he gives pains you and causes you to soften your features.

“So are we gonna do this or what?” says Ansel, mouth full of samosa, cutting the heady moment.

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

The next 30 minutes are a complete blur. There’s yelling, cheering, sneering, and shit talking. Cup after cup of beer is thrown back on your end as Chris whoops your ass at this game, just like you knew he would. By the end of it you are thoroughly drunk, having reached tipsy quite a few games back. His team swamps him in congratulations, but his eyes stay on you, his face still unreadable.

You’re not a sore loser, you swear it, you just couldn’t take the unsaid tension with Chris any longer, and excused yourself. You find a quiet corner to take a breather and an opportunity to text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10. She says she’ll be there.

“Hey, cute doggie!” You notice the pooch perched on an oversized ottoman and sit next to, not bothering to make it to a chair. You read his tag. Dodger.

“Aaahhh. Chris’ best boy and dysfunctional codependent,” you recall from when the night you met in New York a few weeks ago. “Tell me, is he always this, this… frustrating?” You drawl out. Dodger just responds with a light bark as you scratch behind his ears to his delight.

You enjoy the dog’s company for a few minutes longer until he gives an alerting bark, causing you to look in the direction of the patio that you’d just left. You look up and can see double the Chris approaching. Not even thinking twice, you crawl out of the sitting area and into the next room where most everyone is now sobering up and playing low energy board and card games. You, however, are frantically looking for somewhere to avoid Chris.

Once Chris reaches, he only finds a happily panting Dodger, that he crouches down next to. “She’s seriously avoiding me, huh Bubba?” Dodger barks then licks Chris’ face, as if to say, “Yeah dude, give it up.” How childish.

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

9:55 pm rolls around and you are waiting at the front door for your ride like a kid on the curb of their school. All night has been an exhausting game of cat and mouse between you and Chris, and you appreciate the moment of solace in his foyer. The ringtone for your sister fills the room, and you put your phone to your ear.

“But Lynn, you offered!” Chris hears an anxious voice from his spot in the kitchen and walks in its direction to investigate.

“You didn’t just find that out! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” As he gets closer, he identifies it as your voice. There you are, at his front door, coat and purse, ready to leave the festivities, and scoffs. Last to arrive, first to leave.

“Are you kidding me right now? I don’t need you to send me money! I’ve got money! Money is not the issue here!” Chris raises his brows to your statement. He has no idea who you’re yelling at like that, but it’s not helping your case in his mind.

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t even breathe in my direction tomorrow.” Stupid sister, and her stupid bowling league. You continue to mumble to yourself as you assess your options. Seeing as you didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s good time, and want to get the hell out of there ASAP, you decide to just take an Uber anyway.

One last try. “Everything ok?” You look up to see Chris, eyes glossy from drunkenness, red from tiredness, nursing a water bottle and leaning on the archway.

“Yeah,” you say, not meeting his eyes, hoping he’d go away. When he didn’t, you moved closer to the door, hoping he’d get the picture then. Steer clear.

“Leaving already?”

“Uh-huh.”  Be neutral.

“We were just about to cue up some karaoke. I’d love to hear what those singer’s lungs could do.” You loved karaoke. But not tonight. Not with him.

“You all enjoy; I’m not in the mood.” Play nice, not friendly.

That’s it, I’ve had it with her cold shoulder! “Wanna know something? I was wrong about you.”

“Is that so?” You brace for another cringey apology.

“Yeah… You’re not an airheaded, wannabe popstar. You’re an arrogant, childish diva.”

You’re taken aback, but not entirely surprised. You can see how he got to this conclusion. What with you icing him all night, taking digs at him, and if he was in that archway long enough, that conversation with your undependable sister could have sounded diva-ish out of context. It’s a complete misjudgment of you, but you can’t help but think you started it. “Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah.” The two of you meet in the middle of the foyer for your second stand off tonight.

“You wanna know what you are?”

“I get the feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re a fickle, judgmental bro dude.”

“Bro dude?”

“Yeah! A bro dude! You're good at beer pong, you flirt relentlessly, try to get in my head, and get pissed and start calling names the second you realize you’re not getting the time of day.”

“Oh honey you wish I was flirting!”

“Is everything alright in here?” Scott appears in the archway his brother was in just moments before.

“Yeah, I was just going; my Uber’s here.” Your ride share arrived just in time to save you from any further wanton ridicule.

“Uber? I— or someone can drive you home.” Chris says as he grasps your elbow.

“More of your mixed signals. Save the fake concern for someone who’s got the time, cos it ain’t me.” Taking back your arm in a huff, you leave for your waiting ride.

“Woah... what was that about?”

“I… I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll help cleanup in the morning.” Chris kisses his brother goodnight, one last drunken act before retiring for the night. Scott is left in the foyer stunned, as Mackie comes to see what’s holding him up.

“Hey man, where’s Chris and— are they… ya’know?” Mackie gives a suggestive look, bumping Scott with his elbow. “I know you felt that tension, that sexual tension!”

“No, they’re not— They just had some intense words, and she left and he went to bed— alone.”

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know but we gotta think of something. They can’t hate each other!”

“Yeah, we’ll think of something… after we sing some karaoke. I’ll be Diana if you’ll be Lionel.”

“No, I’m definitely more Diana, you be Lionel!”

“Fine.”

Part 5

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Consequences

Word Count: 6,583

Overview: You had dated one of Jungkook’s best friends - someone he consider to be an older brother - and even though you were now single and he had never stopped loving you, dating was an impossible option. The consequences of dating an ex of the leader? Life threatening.

Pairing: Jungkook and Reader

Genre AU/Rating: College AU - Forbidden Love AU - Lost Friendship - Childhood Best Friends to Lovers - Rated: PG-13

Warning: Drinking - Swearing - Cheating - Flashbacks of Implied Sex - Dirty Talk - Calling someone a Whore - Implied Unwanted Drug Use - Jungkook is a badass covered in tattoos and piercings, so take that as you will - Namjoon is an asshole with tattoos (sorry fellow Joon stans) - Implied Assault.

Master List:

Spotify Playlist:

Pinterest Mood Board:

Also, just a reminder that I had changed my name from @/abangtanfangirl to my current username, I’m just too lazy to remake the banner I originally made.

©thatmultifandomhoe 2020. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The party was in full swing by the time you and your roommates arrived. Strobe lights were bouncing off the walls in reds and blues as bodies carelessly danced all around, girls even risking limbs to stand on top of tables and chairs, thriving in the attention from the party goers that gave them the courage they needed to swing their hips to the beat of the music.

It wasn’t as if this was your first party, but it wasn’t every day that you attended a college party that seemed more fitting for a rave than a place that was the home to a frat house. Then again, knowing the seven men who lived here, it wouldn’t be too surprising if they purposely designed tonight’s party after a rave.

“Here,” Louise said, gaining your attention. She grinned as she slipped a purple glow stick necklace around your neck, wearing her own neon green one. “Everyone has one. They must have black lights or something.”

You raised an eyebrow at her but silently accepted the matching bracelets. A quick glance around revealed that everyone was wearing some type of glow in the dark jewelry and white shirts, effectively glowing as the drunk the night away.

“Maybe,” you answered, pressing your lips together as you grabbed the back of Louise’s shirt when she began walking towards the kitchen. The rest of your roommates had scattered about once they walked through the door. You had your own plans for the night, but attempting to make it through this large of a crowd by yourself was insane, so hitching a ride on the end of her shirt seemed like the best idea at the moment.

Louise glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” she hollered, the music getting louder at a break down in the song. “It’s the Bangtan Boys, out of everyone here you should know that they do.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, shoving her away to elbow your way to the kitchen, ignoring the high pitch laughter that Louise possessed.

She was right though. They did own a black light. They owned several boxes of black lights in fact, for this sole purpose of throwing insane parties that everyone on campus would be talking about for the semester. How you knew that however, was a reason you wanted to forget.

With the familiar path ingrained in your mind, you were in the kitchen long before Louise. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as crowded in the kitchen like one would think, especially considering the round table in the middle was covered in every bottle of alcohol imaginable, and knowing the Bangtan Boys, the fridge was fully stock as well.

The green painted walls had you doing a double take, intrigued with the sudden change of color. Last time you were here, the kitchen was a soft watercolor yellow that matched perfectly with the wooden cabinets. Not that they now clashed with the green walls but, it was something you hadn’t expected to see.

“Well look who we have here,” a voice purred in your ear, the hairs on your arms standing up as your hand settled on the red solo cups. It wasn’t the one you were hoping to avoid, and while Jimin was a dozen more times pleasant than him, you preferred to see Jimin under you own circumstances.

Ignoring him, you grabbed the empty cup and walked around the round table, window shopping for what they had out at the moment.

“Oh, come on,” he called out, but you still refused to look at him. “Did you really think you could come to one of our parties and not expect to run into one of us? That hurts me.”

He just had to hit the hammer right on the nail. He was only going to get more persistent, so after locating a bottle of bourbon, you looked at Jimin, wishing that you could wipe off that satisfied smirk he wore. His soft pink hair was slicked back, that pair of tangerine tinted sunglasses he loved were perched halfway down on his nose.

“What do you want Jimin?” You asked. Finding less than an inch of space on the table, you carefully set down the solo cup to open the bourbon.

Jimin laughed, walking around the table to stand beside you once more. Trailing his fingers up your bare arms, he jerked his hand at your elbow causing more alcohol to pour out than you originally intended. “Nothing really. It’s good to see you again.”

The cup nearly knocked over and on to the floor, but you caught it at the last second. Glaring at him, you shoved the glass bottle into his stomach, his silver rings glittering in the light as he caught it with ease.

“Quit lying and tell me what you really want,” you said, raising your cup for a sip, ignoring the sting as the magic liquid settled in your chest.

He laughed again and you wondered if he had been the one to get the party going this time. His personality itself was like a person with three drinks in them to begin with. “I mean it, you know that. Things got quiet and boring when Namjoon dumped you.”

There it was. The reason you wanted to oh so easily forget while enjoying the free alcohol. Normally you didn’t rush to get drunk, but the pang in your heart cut through you more deeply than the bourbon and you were once again raising the cup to your lips, this time allowing the burn of the liquor to drown out the heartache.

It had been almost six months since Namjoon had broken up with you. Well, he never said it with words, but you had gotten the idea after walking into his room to find him naked with two other girls in his bed. The man that was the head of the Bangtan Boys and had more philosophical thoughts running through his head than Plato and Aristotle, was no better than any other fuck boy you had met in your life. His sweet words and intelligence had just masked over it.

You had fallen hard for Namjoon, and even now six months later, it was still painful to think about that morning. The feelings by now were long since gone, but knowing he had cheated on you lingered within your mind and seeped its way into your bones. It hurt to find him with one girl, but when the second sat up from underneath the blankets, it was a slap to the face.

He never even tried to follow after you like they always depict in the movies. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Not even the others went after you when you silently stormed out of their house, passing by all of them without a word. The last thing you had gotten to do was slam the front door behind you hard enough for it to echo in the house.

“Nice to know I’m part of your fond memories Jimin,” you bitterly spoke, staring down at the amber liquid.

A small frown appeared on Jimin’s face as he watched you lift the cup for another sip, but he reached out and placed his hand on yours, stopping it from reaching its destination. “Hey, I mean it,” he murmured in your ear, stepping close enough for you to be able to hear him. “We all like you. You were good and Joon shouldn’t have fucked you like that.”

With every word he spoke, his plush lips grazed your ear. The cup lowered down so it was once again resting on the table, and when Jimin was sure he wouldn’t have to stop you from drinking so fast again, he removed his hand.

“We all miss you,” Jimin added, glancing up and around the party. “That’s why when Kookie asks for cover, we do it.”

At the mere mention of his name, your body tensed up against Jimin’s chest, a familiar fluttering occurred in your chest where it had only been beating in pain. Like Jimin, you spared a glance to the other room, spotting the jealous looks you were receiving from women and men for simply being so close to one of the Bangtan Boys.

It was easy to ignore them. You had gotten used to receiving the same looks when dating Namjoon, and then again when you would hang out with the others in public and in-between classes. “Where is Kook?”

Jimin’s lips curled up in a grin, this time raising your hand and the cup to your mouth. “I’ll allow one more sip before I take this away.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You know I never take away anyone’s drinks, so that should be enough for an answer.”

That was true. Jimin always loved his drinks. While Yoongi was more of a social drinker with his glass of red wine, Jimin never cared what it was or when he drank. Give him wine, bear, or hard liquor, it didn’t matter to him. He’d drink it all till the sun came up if he could.

Heeding his advice, Jimin eagerly watched as you drank one last sip before he was wrapping his fingers around the cup, spilling a few drops down your chin when he took it away. He didn’t even set it down, settling on finishing it off instead.

“You ass,” you muttered, glaring at the now empty cup as you carefully swiped at your chin, not wanting to ruin the makeup that you had spent the last hour working on for this party. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face as he filled the cup up with something clear. “Beats the hell out of me. He’s around here somewhere.” Quirking an eyebrow at you, he raised the cup in a mock salute before rejoining the party, the crowd parting for him with ease like he was royalty.

You bit the inside of your cheek in annoyance. Of course, Jimin would only partially tell you what you wanted to hear; he never did like giving all the good information out in one conversation. If he did, it was best to hightail it the hell away from him. That meant he wanted something and usually – depending on who it was directed towards – it wasn’t always the most pleasant of things.

With Louise gone and Jimin most likely in search of bed partner for the night, you forced yourself to leave the kitchen in an attempt to find Jungkook. Unlike Jimin, it was like walking through Jell-O. That was one of the few benefits to associating yourself with the Bangtan Boys, no one gave you hard ass time and parties were easy to navigate through.

As you elbowed your way to the living room, your mind wandered back to the time you spent here. From all the nights you slept over and simply came over to visit during the day, you knew this place like that back of your hand. For long time, this place had felt like home. Which was almost expected considering up until that morning, you and Namjoon had been dating for a year and a half by then.

Out of the seven of the Bangtan Boys, only Namjoon managed to maintain normal relationships for long periods of time. The others preferred hookups more often than not, only indulging in relationships for a month or so before jumping ship, something that Namjoon explicitly expressed disgust for. Which only made your breakup situation ironic.

Finally breaking through to a clear space in the living room, your skin crawled as you felt eyes on you from every person in the area. It wasn’t like you had hid your relationship with Namjoon, in fact, he actually took pride in making it known that you were his girl. You had been forced to get used to all the stares and now it didn’t faze you as much, but this was the first party of theirs that you had attended in a while.

The large three-piece leather sectional didn’t have any empty seats left. There wasn’t any space left, forcing people to sit on the back of the couch, the arms, or even in the laps of those willing. However, it was the man leaning against the wall with a beer bottle in hand that had your attention.

Jungkook was talking to Hoseok and Taehyung, a foot pressed up against the back wall as he tilted his head to the side, a lazy grin on his face as he spoke. His black muscle tank was bagging enough to reveal a majority of his tattoos, ones that you had gotten to know well in the last few months.

Physically, you were seeing Jungkook as he was right now. Mentally, you were picturing the boy you had grown up with.

It had been a shock when Namjoon brought you to the house first time, having stopped dead in when you laid eyes on Jungkook. The first time you originally met was back in elementary school. It was during art hour and you were drawing a picture of your family, Jungkook was sitting next to you coloring his paper when the two of you reached for the same yellow crayon to draw the sun. It was cheesy, but since then the two of you stuck to each other like glue, lasting all the way up to high school. The summer before sophomore year was when things broke apart. His family was moving away, and he wouldn’t be able to attend the same school come fall. Hell, he wasn’t even going to be in the same state anymore.

For a while, phone calls that started on Friday nights and ended on Saturday mornings were a weekly routine for the two of you. But when the two of you got adjusted to school again, the work piled up, and parents began taking away phone privileges until the grades got better, the weekly calls slowed down to once or twice a month. By the time graduation came and you decided on which college you were attending, you never thought you’d see him again.

To see Jungkook for the first time during your sophomore year of college, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself rushing forward to hug him. Luck on been on your side that day when he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around him as he held you tightly.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” Jungkook had whispered, his arms almost crushing you with his strength, but you were hugging him back just as hard.

The reunion between you and him was the last thing anyone expected, especially with Namjoon right there to watch you jump his youngest friend, someone he considered practically a brother. Looking back on it now, the jealousy he harbored for your friendship with Jungkook was as clear as an ocean made out of crystals. Whenever Jungkook entered the room and you were there, Namjoon was instantly touching or kissing you, something that at the time you never thought twice about because he was your boyfriend and that’s who he was. It didn’t matter if the two of you were alone or out in public, if he wanted something, he didn’t hesitate about taking it.

It was so stupid now as you thought back to your ex-boyfriend. You had been completely devoted to Namjoon, the idea of being with someone else never once crossed your mind, at least up until that last month of your relationship when he grew distant.

A body suddenly stepped in front of you, blocking Jungkook from your sight and forcing you to look at a black t-shirt and a tattooed arm. Lifting your head, irritation filled your veins at the sight of Namjoon. At some point during the last six months he had dyed his hair platinum blond again, and regrettably, it looked good on him. The last time you had done an impulsive dye job you ended up having to go to the salon to get it fixed.

“Was that morning not enough of a hint for you?” Namjoon slowly asked.

You clenched your jaw, glancing away from his eyes as you took a step back. “When did you start kicking people out of your parties?” Raising an eyebrow, you ignored the way he crossed his arms over his chest, displaying the way his muscles flexed at the small movement. He must have started working out more often lately.

Namjoon chuckled though, drawing your attention back to him. “Not unless you piss me off. Although considering you’re my ex, that should be enough reason for me to throw you out.”

Don’t say anything, you thought, you haven’t found Jungkook yet. Instead, you focused on his right arm. Back then, the black and grey scaled tree of life tattoo that wrapped around his arm had brought a sense of comfort. Many nights you had traced each and every delicate line and branch while draped on his chest, the blankets crumpled up and covering yourselves only from the hips down.

He had other tattoos, mostly phrases he had written over the years and had Taehyung ink onto his body in various scripts, but this was his single largest piece. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t beautiful. Just because he was an ex-didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the art.

Without warning, Namjoon grabbed your chin with his fingers and forced you to meet his gaze. Brown eyes that you once thought belonged to the minds of the gods, stared down at you with unwavering disdain.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing here? Or do I actually have to kick you out of my house?”

I can’t believe I loved you, you thought, wanting to yank your chin out of his hold but knowing better to not to.

“I came with my roommates,” you sighed, gesturing with a thumb around the party. “We’ve all been stressed with classes and wanted to relax. I didn’t realize we were coming here until Louise pulled on to the street and I recognized where we were. They’re around here, somewhere.”

If there was anything decent about Namjoon, it was that he listened. Even if he hated someone, he always listened to them without interruption – whether it was in hopes of finding dirt to hold over them or to give the benefit of the doubt – and that seemed to be working in your favor right now.

He licked his lips, looking away from you to scan the room like he could see everyone who was currently dancing and getting drunk in his house all in a matter of seconds.

“Alright,” he finally said, releasing you. “You can stay. But you know the rules. Don’t break any of my shit, and don’t fuck with some stranger in any of the rooms. I’d say don’t do drugs but I know you won’t…” his voice died off, his face barely softening for a few seconds.

That was another good thing about Namjoon. When it came to the Bangtan Boys and the girls he dated – including you – he protected and took care of them. During your relationship, he had rushed you to the hospital when you showed up at the house banging on the doorbell in the dead of the night.

After a night of hanging out with friends, the group of you decided to go out for Taco Bell – the ultimate form of comfort food while on a college budget – and were walking home. You had been the only one to not have a drink that night, but some of them decided that the night wasn’t over. It was only sheer luck that you were near Namjoon’s street and were able to run to his house.

Before you had passed out, you vividly recalled the rage that had been apparent on Namjoon’s face when he swung the front door open, ready to punch out the lights of the person banging on the doorbell, until he saw you standing there, hysterical and pupils nearly blown out with bruises and scratches on your body. You had been shaking with adrenaline and from whatever drug a group of guys had forced into your mouth.

You had been hospitalized for two weeks to make sure the drugs were out of your system and to make sure everything healed okay, and even now, the night was fuzzy in certain spots, but you never could forget Namjoon’s reaction.

When you woke up, along with Namjoon, Jungkook had been asleep in chairs by your beside. Their knuckles were busted and had dried blood on the skin. Namjoon’s face remained unscathed, but Jungkook had had purple bruises blossoming on his cheekbone and his lip was split.

Instead of answering, you silently nodded. That memory, along with various others when he as all soft words and gentle caresses, reminded you that Namjoon wasn’t one hundred percent evil, but that didn’t make him pure. It was like having a poisonous snake next to someone and saying it wasn’t poisonous because it hadn’t bit them yet. Only time would reveal their true intentions, and you knew his.

He gestured over to one of the folding tables against the wall to your left that was covered in bowls of snacks. “Go, get something to eat before drinking anymore.” He didn’t stick around for much longer, pushing past and harshly bumping into your shoulder before you were able to step out of his way.

In that instant the memory disappeared, nose scrunching up in annoyance as you watched your giant of an ex-head towards the kitchen, moving with ease until some girl stumbled into him and he caught her. She was holding a cup and so it was possible that she was just drunk, but even with the distance between you and them, her eyes weren’t glassy enough and the way she instantly pressed her body against Namjoon was too stable.

Whether or not she did have too much to drink, Namjoon easily wrapped his arms around her lower back, settling his palms conveniently near her ass. He didn’t have to be facing you for you to know he was grinning down at the party girl.

Not that you cared, but at least have some decency.

You rolled your eyes, glancing back at the wall where Jungkook had been, but neither him or Hoseok or Taehyung were there anymore. Sighing, you made your way over to the snack table, this time finding it easier to move around as people headed to the center of the room to dance.

When you reached the table though, Hoseok was leaning against it and tossing M&Ms into his mouth. The candy fiend himself appeared to be enjoying the break away from the party and sweaty bodies, and considering how flushed his face was, perhaps the alcohol too.

“How many have you had?” You asked, stepping closer to sink your hand into the bowl of Reese’s Pieces.

Knocking back another handful, Hoseok held up one finger.

That wasn’t surprising in the least. Turning around, you ate the candy piece by piece as you watched the strobe flights speed up, bouncing off of everyone so fast a headache was sure to form.

“He’s in his room,” Hoseok said, his breath rich with chocolate as he leaned close for you to hear him.

Nodding, you turned to walk down the hallway when Hoseok grabbed you by the bicep, dragging you back towards the wall and out of the way of the strobe lights as your snack spilled onto the floor, the sound lost to everyone. Back here, the light only reflected off of his face every once in a while, instead of constantly highlighting him.

“The two of you are crazy as hell for doing this.”

It wasn’t the first time Hoseok told you that. He was the first to inform you of this thought when it all started two months ago, and he said it every time he covered for you and Jungkook whenever Namjoon was near.

“Then why help us at all?” you snapped, staring up at him.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening just the slightest before suddenly dropping from your arm. “And see the two of you dead? You’re fucking insane.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” You exclaimed, grateful that the music was turning up as you spoke, the walls practically pulsating with the beat. “Namjoon cheated on me with two whores! I waited months before seeing someone else, and I knew Jungkook for years before any of you. Why the hell does this make me the terrible one?”

You ignored the sympathy on Hoseok’s face and walked down the hall towards Jungkook’s room, shaking your head.

That was perhaps the most difficult thing about sneaking around. You had been the person wronged here, you had spent the weekends locked up in your room with the blankets tightly wrapped around your body as you cried, wondering what the hell was wrong with yourself for Namjoon to cheat on you with those women. There had even been a period when you considered changing certain aspects about yourself to win him back, to become his ideal woman. You’d get more tattoos, add a few more piercings and read up on philosophical texts to be able to hold a conversation with him.

The only saving grace through that entire time, was Jungkook.

When you saw him for the first time in years, it was like all that time apart had evaporated and you were hanging out like old times. There had been plenty of catching up to be done and there had been a shock factor on his part – he had since bulked up and no longer resembled the scrawny kid he once used to be, had grown out his hair, his ears had piercings galore, and he covered himself in tattoos – but he was still the Jungkook you knew and loved.

Like clockwork he came over to your apartment every chance he had. Bringing your favorite take out and watching trashy reality shows, even holding you when you couldn’t force the tears back. Jungkook didn’t let you fall beyond repair, choosing to be the glue you needed for you to put yourself back together.

When it had been four months after the breakup and you were getting back to yourself, you had realized that while watching a movie late one night with Jungkook, you were in his lap. The lights had been off and the two of you were sitting on your bed with his back against the headboard, and you were sitting in-between his legs with your back against his chest, his arms hugging you closer.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked when you shifted in his arms, capturing his attention when you sat on your knees in front of him.

You didn’t say anything, simply reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen in his eyes away. He didn’t stop you. Instead, he patiently waited as you stared at him, trying to figure out how the kid you had grown up with, was suddenly the man who owned your heart. When that happened was unanswerable, but it felt like no matter where you went or what happened, you would always find your way back to him.

With that in mind, you slid your palm down to his cheek, shakily breathing when he slid his hands up your thighs to gently rest on your hips. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards for only a moment because the next thing you knew, you were kissing Jungkook.

His hands tightened on your hips as he eagerly kissed you back like he had been waiting for this moment for years.

The next morning when you woke up, the first thing you saw was a chest covered in hickeys and a tattoo of a caged swallow, its partner flying free but nearby. He was still asleep, his arm like dead weight on your bare waist. You should have been questioning yourself, you had slept with your best friend who was also one of your ex-boyfriend’s best friends.

Even as you considered that, you shifted your leg over his and leaned forward, gently kissing his chest once, twice, slowly making your way up to his neck. It was on the fourth kiss that Jungkook groaned, and on the sixth, he was rolling you onto your back as he harshly returned the kisses, his knees spreading your legs for round three.

Since then, it was meeting up in secret and Jungkook spending nights at your apartment to avoid running into Namjoon. It wasn’t a secret how possessive he could be, and if he saw Jungkook with you romantically, there would be hell to pay.

Knowing that he was waiting for you, you didn’t bother with knocking and just walked in, spotting Jungkook sitting on his bed with one leg propped on the mattress and his elbow resting on his knee as he scrolled through his phone.

You shut the door and with extra caution, flipped the lock on it, guaranteeing a few stolen moments without someone barging in. He looked up then, a smirk growing as he tossed his phone to the side, his arms wrapping around your waist when you were close enough for him to touch.

“I’m too sober for this,” he murmured, tilting his head back to look up at you, mischief alive in his eyes as he slid his hands into your back pockets, squeezing your ass. “There’s a Goddess in my arms, and I want to fucking ruin her.”

As filthy as his words were, it brought a smile to you lips as you tossed the glow stick necklace to the floor while the frustration you had from dealing with Namjoon was whisked away. In addition to igniting a flame to your insides that had you thirsting for more of Jungkook’s words, but for his touch, his kisses, for everything that was him and that he was willing to give.

“I’m tempted to let you do that,” you murmured back, moving your leg so your knee was on the bed next to his hip. “But you have tendency to go for hours.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you, the silver hoop glinting in the low lighting. “You’ve never complained about my stamina before.”

“What’s there to complain about?” You teased, pressing your lips together and enjoying the way Jungkook’s eyes darken.

“I’d be careful if I were you baby,” he warned, his voice lowering as he squeezed your ass tighter before massaging it through the denim. “I have no problem with bending you over my desk and fucking you rough to teach a lesson.”

Any normal person would have been worried by that statement, but you? The image that came to mind had you shakily inhaling, your panties feeling a little damper than they had ten minutes ago. If it weren’t the fact that Namjoon was in the house, you would have continued with the teasing until he fulfilled his promise. But even you were smart enough to know that was too risky.

Which is why you had to tell him.

“I ran into Namjoon,” you said.

Jungkook’s smile disappeared, his hands pulling out of your pockets at the sudden change of topics. Instead, he scooted backwards so you were able to join him on the bed, not even waiting for you to be completely on it when he was bringing you next to him on your side.

“Everything okay?”

You shifted an arm underneath your head. “Yeah. I was looking for you when he suddenly appeared. Threw back that morning at me and debated on kicking me out.”

“Fucking Namjoon,” running a hand through his hair, he clenched his jaw before reaching out, gently rubbing your thigh as he propped his chin in his palm. “Why can’t he let it the fuck go?”

That seemed to be the million-dollar question. Namjoon had been the one cheat with not one, but two girls at the same time, not even caring as you walked into his room. That morning had been meant to be surprised. You had finished working on a majority of your papers the night before and it had been a while since you got to spend some time with Joon, so you had planned on waking him up in his favorite way, only apparently, he already had someone else doing it for you.

If he had been able to move on so fast while still in a relationship, why was he always throwing it back at you now that he was single?

“Tell me you need me,” Jungkook suddenly said.

“What?” You asked, blinking up at him in confusion. Where had this come from?

Jungkook’s eyes reminded you of a galaxy of stars hidden away from the rest of the universe, but as they gazed down at you, they were hardened with determination. “Tell me you need me,” he repeated, firmly this time. “So, I don’t fucking go out there and tell him to leave my girl the hell alone and beat the shit out of him.”

You felt your bottom lip quiver briefly as he spoke. Not because what he said could be considered mildly scary, but because you knew how hard this was on him. Jungkook, while he may look like he didn’t give a shit, had the biggest heart you had ever seen. That was something that never changed about him since his younger years.

More often than not he vocalized wanting to be able go out on campus and into town with his arm around you, to hold your hand and go out on dates. You were his girl and the only ones who knew where the other Bangtan Boys. They only knew because they all covered for the two of you when Namjoon asked where Kook was.

He wanted to love you the way he thought you deserved, and he was denied that because if Namjoon found out, blood would be spilled. His in particular. Namjoon would only see the betrayal that Jungkook had committed and in their group, he saw loyalty as number one.

That was why Hoseok always said the two of you were crazy for this.

The consequences of dating an ex of the leader? Life threatening.

Wetting your lips, you reached a hand up to cup his cheek, stroking his face in an attempt to soothe not just him, but yourself as well. Even if either of you came out with the truth, it wouldn’t just be your lives at risk, but the others would be in just as much danger. They were the ones covering your asses, and Namjoon wouldn’t take that lightly.

“Jungkook,” you whispered. “Of course, I need you. I never stopped needing you baby.”

He stared down at you; the room nearly silent with the exception of the music that shook the walls. While he always dreamed of having you like this, he felt like a failure in some ways. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against yours, hugging you as he sniffed.

“I’m gonna get us out of here one day,” Jungkook promised. “I’m taking you and we’re going wherever the hell we want. Far away from Namjoon so that he can never find us.”

Despite the situation hanging over your heads, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “Kookie, we’re still young.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve always known that I’ve loved you, since we were kids and when Namjoon introduced you that day. It was all just a matter of timing.” In an instant, his hands were on your waist and he rolled you on to your back as he hovered over you with practiced ease. His bangs hung down drawing giggles from you, but you felt more alive as he spoke with passion.

“And if we can’t find the right time, then we’ll take it for ourselves. I’ve been saving up these last couple months, and it’s gonna be a while more before we’ll have enough to get away and not be stuck living in a car, but I’m getting us out of here baby. That is…as long as you want to come with me.”

At some point his hands had slipped under the hem of your shirt, the rings he wore sent cold tingles up your spine at their sudden touch, but all you were able to do was focus on Jungkook and the way he was currently chewing on his bottom lip. Not too long ago he had talked about getting his mouth pierced, although from the amount of times he bit his mouth from nerves or deeply concentrating on a task, the healing process for that one hoop would take forever on him, if he didn’t end up taking it out.

Looking up at him right now, it was like seeing the Jungkook you used to know and the man he had grown into, and you were absolutely in love with both of them. You had loved Namjoon yes, but the way you once felt about him, was nothing compared to the way you felt about Jungkook.

“Do you remember when our moms would schedule playdates for us?” You suddenly asked, a soft smile growing on your face. “And they would always say how cute we were together.”

A grin formed on his face as he briefly glanced away from you, the faintest blush appearing on his cheeks. “My mom still says that.”

Giggling, you nodded in agreement, though your own mom had called him hot when you showed her a recent photo of Jungkook. “Afterwards when we’d get home,” you continued, “I would always tell her that one day, I wasn’t ever going to date anyone who wasn’t you.”

Jungkook’s grin widened to the point of threatening to split his face, but knowing that even back then you had felt the same way about him like he did for you, only made him more determined in getting you far away from Namjoon.

“We can’t tell the guys about our plan. If they don’t know, then Namjoon won’t hurt them.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Your heart felt like it was racing. The idea of being able to love each other without fear of Namjoon was a dead weight being removed from your shoulders.

“Then I guess that’s it,” he said, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around his neck, adjusting your head to kiss Jungkook.

It was going to be awhile before the two of you had enough money to leave, but the moment the two of you had it, you and Jungkook were going to be gone. There would be no goodbyes to the others. Even though they were pains in the ass at times, they weren’t cruel to those they cared about. If anything, the day the two of you left for good or when they realized what happened, you could easily imagine them getting together and having a drink in your honor.

Maybe one day when it was safe, you and Jungkook could come back for a visit or find a way to stay in touch with them. But none of that would matter if you got caught.

The two of you were dancing on the edge of a knife’s blade, and it was worth every second.

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 5

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Marinette set her phone back on her desk, suppressing a long sigh.

Deep down, she knew it was unfair of her, but part of her was somewhat glad that Alya was worried about her whereabouts. For the past few days, she had been receiving a constant string of texts, first asking if she was okay, then wondering if she was safe. In the end, Alya began to beg her best friend to at least give her a sign, confirming that she was, at the very least, alive.

But Marinette couldn’t.

The wound was too fresh, the hurt still too vivid.

She didn’t want to go back to their apartment, a home where questions never ceased, where she couldn’t focus on her already withering career without being guilt-tripped. Marinette snuck in only once after leaving, at a time she knew neither Alya nor Nino would be home. And only because, as the Guardian, she couldn’t leave the Miracle Box at a place she no longer lived.

Her daily phone calls with her parents went by quickly, telling them she was staying with a friend, looking at different options and reevaluating her life. Aside from that, she ostensively ignored a thousand calls from Alya and a few hundred from Nino.

But no matter how much her friends were worried about her, no matter how her parents thought she was making all the wrong life choices, Marinette knew that pursuing her lifelong dream was worth it in the end. Reaching the goal would make it all worth it.

She had to pull through, had to continue even if it killed her in the end. She had to carry Gabriel Agreste’s work beyond the grave and prevent his up-to-no-good son from wrecking years of sacrifice, late hours of work, and lonely holidays. Gabriel’s first women’s line was almost ready to launch, and she had sworn to herself that everything would go smoothly even if there were a few sacrifices to be made along the way.

And now that the goal was so close, almost in her hands, she couldn’t imagine giving up on it. So, she ignored the stubbornly chiming little device on her desk and got back to work, trying yet again to figure out what her former boss had intended to do with a particular design.

A few hours later, she dropped her pen on her desk, holding her head in her hands. It was no use. The fire in her veins was drowned out; the inspiration was gone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t envision what Gabriel had been trying to convey, what his intention with that final design had been.

She grabbed her sewing shears and started cutting through some fabric she had laying around, trying to empty her mind from the constant nagging, the constant wondering about whether or not her late boss had intended Design A to be flirty or Design B to be sassy. She lost herself in the cutting of the best quality cloth, her fingers running over the fibres with reverence as she lay them against the dress she was currently working on. Maybe seeing the samples on the dress itself would help her understand?

“Long time no see, Princess.”

Marinette almost jumped out of her skin upon hearing those words, her shears falling to the floor with a clatter. She spun around, ready to fend off the intruder with her very life should the need arise.

The sudden motion after what little food she had eaten in the last few days made her dizzy. The room wobbled around her, and her limbs felt unbearably heavy. A familiar face came into view, one that looked oddly out of place in her office, one that she only ever saw on random rooftops these days.

Despite being happy to see him, she opened her mouth to ask him to leave, to put her partner back into the ‘superhero life’ where he belonged, where he couldn’t witness firsthand the mess her life had become. But her lips refused to obey. Her legs gave out underneath her, and everything went black.

The next thing she was aware of was strong arms holding her upright in her office chair and something wet pressing against her lips. Marinette suppressed a surprised cough as cold water filled her mouth, bringing her back to her senses. Warm fingers covered in leather gently stroked her cheek as a familiar voice spoke to her.

“Marinette? Look at me. Are you okay?”

She choked out half mumbled words, her head still spinning. Her eyes managed to focus on a vivid patch of green—Chat Noir’s eyes.

“Ch… Cha… W—”

Marinette tried to get up, but he was quicker than her, forcibly holding her shoulders down. “Easy there, Tiger. That was a pretty bad fainting spell.”

She looked at him through her hazy vision, focusing on his soothing voice. “How… How long was I out?”

“About five minutes or so. Come on, I’m taking you home. You need a real meal and a few hours of sleep in a bed.”

She gave a disheartened laugh. “Good luck with that, Chat Noir. You can’t take me home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the hero argued stubbornly. “You can’t weigh more than a few feathers; you’re barely skin and bones. When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

She didn’t answer, instead averting her gaze away from him. His proximity was beginning to mess with her head. Her entire being craved his comforting touch, the familiar safety of his arms. Chat Noir wasn’t done with her though, as he gently nudged her chin up, worry written all over his handsome face.

“You’ve lost an awful lot of weight, Marinette. Please, please tell me you’re not starving yourself to look like those unhealthy models placed all over Paris. You’re a very beautiful woman. You don’t need to go to such lengths to feel attractive.”

His tone was earnest, gentle, and any other day, Marinette would’ve thought Chat Noir’s concern was nothing short of adorable. That night, though, she was way beyond exhausted and had apparently just wasted a good amount of precious time she could’ve spent working.

With a frustrated groan, she eyed the mess on her desk. “Don’t worry about me, Chat Noir. I’m fine. I have a housing issue to solve, but right now I’m just running short on time. Those mockups have to leave first thing in the morning, and I can’t afford to miss the deadline.”

He looked almost shocked. “Are you saying you have nowhere to go?”

“I’m fine, Chat—”

“You are far from fine, Marinette. Where’s the bubbly and adorable teenager who shared her cookies with me on her balcony a few years back?”

“You don’t understand, Chat. I have to make this work. Failure is not an option.”

He grabbed her hand. “Why are you putting yourself through this insanity? I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Marinette. Any fashion empire in France would be happy to have you. This entire company is going down in flames, and everyone’s already abandoning the sinking ship. Why are you staying?”

“Because without Gabriel Agreste behind me, I’m no one in the industry,” she cried. “I don’t have anything worthy to put on my CV. How do you expect me to find a job like this?”

“But… You went to ESMOD, didn’t you?”

“I never graduated. Gabriel found me and offered me a paid apprenticeship instead of wasting my time on school benches. It seemed like the perfect solution back then. I would get an early start in the industry without racking up student debt,” she sighed, her head hanging low. “But now, without a degree to show for myself and with Gabriel gone…”

She trailed off, but Chat Noir seemed to understand what her entire problem was, because he breathed softly, “Your only chance to prove your worth in the industry is to make sure his last collection is a hit and gives you the recognition you deserve.”

“In a nutshell, yes.” Marinette looked to the side, tensing. “And as if that wasn’t enough, his nut-job of a son is back in my life.”

“Not a fan of the younger Agreste, I take it?”

Marinette snorted inelegantly, shaking her head dejectedly. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Chat Noir flinched, but now that the gates were open, Marinette couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to close them. He was still kneeling in front of her, looking at her with those big, kind eyes that always made her weak in the knees, and for a fleeting moment, she forgot about everything else.

Like she had done countless times before, she raised her hand to cup his cheek tenderly, losing herself in his intense gaze. She didn’t hear Chat Noir’s surprised hiccup, nor did she realize it was the very first time her bare fingers were touching his skin.

“You know what the worst part in all this is, Chat?” she said, unaware of the sharp intake of breath from the man before her because she shouldn’t be that comfortable, that familiar with him. “I used to be friends with Adrien. I would’ve done anything for him, would’ve gone to the moon and back just to put a smile on his face. But he betrayed me the first chance he got, tried to sabotage my dream for no good reason. He…”

Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob, tears rolling unbidden down her cheeks. Chat Noir surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace to try and appease the pain she failed to contain. What he didn’t account for, though, was Marinette’s current state of mind. She needed her partner more than anything at that moment. Her entire being was yearning painfully for his comforting touch as a wave of affection for him washed over her heart.

Without thinking, the absence of the red spandex suit long forgotten, Marinette tilted her head, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips found his easily in the semi-darkness of the room, and she found solace in the familiar scent of his cologne, the comforting feeling of his muscular arms holding her close to his broad chest. His lips were a little chapped, and he tasted of coffee and the salt of her tears, and Marinette had never felt more at home than in that moment.

For a brief and blissful moment, his lips moved in harmony with hers, making her heart soar high. Then, Chat's entire body went rigid beneath her hands and just as fast as it had begun, it was over. His hands wrapped around her wrists and pried her hands from him as he jerked back with a startled gasp, staring at her with a shocked expression. His lips moved a few times without any sound coming out of them, before he managed to hoarsely choke out, “Ah—shit. I’m sorry, Marinette. I shouldn’t have—”

Hearing her own name roll from his lips in such an unfamiliar way brought her back to her senses, and the weight of what she had just done crashed on her all at once. Her heart felt like it was bursting at the seams, unable to contain the contradictory emotions fighting within it. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, her cheeks still wet from her earlier tears. “You love her, don’t you? Ladybug?”

Oddly enough, when Chat Noir nodded with a fiery blush spread on his cheeks, Marinette felt her heart torn to pieces in her chest.

“I have to go, but I really want to help you here, okay? I owe you for all those cookies on your balcony years ago. I’ll… ah… I’ll figure out something and come back as soon as I can, okay? I’m sorry—try to grab a bite to eat while you wait for me. You’re as white as a ghost.”

“Chat…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he took a step back, his hand clenched tightly around his staff. Had he seen her expression change? Was he suddenly unable to bear the sight of her? Before she could say anything, he was gone without another word, an open window being the only proof that he had ever been there.

Breathless, her heart pounding almost painfully in her chest, Marinette plopped back into her chair, unaware of the tears running freely down her face. In the oppressive silence of her office, she whispered to herself, “Shit… I broke my kitty, didn’t I?” before letting out a loud sob.

The only thread tethering her to sanity was now threatening to break.

Next >

[waywardrose13]

Falling Stars

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, heartbreak, mentions of divorce and past break-ups

This fic is loosely based on Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” Lyrics are in italics and in bold.

A/N- This fic is un-betad, as per usual. So all mistakes are mine and there is not nearly enough editing to satisfy me but here we are.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him just because you can

Your hands were gently cupping your kneecaps. You sat cross legged on your bed you shared with Dean. You stared down at the picture, tears welling in your eyes.

“I thought you should know.”

You sniffled softly. It felt as if your heart had broken into a million little pieces. You had originally tried to catch them all, piece by piece as they fell, hoping you could put them all back together again.

But you eventually gave up as the heart began to crack and break more quickly as everything set in.

“Don’t ask me why I care about you, but I do. I know you don’t trust me, but trust this.”

A shaky sob sighed from your parted lips. The betrayal you felt was greater than anything you’ve ever felt. It felt worse than the time you were nearly clawed to death by a werewolf. It felt worse than the time that vampire sunk its teeth into your neck to rip a chunk of flesh from you. Because this pain was straight to your core. It tore itself through your heart, all the while ripping each string along the way. It was an internal pain that burned so brightly, it set you aflame from the inside out.

Your beauty is beyond compare

With flaming locks of auburn hair

With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green

Your smile is like a breath of spring

Your voice is soft like summer rain

And I cannot compete with you

Jolene

You had to admit, she was gorgeous. Her body was tall and lean, with slender, yet round hips, and full breasts. Her face was simply glowing. Green eyes shined behind dark lashes, waves of liquid fire hanging to her waist. Perfectly manicured hands, full rows of pristine teeth, skin like the purest milk. 

You hated her.

She was ethereally beautiful. You understood why Dean would want her. You were nothing special, not with fuller hips than you wanted, hip dips, and a squishy belly. Scars littered your body from years of hunting and battling your own demons years before. You used to be ashamed of them. That is, until Dean came along.

“They tell a story,” Dean had said. His cheek rested against your bare stomach. He relaxed as your hand gently ran through his hair. 

“Of how I was weak?” You whispered.

Dean shifted, kissing the skin of your belly, lips brushing every so softly against your scars.

“Of how you were strong.”

He looked up at you then, hand cupping your cheek, face inching closer to yours.

“You’ve fought battles and won. These scars show me how strong and brave you are. They tell me you’re here and alive with me.”

Maybe Dean got tired of seeing them. Maybe he missed the feel of soft, unmarred skin beneath his hands.

He talks about you in his sleep

And there's nothing I can do to keep

From crying when he calls your name

Jolene

Crowley’s information simply proved what you’ve thought for months now.

Dean had become more distant, pulling away from you. Your relationship had begun to feel strained, like it was hanging on by a thread, ready to fall apart in any second. 

Once upon a time, your name would fall from Dean’s lips as he slept. Sometimes he’d murmur sweet nothings within his dreams of you, whispering how he loved you, how he couldn’t live without you. Now, it was the same, except for the name.

“Jolene,” he would whisper, the phrases in which he used to say about you following after the alien name. You didn’t know a Jolene, hoping he made a mistake. Maybe it was an actress he had a crush on. Or maybe he was remembering an old crush. Whatever it was, you simply hoped it wasn’t what you feared.

But it kept happening. Your name never again slipped from his lips during his sleep. It was always “Jolene.” You never asked him about it. You figured that if you did ask about it, it would make the whole thing real. That your fear would be proved correct, and then you wouldn’t know what to do.

And I can easily understand

How you could easily take my man

But you don't know what he means to me

Jolene

Not only were there pictures of her and Dean together, wrapped in a lover’s embrace, cuddling on a couch inside a foreign home. But there were text exchanges. Somehow, Crowley had obtained all of this information, and you didn’t want to know how. Just why.

Jolene had told Dean to leave you. She wanted to be with him. She thought it was sexy for awhile, sneaking around behind your back. She liked to mock you.

Dean would respond with worse insults about you.

But now, she had her fun, she wanted to settle down with him.

Ha.

Been there, tried that.

He didn’t know what to say to that. She wanted him to say ok, drop you and be with him. He simply changed the subject.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him just because you can

You carefully gathered each of the photos, arranging them in a neat pile before reaching over to your nightstand drawer, placing the stack of photos inside and closing it. 

Dean had left hours ago, not telling you where he was going, simply muttering something about needing a different atmosphere for awhile. Of course, you had your doubts as to where he was going. You wondered if he was going to visit “Jolene.” You wondered if the places he disappeared to were with her.

Dean came back after only moments of being gone with a small package addressed to you. There was no return address, and Dean warned you not to open it, but you ignored him. For some reason, your gut told you that you needed to see what was inside. So you wished Dean a good night and went back to your room.

And here you were.

You could have your choice of men

But I could never love again

He's the only one for me

Jolene

Crowley had included a letter inside the box, amongst the photographs and printouts of text messages.

Chipmunk,

I hope you’re well, darling. I know this may be hard to believe, especially coming from me, but I hope you do. Don’t ask me why I care about you, but I do. I know you don’t trust me, but trust this. Squirrel is seeing someone else. Before you toss this letter in the rubbish and ignore my existence once more, hear me out. I’ve also included some photographs in the box. I’ve had a few of my men keep an eye on your beau. I suspected something was off in our last meeting and I needed to figure it out for myself. I know this must be hard for you, and know that I am deeply sorry you had to find out this way. But I figured it was important, and I know it would be difficult to speak to you without your guard dog breathing down our necks.

The texts were a bit more difficult to obtain. Nothing I couldn’t handle though, darling. Don’t ask how I got them. Don’t even ask why. I have a soft spot for you, Y/N. I thought you should know. You deserve to know.

Crowley.

You read over the letter a few more times. You believed him. Dean had been acting suspicious for some time now, and the photos looked so real. You knew it was real.

You just didn’t want to lose him.

How were you supposed to confront him? Were you even going to? Would you stay with him? He obviously wasn’t in love with you anymore, or else he wouldn’t have branched out. 

I had to have this talk with you

My happiness depends on you

And whatever you decide to do

Jolene

You sighed deeply. Turning off the lights, you settled down under the sheets, curling into a fetal position. Your heart was broken. Dean Winchester had been the first and only man you had loved. He was your first everything. He was the only man you ever let into your bed, your heart, your head. The love the two of you had shared was epic. It consumed you so greatly, twirling you up into the air and into the infinite sky, allowing you and Dean to dance amongst the stars together. It hit you so fast and so hard, and you fell before you could comprehend it.

An agonized cry sounded in your ears. It didn’t take long to realize the sound came from your own mouth.

The pain in your chest resonated throughout your body. It seared your heart and burned your soul. It crippled your limbs and set your mind aflame. This was why you pushed everyone away in the first place. This is why you didn’t let people get close to you.

This is why you never wanted to fall in love.

You had witnessed enough heartbreak in your family and friends. Everyone around you since you were little. Love was never something you strived to have. Sure, you were lonely. And yes, sometimes you envied your sisters or your friends for the love they would have. You were happy for them, beyond happy. You were ecstatic when one of your sisters told you she was getting married, or when your older brother announced his girlfriend’s pregnancy, or when your mother finally found a man that was so good and loving to her. You were happy for them all.

However, before that happiness, you also knew they experienced profound heartbreak.

You watched your parents’ divorce happen before your eyes. You watched your sister break down after her first love left her. You watched as your brother had to lift himself up again after his girlfriend of five years broke up with him. And yes, they were all happy now. But you never wanted to experience that loss, that pain. Especially when in your line of work, that loss would most likely be death.

It wasn’t long after you had settled into bed that Dean came into the room. You froze at the sound of his footsteps. He let out a deep breath, changing quickly, and then slipping into bed behind you. He got comfortable and then slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you tightly into his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the shell of your ear. 

You knew you needed to confront him. You knew you should’ve been angry.

I’ll do it tomorrow, you thought to yourself. You closed your eyes, snuggling deeper into his arms. You allowed yourself the peace of falling asleep in the arms of the man you loved so dearly. Let me have this one last time.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don't take him even though you can

Jolene, Jolene

Enjoyed the story? Let me know here! Feedback is loved and greatly appreciated! If your names is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you:(

Jensen/Dean beans:

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@deans-baby-momma

@akshi8278

@sasquatch5

@adoptdontshoppets

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@fangirl-forevers-world

@rawritsmolly

@frozenhuntress67

@reginaphalange2403

@x-waywardaf-x

@jessieray98

@thewinchesterchronicles

@cookiechipdough

@tryn25

@yesfictionalboysarebetter

@angelessquirrel

@ackleholic-hunter

@weepingwillowphoenix

@analisespn

@dolans-lover

@captaincvans

@mrspeacem1nusone

@all-will-be-well-love​

Forever Lovlies:

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@flamencodiva

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (iii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt: 1 | 2

Word Count: 1,884

"Hey, T, you alright?" Dannie said as they got back to Therese's place. He leaned against the wall as she struggled to get her keys out.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, ya seemed a bit distracted during dinner. Did something happen? Was it Richard?"

Therese hesitated in answering as her hand halted on the door knob. Sure, Richard was always a pain in her ass. Their respective jobs kept them apart, thank God, but Therese was never the keenest on keeping exes in her circle of friends. In this case she had no choice.

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, he's always been a misogynistic asshole, don't you think? I can only handle him for so long at any given time," Therese said, breezing inside with an air of nonchalance. Dannie wasn't having any of it as he followed her.

"Or was it a certain blonde boss that was keeping you from enjoying the night?" he asked as he followed her up the stairs.

"Shut up, Dannie," Therese quipped back without looking at him. "I'm stressed, alright? You might get a bit of a break now that the show's done, but I've got a new job coming up and that shit's never easy."

"Right, sorry, T, I didn't mean to upset you."

Therese sighed as they got to her door, turning to face him. "No, it's okay. I'm being weird, I know. It's just... well, sometimes I get confused, y'know? Like I just don't know what I want, and I get swept up in all these things and people around me, and I can't say no to any of it. Now what am I doing? I'm barely out, and barely paying my rent, and not doing the jobs I originally wanted to do. I never planned to be an art teacher of any kind. And it all just piles up."

She was staring at the ground, brows furrowed as she thought things through. Though she wouldn't tell Dannie the real aggressor of her overloaded thoughts was in fact the director, it was the only thing truly on her mind. She hadn't looked at anyone properly or found anyone as attractive as the blonde woman who she didn't even know the first name of. It scared her.

Two strong arms wrapped around Therese firmly and Dannie hugged her during her brief ruminating session.

"I can't imagine what it's like, T," he said, his chin on her hair. "I know it's probably tough, Phil's had a hell of a ride with figuring himself out and that took a toll on him. You've had it almost worse in my opinion, cause it took being with a shithead like Richard-"

Therese snorted.

"... to make you realize that you deserve more, and better."

"Being gay is the best thing in the world," Therese sighed. "But also the worst. No girls I look at ever know what they want. Or what they like. Or they're just experimenting. And, you know, homophobia..."

"Ignorance."

"Hate."

"Yeah, but girls."

"Yeah. Girls," Therese cracked a smile and Dannie did too. He bumped her arm playfully and she opened her apartment door.

"You wanna come inside for a drink?"

"Nah, I better head home. Phil's probably done his shift so I gotta make sure he eats at least something other than Redbull before he crashes on the bed."

"Gotcha."

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm just a call away."

"I know, Dannie. Thank you."

"Goodnight T, have some sweet... blonde... dreams!"

Therese tried to swing her purse at him but missed as her best friend went cackling down the stairs.

-

September - before the first day

"Oh, Miss Belivet, is it?" asked the elderly lady at the front desk. Therese nodded, pulling at her skirt, her bag swung over her shoulder as she stood by the reception desk of the school- her new school.

She'd been working tirelessly the past week to really get herself in order. She even had a plan for the kids; themes accompanied with the crafts, and lessons in the art they were doing, not just mindless cutting and glueing. God, she definitely wasn't getting paid enough for this. Therese hoped her work would at least be appreciated.

"I was called to see the school today with Mrs... Robichek, I think it was?"

"Yes, you're right, I'll just page her down."

Therese waited by the receptionist, wandering a bit as she took in the school's architecture. Despite its clear technological advances of the relatively up-to-date phones, computers and printers, the school itself still had an old architectural feel to it, like something out of the 50s. The floors had a horrendous tiled pattern and the walls' pale green colours had faded into something ghastly.

Shuffling caught her attention and Therese turned to see a small, old lady with thick framed glasses in the doorway of the office. Though she looked just as ghastly as the school's design, she had a peppy smile on her face.

"Welcome, Theresa," she began. Therese's own smile faltered a little but she couldn't be bothered to correct her new colleague. Robichek, or Ruby as she introduced herself, gave Therese a tour of the small but well-regarded school.

"Now, you've got it easy, Theresa dear. You'll just need to be here everyday after school, no need for those 8am calls! Hah!"

Therese zoned out a bit as she watched the janitors and teachers bustle about the school, preparing for the new year and welcoming all the kids. Teachers with boxes filled with notebooks and markers. Desks being shuffled around and moved. The janitors cleaning the windows and floors thoroughly, making the tiles shine so brightly it gave Therese a headache.

"Here we are," Ruby suddenly piped up, entering a small classroom. Therese did a full turn once inside, noting the sink at the back of the room, handy, she thought. A selection of about 20 seemingly unused easels were propped up against the far wall, making Therese's hands itch with excitement.

"Now, usually this is Mr. Tucker's classroom. After 3pm, you've got it for yourself. You won't be allowed to move or touch his desk, but do whatever you like with the rest of the set up, as long as you move it back at the end of the day."

"What does Mr. Tucker teach?"

"Hm? Oh, during the school day he teaches the eighth graders, mainly. He's also coach and teaches gym, so he barely uses this room for his own things; that's what the gym office is for."

Therese wandered around the room for a bit, wondering if she was invading someone's space by being here. But no, she was only playing babysitter for kids after school. Administration insisted it still needed a curricular focus, according to Ruby, that's why they wanted an art-focused program rather than just letting kids waste their time for an hour or two.

"Between you and me, I think they're also doing it so they can cut some of the art funding during the regular day. This is technically outside of school hours so they don't have to worry about it, but they still count it as the curriculum being met," Ruby scoffed. Therese hummed in response, knowing how little arts were appreciated in schools nowadays, especially for younger years.

"Well, I think that's it, my dear! There's room in the teacher's lounge for your things once you start tomorrow. You needn't worry about taking up anyone's space, so do what you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Robichek."

"Not a problem."

"Can I ask one question though? Where are all the art supplies?"

"Ah, that. Well. You see, I'm afraid this is as much as you're gonna get. It's an art club, Miss Belivet. The school board isn't going to be buying supplies for you."

With that, Mrs. Robichek walked out, leaving Therese to her own devices. She wandered about, checking the drawers in the cabinets and by the sink. A box of broken crayons and old Crayola markers was all she found. Some scissors, half a pack of construction paper, a couple glue sticks... The only real asset were the easels at the back of the room. Someone probably funded those with good intention, but no one seemed interested to use them properly.

As she crouched by the sink, rummaging through the last few piles of flimsy paper and boxes, the door opened. In walked a beanpole of a man- thin glasses framing his beady eyes. He was dressed in a suit that seemed to hang off of his body, old and boring in every way. He had a box in hand that he set on the desk before noticing Therese at the other end of the room.

"Who are you?" he asked immediately. This, Therese assumed, was Mr. Tucker.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Tucker. I'm Therese Belivet, I'm-,"

"The new art teacher, yes I know. I suppose we're sharing this classroom for the year, hm?"

Therese nodded bleakly as she got up, a forgotten glue stick in hand.

"I'll have you know I have a very strict way with my things, Miss Belivet. I will not allow you to move anything off of my desk. This need for art after school nonsense is ridiculous in my opinion, but I will mostly be in my separate office by the gym. Do what you like with those things,"  he nodded to the easels, "but don't make a mess of my classroom."

Therese was stumped by the man's arrogance and haughty behaviour so she clasped her hands in front of her instinctively, like she was a student back at boarding school. "Of course, sir."

He gave her a pointed look, not moving from his spot. Understanding the cue, Therese hurried out the classroom as fast as her feet would carry her.

God, what a weasel of a man, she thought, taking a breather as she headed back to the main office. She wouldn't be needed until 3pm the next day, which opened up her mornings nicely. She waved goodbye to the receptionist, who she learned was named Patricia, and walked out in the late summer evening air.

Therese hurried to get a cab, texting Dannie on her way back to her apartment.

met 3 new colleagues today. 1/3 was actually bearable

Dannie replied within a few minutes.

no shit, eh? what are they like?

receptionist is nice, does her job and didn't ask any questions. this one other lady teacher seems to be like everyone's overbearing grandma (good thing she teaches kindergarten i guess??) oh and the last guy seems like a total creep- really uptight

what does he teach?

gym. he's the coach of whatever teams they can even have here. it's such a small school.

damn, he's not ripped is he? if he creeps you again i could take him down, maybe.

lol nah he's a stick more than anything. doesn't seem to like me, or art for that matter. i have to share a classroom with him.

bummer. maybe paint the walls a sick fluorescent magenta? that might send him a message. kids would enjoy it too

Therese snorted at her phone, though the message gave her an idea. She hastily sent a reply to Dannie before directing the cab to the nearest art supply store.

A/N: Two updates in one day. I couldn’t help myself :3 Hope you like it folks. It won’t be long until our two leading ladies meet, I promise.

[sheridanfalls]

1X02

1x01 | 

Tazia rolled over in the bed, Fletcher laying shirtless next to her above the sheets. The room was dark except for the glow of two phones. She gently pushed the blankets off her body as she took her phone of the charger.

20 missed calls.

She glanced back to make sure Fletcher was asleep before slipping into the bathroom. She locked the door and sat in the large jacuzzi tub as she took a deep breath before hitting call on the first number.

It didn’t ring long, “Ana.” The voice was relieved for a moment but layered with something else.

“Hey Key.” Her voice unsteady, “is it true, or did I make a total fool out of myself on National TV for no reason.”

“It’s true Ana, Willa is really gone.”

“How did Mom take it?” She wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her eyes on the door.

Her brother sighed, “Not good, not as dramatically as you, but um, not well.”

“And Dad?”

“He’s been sitting in his den since he got home today.”

“At least Belle is with you.”

“She’s out of town, she’s on a girl’s weekend with some college friends. She won’t have phone service until she comes back on Monday.”

Tazia scrunched her face up, “I’m sorry.” She looked away from the door, “I’m going to come home. I’ll be on the first flight in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I can sneak into the state pretty undetected. Besides, people will just think that I’m going to rehab. That’s the narrative surrounding me right now, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.” He wanted to say more, “You can stay at my place, instead of the ranch.”

“I’ll figure it out, I don’t want to impose on you and Belle.”

“You’re my sister, my other half Ana.”

“Do you think Mom would let me stay at the ranch?”

“Dad will, and she would just have to accept it.”

“I’m going to go and book a flight right now.”

“Ana, please don’t bring Fletcher.”

“I had no intention of doing so. He can hang out in LA for all I care.” Tazia let her eyes drift to the door again, “I don’t want him to know about Willa, I don’t want that as part of my story.”

Keaton sighed, “Willa is a part of our story, if she wanted to be or not. I don’t think you need to share it. I don’t think any of us need to share it.”

“Kara showed up, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she brought a casserole.”

“Hey Key.”

“Yeah Ana?”

“Is it true we have a niece?”

“Yeah, but that is a whole other can of worms I’m not ready to open. We can talk about that when you get home.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you the details. I love you Key.”

“I love you too Ana.”

***

Belle rested her forehead against Mitch’s, their bodies glistening from the evening activities so far. Every touch felt deeper, filled with more passion then she could remember every feeling outside of this cabin.

Mitch kissed her neck, his fingers feathering down her body. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She moaned at his touch as he pulled her closer for more. Any thoughts, any care for her life outside of the cabin were forgotten as she allowed herself to get lost in the moment. Clinging to Mitch she cried out his name as she threw her head back on the couch.

His put his foot on the floor to regain balance, hitting the TV power button as he did so.

This afternoon pop star Tazia collapsed on live television before performing her latest single. Her manager Fletcher Curtis explained that she was exhausted from preparing for her tour and will take a short vacation before it starts this summer.

Neither heard the TV, just the sounds of their own desires being met as they continued enjoying their limited time together.

***

Georgina Woodward finished taping up the final box in her living room. She just had a few more things to pack up in the kitchen and bathroom. In the morning the movers would arrive, and everything would be loaded onto a truck and brought to Sheridan Falls.

She wasn’t thrilled about the move, but she understood why her husband Mitch wanted to move out of Denver. He was able to work anywhere, and why be in the city when you could just be in a nice small town.

Yet he had arranged for this move to happen when he was off at a conference in Dallas. She could strangle her husband, if she didn’t love him so damn much.

She picked up her phone, hitting the icon to call him, feeling her stomach sink when it went to voicemail, “Hey babe, everything is packed, I’m going to take a shower, get ready for bed. The movers will be here early, I just wish you were here for this. I love you Mitch.”

Running her hands through her dark chestnut hair she sighed, her whole life was packed up in boxes, tomorrow she would be starting a new chapter, it just felt weird her husband wasn’t with her for this.

***

“Hello, and welcome to another episode of Coffee, Donuts, and Crime. I’m your host Kara Greene and I’ve got an update for you on the case of Willa Hughes.” Kara spoke into the microphone, surrounded by the low lights of her salt lamp and a couple of candles as well as the dimmed overhead light.

She was alone as she spoke to the camera, as though she were just having a video chat with friends. “As you all know this case as stayed with me since I first started looking into it. Willa Hughes ran away from home in the spring of 2000. Her mother Rosemary never gave up hope that Willa would be found and return home.”

Kara took a sip from her coffee mug, “Unfortunately, this afternoon we found out that for all these years Willa was okay, she was happy, married, and had a daughter. She was also killed in a car accident in Utah this morning.”

Tucking her blonde hair behind her ear she continued as she focused on the camera, “Willa Hughes, for the past almost twenty years has been known as Willow Chase, the wife of Bennett Chase the leader of the Fire Yoga movement. It’s understood that their teenage daughter was not in the car with them. The Hughes family has not made a public comment at this time.”

“Also, this afternoon, Pop Princess Tazia passed out on live television. Social Media immediately began to come alive with theories of substance abuse. Her manager however said it was simply exhaustion.” She took another sip of her drink, “We all know Tazia loves the spotlight, who can forget her feud with Joel Riley after they broke up. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have a feeling we’ll be seeing far more headlines about Tazia before too long.”

“I’ll be back soon as we dive into a new case, and with more updates about past ones when possible. Until then have some Coffee and a Donut, and we’ll meet up soon for another chat. Bye all.” Kara reached forward clicking the camera off and watching as the file uploaded to her laptop.

She turned the lights up, before she pulled up her editing software. She just had a few things to put in. If she was lucky tomorrow Rosemary would call her up and arrange a new interview. Rosemary was always willing to talk about Willa, she would even brag about Keaton.

Kara felt the memory flash over her for a moment. Keaton close to her, his eyes clear with fire. She could feel the heat rising in her body. He came close to kissing her in the barn that day. She was still sure of it, yes, he’d been engaged at the time—he was married now to the lifestyle vlogger, but Keaton had wanted her.

As Kara went through the motions of her editing she glanced to her phone, seeing multiple text messages from her sister Sharon. She pulled them up, rolling her eyes.

Did you see him?

Do you just want to rip his shirt off and lick his chest?

He threw you off the ranch and told you to burn in hell, right?

Sex with him would probably be the hottest thing on the planet.

She quickly began to type a reply. Keaton was the only one their when I brought over a casserole. He pretty much told me to stay away. I’m sure Rosemary will reach out soon. I have no desire to have sex with Keaton Hughes even if he was the last man on earth.

Before she even put the phone down, she saw that Sharon had replied. She ignored her for now, she had a video to get out.

***

“She’s not going to call you.” Alec Riley looked over at his older brother.

“Who?” Joel took a sip from his pint glass as he glanced up at the tv above the bar.

Alec laughed, “You’re telling me that you don’t expect to hear from Tazia? She’s going to come; Rosemary would never let her live it down.”

“Tazia is a myth, a figment.” Joel looked at the golden drink filling half his glass, “Ana, she’s real, lost in a shadow, needing to be the good daughter.”

“It doesn’t matter what name she is using. She cheated on you with her manager. She’s been attached to him ever since.”

Joel rolled his eyes, “I expect to hear this stuff from Phoebe, not from you. What are you doing following only TMZ on twitter?”

Alec leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his face, “Come on Bro, I’ve been following this ever since you’re dance battle.”

“That didn’t happen.” Joel whined, “We didn’t get into a dance battle. You can’t believe everything you read on those trashy websites.”

“Come on Joel, I really love the mental picture of you and Tazia fighting it out via dance. Like, come on, the picture just paints itself.” Alec looked around, “I can almost hear the music playing, first it would be one of her songs, then your dance hit, the really bad 2000s outfits, I mean come on.”

Joel knew what night his brother was speaking about. It was the last time besides an award show they had been anywhere near each other. For a moment Joel believed that if he and Ana got to talk, that they would clear up everything. Then he saw the way Fletcher Curtis slunk his arms around her on the dance floor.

It might not have been the dance battle that TMZ had reported or lived in the legend of old gossip sites long abandoned. Joel had pulled his back up dancer Chloe out onto the floor. Kept her close, even closer when he felt that Ana was looking. Did he kiss Chloe at one point on the dance floor, yes? When he pulled away did he see Ana locked in a hot and heavy kiss with Fletcher? He sure as hell did.

“Joel, Joel, Joel!” Alec snapped, about ready to slap his brother in the face.

“Sorry, I spaced out.”

“You never got over her, did you?”

“You never get over your first love.” Joel let a smile cross his lips as he thought about the first time, he an Ana kissed, it was the night before Willa ran away.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Alec shook his head, “Remember, I’m the heartless one who has never been in love, while you’ve written some of the most annoying love songs ever. Seriously, if I have to go to one more wedding and hear Summer Dance again I might kill you in your sleep.”

Joel rolled his eyes, “At least I’m not the one who sings it.”

“Thank God for small favors.” He sighed, “Well, it’s late. We should get back to the ranch.”

Joel tossed some cash onto the bar, “I can’t wait until we have the ranch set up and going. It’ll mean less trips into town.”

“Yeah, coming into town is totally the worse thing ever.” Alec froze as the door opened, in she stepped with her pitch-black hair, precious moment eyes, and full lips.

“Alec, you coming?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He followed his brother outside, glancing towards the window once more.

“Who is she?”

Alec shrugged, “No idea.”

“Let’s go.” Joel pushed him towards the truck. “We have an early morning.”

“Remind me why I agreed to be your foreman?”

“Because I’m a spoiled popstar with money to burn, and willing to pay you, give you a place to live in my giant house, let you swim in my indoor pool, oh and because I’m your brother.”

“I liked it better when you called yourself a spoiled popstar.” Alec took one more look towards the bar, wondering who the raven-haired beauty was.

***

Fletcher reached across the bed, pulling a pillow against him, breathing in its scent before realizing he was alone in the bed. “Taz?”

The morning sun was starting to come through the curtains. He threw the sheets aside and went to check his phone, at that moment that her phone was gone. He looked at this screen.

Had to go to Colorado. I need to see Keaton, twin thing. Do. Not. Follow. Stay in NYC, manage the whole passing out on live TV thing. Thanks.

He groaned. Every damn time she went back to Colorado, which thankfully wasn’t often he had to calm her down. Anytime she had been around her mother she would come back spiraling. Though he wasn’t as worried about her dealing with her mother, it was just a hassle. It was that Joel fucking Riley had texted her after the incident on TV.

He pulled open a drawer, pulling out a pair of sweatpants a t-shirt before he found the number, “Why the fuck did you let her leave?”

***

She hadn’t packed anything, she just got on the first flight she could. While she’d been waiting for it to board at JFK, she reserved a car at DIA, and put together a curbside pickup order for Target.

Her hair was pulled in a simple braid, she had no false lashes on, no makeup at all. She wore a pair of jeans, and a CU hoodie. She just looked like any average woman flying out. She had her purse of course, which she had filled with the few things she could think she needed.

In all honesty, she couldn’t recall the last time she had packed for herself, and since she had no idea how long she would be in Colorado, she didn’t know what to pack. So, while on the target app she ordered the basics of what she might need for a couple of days, including a basic black dress, everything was done under her real, legal name.

After she’d picked up her order at Target, she drove through the mountains to Sheridan Falls. She pulled over to the side of the road, taking a moment for herself. She had to decide now, did she go to Keaton’s house or her parents?

The dread in her stomach told her what she knew. Going straight to Keaton would be cowardly, she would have to go to the ranch first. However, her parents reacted would determine if she stuck around or went to spend the night at Keaton’s.

She started the car, pausing for a moment as a familiar voice hit her ears. Of course, it would be this song as she entered Sheridan Falls. Joel, he’d left her. Just walked out one day, and then a scathing song about her, accusing her of cheating.

Tazia felt cold as she remembered how it felt when she realized her was gone. And then the day that song came out, the music video dropping. She wouldn’t have to see Joel if she didn’t want to.

She did have to see her mother no matter what.

Might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

***

Keaton locked the front door of his house. He hadn’t slept much, but he had finished painting Belle’s office. He moved down to his truck, realizing that a moving truck was blocking his driveway. Sighing he moved towards the street, “Excuse me, you’re blocking my driveway.”

“Sorry bud, we’ll be out of the way in a minute.” The mover insisted.

Keaton wasn’t so sure as he walked around the truck, but they were almost empty. The team of men moving quickly to bring stuff into the old Windsor house.

“I’m so sorry.” A female voice came from behind him, “I’m trying to get them out as soon as possible.”

“It’s okay, they’re almost done.” Keaton turned to her, she was probably his age, with red hair lit by the son, “I’m Keaton Hughes.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Georgina Woodward, my husband Mitch and I are moving in. Unfortunately, he’s out of town right now.”

“Oh, that is a shame. If you need anything my wife Belle and I are usually around. She’s out of town this weekend, but she’ll be back Monday.”

“That’s so very nice of you.” Georgina kept her eyes on the movers, “I hope your not in a hurry?”

“Actually, I’m not.” He confessed, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with his parents and sister. “So, no need to rush them if you don’t have to.”

“Okay, thank you, still it should only be about fifteen minutes more.”

Keaton nodded, “Thanks.” He was already moving back towards his house.

***

Mitch nuzzled Belles neck as she poured a cup of coffee. She turned the TV on, “Do you want sugar?”

“You know what I want” His hands slipped along her waist.

Belle giggled, “Mitch, I need to at least get some coffee first.”

“Fine.” He sighed as he pulled away and began to fix his own. “Oh, did you see this yesterday?”

Belle looked to see what he was referencing, “What?”

“That pop star just totally passed out on TV She was probably high as a kite.”

“Wait, no, that’s not why.” Belle put her coffee mug down, “I have to go Mitch I’m sorry.”

Mitch reached for her, “What, why?”

“That missing woman they found, that’s Keaton’s sister, and that pop star who fainted in front of that news report, is also his sister.”

Mitch dropped his hand, “Go. It was short, it was sweet, next time will be longer.”

Belle felt the knot in her stomach, “Yes, next year.”

Mitch watched as she left for the bedroom, next year would be far too long. Belle would just have to be surprised to find out he was her new neighbor.

[teaplease1717]

Gosling ch 3

Here’s chapter 3 of my @bnha-fluff-week story! Thank you EmberStork for correcting.

Couple: TodoMomo

Rating: G

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251016/chapters/45848893

Chapter 1 Link: https://teaplease1717.tumblr.com/post/185652318716/gosling-ch-1 

Chapter 2 Link: https://teaplease1717.tumblr.com/post/185677289231/gosling-chapter-2

XXXX

Operation turn Yaoyorozu back had started off as a complete failure. Hagakure had Yaoyorozu draw pictures, hoping her memories would be triggered by her subconscious. Instead Yaoyorozu had drawn a family portrait of herself and him. Ashido had hung it up on the fridge.  

Kaminari and Mineta's contribution was even less helpful. With the excuse that Yaoyorozu liked to read, they went into her room and pulled out her favorite encyclopedia. Except, the three year old could only make out the basic words and no one else understood the thick text either.

Bakugo even had tried his hand at helping by tying her hair up into its usual high ponytail – but that could have been because he was annoyed with the length more than any intention of truly helping.

Jirou had the most realistic idea, she had Yaoyorozu listen to music and when that didn't work, had the three year old sit down at her keyboard to see if muscle memory kicked in.

It didn’t.

Shouto leaned back against the couch, his eyes unintentionally drifting to find the three year old on the opposite side of the room. Koda had brought down his pet rabbit and Yaoyorozu and the rest of the class 1-A girls were currently preoccupied with it as the remaining guys sat around the couches exhausted.

Uraraka was holding Yaoyorozu's tiny hand teaching her how to properly pet the animal. At some point Ashido or Hagakure had pulled the hood up on the All Might onesie and were busy taking pictures of Yaoyorozu.

As if feeling his heterochromatic stare, Yaoyorozu’s black eyes glanced up for the hundredth time that day. Scanning the room, her face began to scrunch in worry until they landed on him and her shoulders visibly relaxed allowing Asui and Uraraka to pull her attention back to the rabbit.

Shouto swallowed over a dry lump in his throat. The tear stains from earlier were still visible on her cheeks and the guilt from it tore into his stomach like a knife. They had been taking a break and playing hide and seek. Everything had been fine until he had been 'it.' When the rest of the class had tried to lead Yaoyorozu away she had broken down, crying and begging for him not to leave her. The knife in his stomach twisted painfully at the memory of her tears soaking his shirt.

The worst part was that at that moment all he had felt was anger. Anger at seeing Yaoyorozu so desperate and scared and anger at himself for being the cause of her breakdown. Anger at just the whole situation.

Why him?

He knew it was just the quirk and the whole accident had been a coincidence but he had wanted to scream at her that this wasn't her. Yaoyorozu was brave and level headed. She wasn't driven by her emotions like him. She'd never get so upset over someone like him if she was back to her normal self. Would she?

“Well what's next?” Sero asked, breaking Shouto out of his thoughts.  Half of the class had migrated away after the incident as it became more and more apparent that Yaoyorozu was stuck until the quirk wore off.

“I don’t know, let's take a break,” Kamanari said, leaning back against the couch and looking up at the ceiling absently. "When is Aizawa coming back?"

As if on cue, Shouto's stomach rumbled. He looked at the clock on the wall and discovered that it was already late afternoon. He felt famished.

His last full meal had been at breakfast and with everything that had happened he hadn't thought to eat since. He'd just make something quick for himself. He stood up. Immediately Yaoyorozu's dark eyes darted to him. Watching as he walked into the kitchen before she allowed Jirou and Ashido to talk her back into returning to the rabbit.

Shouto sighed. It was disconcerting being the center of another's life.

He grabbed a pot from the drying rack and filled it up with water, placing it on the stove. He hoped she was okay with soba. He only knew how to make noodles and protein shakes but he doubted she would want the latter.

Shouto looked over at the girls. "Yao -Momo-chan want food?" He asked. He felt heat crawl up his neck but used his right side to counterbalance it. He had already been scolded by Ashido once for still calling Yaoyorozu by her last name. He didn't get it but sometimes it was better to choose your battles.

Yaoyorozu looked up and bobbed her head, the All Might hoodie sliding off, leaving her hair frizzy.

Shouto held back a smirk. Of course she'd want food. When was Yaoyorozu not hungry?

He opened the cabinet. Each student had their unspoken section for just their items. Shouto looked at his designated section. It was bare except for whey protein powder and a few noodle boxes. Grabbing a box of the soba noodles, Shouto paused. Yaoyorozu usually ate quite a bit, would one box be good enough? He hesitated before grabbing a second just in case.

Light footfalls stopped at the edge of the kitchen. Shouto glanced over at Midoriya.

The green haired boy shifted. He seemed nervous again, his eyes falling to the floor. “Todoroki-kun, are you okay?” he finally asked.

Shouto paused. Was he okay? He guessed he was, but he didn't know. This all felt like a test that he was failing miserably. Even before the quirk incident, he and Yaoyorozu were on opposite sides of a coin, so to speak. He'd like to think they were friends but they didn't have that much in common and hardly ever spoke outside of school.

Most of their interactions over the last three years had been Yaoyorozu sharing her textbooks with him, but that was something she would do for any of her classmates. And the few times she had invited him to study sessions, it was due to his quiet personality and the fact that they worked well together on homework.  

Admittedly, they had been hanging out more frequently ever since he had asked for her help refining his quirk. She had agreed, of course, and without hesitation because “heroes have to cheer each other on,” but outside of those training sessions, the only real time they had ever hung out was at the Ennichi festival back in first year. Still, he’d like to think they had grown closer as friends since then, but they certainly were not close enough that she would forgive him for making her cry.

Shouto looked away. It felt like an anvil had lodged itself in his stomach, holding him back from...something he couldn't name.   

“Fine…” he finally said, pouring the noodles into the water. Whatever he was grasping for wasn't clear and, as he did every time he didn't understand his own feelings, he shoved the emotion away. Compartmentalizing it to be dragged up and examined later when he was alone.

Shouto turned his attention back to his friend. Midoriya hadn't moved from the edge of the kitchen. He wrung his hands together. "It just seems like you've been on edge."

"On edge?"

"Yeah, on edge. Or not yourself." He explained hurriedly.

Shouto hummed. Perhaps he had been a bit cold since earlier?

"That's because he likes her idiot."

Shouto tensed. He hadn't heard Bakugo approach and by Midoriya's shocked and red face clearly he hadn't either. Shouto frowned. "Of course I like her, we're friends…" Shouto said, not looking at Bakugo. The statement made him feel suddenly uncomfortable. As if the word didn't fully explain the amount he trusted and relied upon Yaoyorozu.

"Eh! Todoroki likes someone?" Kaminari said, overhearing the end of the conversation.  He put his arm on Bakugo's shoulder and gave Shouto an assessing look. "How can you tell? His face never changes?"

"Mind your own damn business, sparky," Bakugo snapped. Swiping a fist at Kaminari who danced away, obviously used to Bakugo's antics.

Bakugo sneered at Todoroki. "Are you really that dense?"

Shouto didn't answer as he brought the pot over to the sink and poured the noodles into a strainer. Bakugo scoffed and walked away. Shouto could still feel Midoriya's green eyes on his back, most likely analyzing and picking apart Bakugo's words, but he ignored him as he turned on the cold water to cool down the noodles.

Shouto exhaled through his nose. “Foods ready,” he said, scooping noodles into two bowels and bringing them over to the table.

As if those words were a summoning spell, Mineta appeared out of thin air to sit down in front of the first bowel. “Oh boy I'm hungry!” He said, picking up a set of chopsticks.

Shouto swiped the bowel out from under him. “Not for you.”

“What?” Mineta asked, his face screwed up in mock hurt.

Shouto glared, unperturbed as he sat down. “Make your own.”

“Isn't Aizawa bringing food over later?” Jirou chimed in as she led Yaoyorozu over to the kitchen to wash her hands.

“Yeah, you just have to wait,” Krishima added grabbing his bag from one of the chairs. “Anyways, I got to get some studying done. I really don’t want to fail another one of Present Mic Sensei's pop quizzes.”

“You think he’s going to give us another one so soon? We just had one.” Ashido asked, her face looked pale at the thought as she walked over.

“That was three weeks ago,” Midoriya replied, sitting down opposite of Shouto. “And since half the class failed, I can’t see why he wouldn’t.”

Kaminari and Ashido moaned in unison.

"Spiky hair! Let's go! I don't got all night to cram that head of yours with English," Bakugo's eyes narrowed dangerously as he walked towards the front door.

"My hairs no more spiky then yours," Krishima sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Krishima turned to the rest of the group, "Well, I'll see you when Aizawa-sensei arrives. Todoroki," Krishima said, giving his usual sharp toothed smile.

Shouto nodded in understanding.

"Ugh...what will I do now that Yaomomo can't help,"Ashido said, flopping over a chair.

"I can tutor you if you are willing to pay for my services," Mineta's eyes gleamed suggestively.

"No! Gross!" Ashido snorted, kicking at the grape haired boy. "I’d rather fail!"

Sometime during the conversation, Iida's mind had short circuited. "What a dilemma! I should be a good friend and stay with Todoroki-kun and Yaoyorozu-san but my duty as class president calls for me to help my classmates in the stead of Yaoyorozu-san! What do I do? What do I do?" He finally broke with a cry.

"Calm down Iida-kun," Midoriya patted Iida's back. "It doesn't look like Yaoyorozu-san will change back anytime soon. I'm sure it's okay if you help."

"Oh Iida please tutor me!" Ashido pleaded, pressing her hands together.

"Yes! Tutor me too!" Sero said, getting up from the couch.

"Oh, I could use some help too," Uraraka said, rubbing the back of her head. "Todoroki-kun, will you be okay?”

Iida and Uraraka looked at Todoroki.

"Its fine," Shouto said, as the other students still hanging around the common area began to beg Iida for assistance as well. Iida's concerned expression evaporated, replaced with a big grin. And with an Iida type proclamation he promised to do his best to teach them in Yaoyorozu's place.

This left just four people in the common room. Todoroki, Midoriya, Jirou, and Kaminari (who Shouto wondered why didn't leave with the rest of the study group).

“What's this Todoroki,” Jirou asked helping Yaoyorozu up into the seat next to him.

“Soba. Cold,” he replied around a mouthful of noodles.

Jirou picked up the chopsticks and Yaoyorozu frowned. "I can do it myself."

Jirou looked down. "You sure? Can you use the big kid chopsticks?"

Yaoyorozu nodded. "Okay, let me know if you need help." Jirou said, moving to sit next to Kaminari.

Yaoyorozu picked up the chopsticks and after two tries was able to pick up the noodles. She took a tentative bite.

Shouto looked over and almost choked on his noodles.  Yaoyorozu's eyes had grown to gigantic proportions. Slowly she chewed and Shouto could see the wheels begin to turn in her tiny head before a huge grin spread across her face and she shoveled more noodles into her mouth.

"Hey, don't eat so fast Momo-chan. You don't want to get sick," Jirou chided, leaning across the table to pat Yaoyorozu on the back as she inhaled her food too fast. Shouto hid a smirk behind his dipping bowl.

"She's so cute. Did Yaomomo always like soba noodles this much?" Kaminari asked.

Jirou paused, twirling her ear jack around her fingers. "I don't think she's ever had them before.

"Really?" Kaminari asked shocked. Shouto paused to watch as Yaoyorozu recovered to proceed and shovel more noodles into her mouth. All proper manners seemed to have disappeared as she chewed happily. He had always thought she preferred European food. Her impeccable manners and high class lifestyle seemed to lead him to believe that. It had never occurred to him that maybe she had just never had some common Japanese dishes he had grown up with.

Well if she liked his soba, which was barely edible, he should take her to his favorite soba house. Todoroki's heart faltered. What was he thinking? They weren't that close.

"Anyways, did you like the bunny Momo-chan?" Kaminari asked.

"Yeah."

Kaminari's eyes glittered. "So who do you like more Todoroki oniisan or the bunny?"

“Oniisan,” Yaoyorozu said, without hesitation as she looked up, her face flashing in indignation at the question. Shouto contented himself with a deadpan expression as Kaminari looked across the table and winked. Jirou elbowed him in the side and Kaminari crumpled.

"Don’t ask stupid questions," Jirou hissed.

"Okay. Okay," Kaminari said holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Sorry, what else am I supposed to ask?"

"I dunno, why not what she wants to be when she grows up?"

"Fine," Kaminari turned to look at Yaoyorozu again and smiled. "Momo-chan what do you want to be when you grow up?"

“I’m going to be oniisan’s wife.”

Shouto choked on his noodles.

Xxxx

Thanks for reading!

[damnit-samnit]

The Perfect Present [DadMight]

Merry Christmas everyone! Here’s my Secret Santa gift for @singartworks. Just a certain green-haired boy trying to find the best present for his golden-haired mentor. I hope you all enjoy it!!

---

Panic.

That’s what Midoriya Izuku felt when he sat down at his desk, eyes falling on the All Might calendar he had hanging just above it. Though it was absolutely covered with workout plans and training regimes that All Might himself had written in for each day of the month, one date, in particular, had been circled in bright red marker.

The box wasn’t filled with small, carefully written instructions like most of the other days.

No, instead there was a grinning, and very detailed, bearded All Might drawn inside the otherwise empty box, donning a large Santa hat and exclaiming ‘Enjoy the day off!’

The date?

December 25th.

Christmas.

Midoriya had been given Christmas off.

And it was three days away.

Christmas was three days away.

That’s when the panic gripped him, his eyes going wide as he was smacked upside the head with the realization that Christmas was only three days away and he had not gotten All Might a single thing.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the day was coming up -- he looked at the calendar daily. He just… hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up in his own world and too focused on his training.

It had been a little more than nine months since he first met the number one hero, who declared Midoriya his successor on an empty residential street after a run-in with a villain. With his impossible dreams of heroism now actually possible, Midoriya had been running full-speed toward his future. Particularly toward the Yuuei entrance exams that grew closer each passing day.

To be given a quirk…

To be given All Might’s quirk...

He owed so much to All Might. Not only was he possibly the greatest hero to ever live, he was also Midoriya’s personal idol and had been dedicating so much of his precious time and energy to training him.

The least the teenager could do was get him a Christmas present!

And he was running out of time!

With the remainder of his afternoon free, Midoriya found himself dashing to the front door, grabbing for his coat and shoes along the way.

“Izuku!” his mother squeaked, popping her head from the kitchen doorway at hearing his sudden, thudding footsteps and the rapid rushing of his coat. “Where are you doing!? Dinner--”

“Just running to the mall!” he shouted back, shoving his feet into his bright-red shoes. “I’ll text you!”

“Mall!? What do you -- Izuku!”

It was too late though. Shouting a goodbye behind him, the boy was out their apartment in a rush, the door swinging and clicking closed behind him.

With brows furrowed, Inko glanced back to the large dinner she had already started prepping.

Why was he going to the mall in such a rush?

She blinked.

Maybe… he was meeting friends?

The thought immediately placated her and she released a steady, hopeful breath. He had seemed much more… motivated lately. Upbeat. Plus he had been spending more time out of the house. Perhaps a new collection of friends was the reason.

Though it was most certainly overkill, Midoriya made the trek from Musutafu to the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall in Tokyo, arriving there around dinnertime. On the train, he had sent a follow-up text to his mother that he would be late getting home and to just put his dinner aside. Instead of peppering him with frantic questions about his whereabouts and his actions, she had only asked that he send her a message when he was on her way home and to have fun.

Her… nonchalance was unlike her and it surprised him. Still, he was not about to question it. The lack of guilt on skipping dinner meant he could focus wholly on the momentous task at hand.

What gift could he possibly get All Might that would be worthy of him?

It was the Saturday before Christmas, the last weekend before it, and the mall reflected that.

The usual weekend crowds had swelled in size as shoppers dashed in for a last-minute shopping trip before the holiday. Parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts were buying for the various children of their families while others focused on getting the perfect present for their special someone.

The mall itself was brimming with Christmas cheer. Thousands of twinkling lights in shades of blue and white were strung up, garland was twisted around every pole, column and pillar the structure had. Along pathways, and in tight clusters around storefronts, were small, yet fully dressed, evergreen trees.

As soon as Midoriya entered the mall’s complex, he came face-to-face with a large grouping of girls his age, all standing around and comforting one of their own who had burst into loud, hysterical tears.

“It’s our first Christmas together!” she sputtered out between sobs, ignoring the comforting pats of her friends. “It has to be perfect!”

Midoriya quickly moved away from the crowd and the hovering gawkers, acting as if he was a man on a very important mission. Technically, he was. All he needed to do was get to a central point in the mall and he would go from there. He stepped onto the escalator when he found himself in its vicinity, riding it up to the second floor where--

He stopped.

Oh no.

A man cleared his throat behind him and Midoriya jumped, mumbling out his apologies when he realized he had stopped too close to the top of the escalator, partially blocking a steady stream of people that were trying to disembark.

Continuing his awkward sorries, he side-stepped out of the way and turned to lean against the railing overlooking the first floor. There he was, at the mall, his meager savings burning a hole in his pocket, ready and willing to get All Might the perfect Christmas gift as thanks for being there for him...

But it was the ‘what’ that had become his biggest hurdle.

He had come to the mall with no plans and no ideas. Nothing. Not even a whisper of an inclination in his mind.

What could he possibly get the man who had everything?

Okay, okay, breathe…

He just had to think it through, that was all. Bringing out his phone, Midoriya opened a blank email he could write his thoughts in. All he had to do was deconstruct All Might. That wasn’t too hard, right? Just list his likes and interests and that should trigger some gift ideas.

He stared at the screen, watching the cursor blink in the great expanse of empty white.

Right.

Things All Might liked...

Well, he liked crime fighting! Being a hero! That was his life’s calling after all.

Oh! And America! All his moves were named after American cities. Plus the colors red, white and blue were featured heavily in his costume designs.

Also, he liked…

What else did All Might like?

He stared down at his phone, his list of two things seemingly laughing up at him.

Heroism and America?

That’s all he had!?

They were the most superficial things about All Might.

How could he, Midoriya, call himself a fan? This was a man he had watched ever since he was a child and all he could come up with was--

Tea!

All Might liked tea!

It was not an uncommon sight to see a thermos by All Might’s side. Sometimes, especially after a particularly grueling day of work at the Dagobah Beach Park, they would stop by a coffee shop on the way home and chat about life. He always ordered tea there.

What if he got All Might a tea set? Surely that was a considerate gift, the kind of present that showed he had been paying attention to the interests of his master.

Midoriya looked up from his phone, face set with an overblown sense of determination now that he had an actual plan in place.

A tea set.

It was the perfect gift.

---

Midoriya brought the present with him the following day to the beach park. It had been so nicely wrapped in reindeer-patterned paper by the man behind the counter. He had even put a sizable green bow on it.

A collection of tea from all over the world contained in a sharp cedar box.

It was the perfect gift.

It was tucked away in his backpack, as he already envisioned All Might’s perfect response to the perfect gift. Right before they would leave the beach for the day, Midoriya would dig into his bag and reveal the present. All Might, of course, would be flattered and, ever so carefully, would open--

“Ah, Young Midoriya!”

The tall, lanky blond was in the parking lot, standing beside the pickup truck he had been using the haul away garbage at the end of each day. Midoriya waved as he approached, a slight skip in his step.

“Hey, All Might!”

“How are you feeling this morning, my boy?” he asked, falling into the usual line of questioning he greeted Midoriya with each day. “Ate a nice breakfast? Brought water?”

“Yep!” And, just like always, Midoriya pointed his thumb toward his backpack. “Brought it with me.”

“Good. We’ll pick up where we left off yesterday, I don’t think that--” They were walking side-by-side to the beach when All Might stopped, jerking his head back to his truck. “Oh wait, I forgot…”

Midoriya watched his mentor jog back to his vehicle, dig around inside of it, before returning a few short seconds later. A Santa hat was in his hand and, with a lopsided grin gracing his bony features, he placed it on his head.

“‘Tis the season!” he declared as Midoriya beamed up at him.

Though it was the eve before Christmas Eve, All Might did not pull any punches or give the teenager any sort of holiday break. He stood on the sidelines, as hawkish as ever, hollering words of encouragement as Midoriya sank deeper and deeper into the sand. He was trying to push an industrial oven across the beach and up toward the parking lot.

“Your back Midoriya,” All Might yelled, slapping his own. “Put your back into it!”

Oh, he was putting his back into it alright. His back, heart, lungs, skull, feet -- every part of his body was working in tandem to push the heavy object. At some point, the ground beneath him shifted away and he fell forward, smacking his head against the frigid metal of appliance.

His arms were on fire and he could feel a heartbeat in his head as he groaned. Midoriya heard a series of coughs before All Might’s voice rose above the steady, dull roar of crashing waves behind him.

“Do you have a concussion?” he called. Midoriya sat up on his knees, rubbing his forehead.

“N… No,” he answered, though he felt a sizable bump already growing. “I, uh, I don’t think so.”

“Then stand up and keep at it, my boy,” came the shouted reply. “This beach isn’t going to clean itself!”

“R-right!”

It took almost the entire day to push the oven from the shoreline to parking lot. Alone. Throwing his predecessor a bone, All Might shifted into his muscle form to hoist the appliance onto the back of his truck, paying no mind to the way the vehicle groaned beneath the added weight.

“Well,” All Might said, coughing into his fist as he lost mass. “We didn’t get as much done as I was hoping…”

“There’s still time!” Midoriya said, glancing back at the setting sun. Now that they were in the heart of winter, the days were growing much shorter and sunlight was a precious thing. “There are some cinderblocks I can go--”

All Might shook his head.

“No, no, what you did was good today.” All Might groaned, checking the time on his phone. “We can pick this up after Christmas…”

“Oh!” Midoriya blinked, brows knitting as he thought back to his calendar. He was certain All Might had planned on getting together the following day, on Christmas Eve. Should he bring it up? Maybe the hero had forgotten what he had written?

“Young Midoriya,” All Might said, bright blue eyes peering down at him. “What are your plans for Christmas Eve?”

Midoriya stared up at him blankly.

“You see,” All Might said, puffing out his chest. “I was planning on making an appearance at the children's hospital and I was wondering if you wanted to come along--”

“Yes,” Midoriya said firmly, nodding his head in one sharp, resolute motion. “Yes! Is it an event for your charity? You always do stuff like that around this time of year. Especially giving out free trees. Of course, I’d be honored!”

“Fanboy!” the hero teased and a toothy smile found its way across his face. “It’s become a yearly tradition… sort of. Sometimes I switch it up and visit schools instead. Here…” he was moving to the passenger side of his truck, and Midoriya followed. He had opened the door and was reaching for a messenger bag he had sitting on the floor. “I’ve got the address of the hospital on a card somewhere. If you want to meet me there at 9 a.m.--”

All Might was still mumbling instructions to Midoriya, but the green-haired teen’s eyes had fallen on the mess of wrapping paper and collection of boxes that had taken up most of the passenger seat.

“Presents?” Midoriya said out loud. All Might glanced up from his increasingly panicked searching, following the boy’s gaze.

“Oh, yes,” All Might said with a soft chuckle, silently praying he had stashed the hospital information in a front pocket of his bag as it wasn’t in any of the other compartments. “Gifts from employees at my agency that I picked up this morning. Please don’t tell them I ripped their wrapping paper so messily, some of it was really fragile... Shit, don’t tell me I left the envelope on my desk…”

A lump settled in Midoriya’s throat.

From his vantage point, at least three of the presents were tea-related.

“Tea…” Midoriya squeaked under his breath. All Might released a thankful sigh when he pulled out the manila envelope he had been searching for.

“Hm? Tea? Oh yes, it’s the easiest gift to get me!” he said with a laugh. “It’s no secret I like my tea! Now, here’s the address for the hospital. I’ll be there in costume around 9 a.m… Do you want to be an elf or a reindeer? You know what, why don’t you be a reindeer…”

Midoriya limply took the card All Might was holding out and the costume that had been folded beneath his bag -- he had brought it along with the assumption Midoriya would agree to be his helper.

All Might was droning on about something related to Christmas trees as he slammed the door of the truck shut, punctuating his monologue with a breathy laugh. When Midoriya didn’t laugh along with him at his excellent tree pun, All Might paused and looked over to the boy.

Why did he seem so… shell-shocked?

“Is everything okay?” All Might asked, concerned.

Had his pun been that bad!?

No, the pun had been a classic All Might zinger.

Maybe… he had Christmas Eve plans…?

“You know, you don’t have to come tomorrow,” All Might added, trying his best not to sound too disappointed. “If you had plans with someone… You don’t have to waste your holiday with an old man...”

“What?” Midoriya blinked, breaking from his trance. “Plans…? What, no, of course not All Might. I’ll be there tomorrow, don’t you worry! You can count on me!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” All Might said with a sizable amount of relief, flashing a thumbs up. Two of his other reindeer had already canceled on him and he was banking on Midoriya’s help. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then!”

Midoriya watched All Might carefully pull his long limbs into the driver’s side of the truck before it roared to life at the turn of his key.

All Might’s perfect gift...

All Might’s perfect gift was terrible.

“Oh! One last thing…”

Midoriya looked up just in time to catch a wrapped gift that All Might had tossed out the window of his truck.

“Merry Christmas, my boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Midoriya’s shoulders slumped as he looked down at the gift.

A gift from All Might.

All Might had given him a gift.

Oh no.

What was he going to do?

---

Inko had been talking on the phone with Bakugou Mitsuki when Midoriya returned home that night. Immediately, she knew something wasn’t right. Her son looked absolutely defeated as he kicked off his shoes and trudged to his bedroom, backpack under one arm and a shining gold present under the other.

“I have to go,” she informed the woman on the other line, motherly intuition ringing in her ears.

“Okay! I’ll email you that chicken recipe I was talking about...”

Gingerly she tip-toed to Midoriya’s bedroom, wringing her hands as she stood outside his door, listening. It didn’t sound like he was crying. Should she knock? Should she ask him if something was the matter?

Beeping from the kitchen interrupted her internal doting and, casting one last worried look to the closed door, she went to go pull the food from the oven.

Midoriya, meanwhile, was carefully unwrapping his master’s gift.

Of course it was perfect.

He had been given an All Might action figure. Not just any All Might action figure -- the hero was wearing his Bronze Age costume and, judging from the date on the box, it was an original run.

It was a collector’s item. A rarity. A figure that had been released back before All Might had become a household name. When he was a rising star that had just started capturing the public’s attention and imagination.

It was a perfect gift.

The teenager sniffed loudly, rubbing his eyes across his forearm, touched at the amazing gift and ashamed of his own failures. Why was it so hard to pick out a present for All Might? He had spent nearly every day with him for months, he was an important presence in his life, basically on the same level as his mother.

Nothing was good enough.

Midoriya inhaled deeply through his runny nose, desperately trying to dam the flood of tears that just kept coming.

Nothing would ever be good enough to give to All Might.

Nothing would ever be able to properly encompass or represent the amount of reverence, respect and gratitude the teen had for his mentor.

He owed All Might so much.

So. Much.

No.

Nothing would ever be good enough.

And he didn’t know what to do.

Facing an impossible dilemma, Midoriya went to the only other person he could turn to in a moment of crisis besides All Might--

He went to mom.

“Oh, Izuku,” Inko sputtered, nearly dropping the plate of fish in her hands when she turned to find her only son standing in the doorway of the kitchen in tears. Though she had no idea why he was crying, automatically her own eyes started to water. She placed the plate down and fluttered around him, placing worried and placating hands on his cheeks and forehand before smoothing down his messy mop of hair. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“Mom, I--” he sniffled and she steeled herself for him to release some horrendous piece of news. “I… I don’t know what to get someone for Christmas.”

Inko froze, eyes wide, as his problem wasn’t as… doom and gloom as she originally believed.

“I thought I’d get him a tea set but a lot of other people got him a tea set and I thought maybe a tie but I’m sure he has a million ties at home and I’m stuck because nothing is good enough for him because without him I wouldn’t be where I am and he’s dedicated so much time to me and the present he got me for Christmas is awesome and there is no way I can match it and I never will be able to--”

“Izuku,” his mother said, grabbing his cheeks between warm hands and shushing him, trying to stifle his mumbled rantings. “We can talk this through. We can work this out. Come on, sit down.”

Midoriya didn’t put up a fuss when he was led to the kitchen table, taking a seat as a bowl of plain white rice was placed in front of him.

“Eat,” she demanded and he acquiesced, though his bites were half-hearted. “Now, tell me what’s wrong. You have to get a present for someone?”

“It’s a…” he rested his cheek against his palm, shifting the rice in his bowl with the other, hesitating on how to best describe All Might. “Teacher that I’m trying to buy a present for. He’s been really helpful, mom, and he’s spent a lot of time teaching me. And I’m helping him out tomorrow morning at a hospital and I want to give him a present but nothing I think of is good enough for him.”

A confused Inko was nodding along.

“O-okay,” she said. “Maybe a gift card?”

“A gift card!?” Izuku said, looking up at her aghast. “No! It has to be something…” he trailed off before sighing and shrugging. “I owe him a lot, mom.”

“Well…” she shifted in her seat, eyeing the stray grains of rice that had been knocked out of his bowl and onto the wooden table. “If storebought presents aren’t good enough, make him something.”

“Make him something?”

“Well, you don’t have to make it. It just has to be something… personal. Something with heart.”

Izuku was looking at her with wide, curious eyes.

“Remember when you were little and you made me all those drawings of you in your hero costume?” she said, a smile tugging the sides of her lips. “Those were some of the best presents I’ve ever gotten. I have them all saved.”

“I can’t give All--” he coughed. “I can’t give my teacher a drawing.” Defeat was creeping back into his face and Inko scooted forward, panicked.

“It doesn’t have to be a drawing! That was just my favorite present. It could be a picture or a letter or a card…” Midoriya’s brows furrowed slightly and he looked off to the side, an idea blossoming in his head. Inko continued on. “It’s all about heart, hon.”

He didn’t answer right away. He had a far-off look in his eye but there was a light in his face that calmed Inko.

Then, in a sudden burst, he was standing.

“What time is it!?” he shouted, reaching for his phone, shoulders relaxing at seeing the time. Then he was swiping. “I think I still have it…” he muttered to himself.

“Izuku?”

“I think I know what I can do!” he said, a bright smile erupting across his face at finding what he was looking for. Still, a concerned Inko raised her hands as her son darted away from the table, the chair skittering out from behind him.

Before he left the kitchen, he seemed to catch himself, sliding to a stop in the doorway. He turned and looked back at his mother, giving her a thumbs up.

“Thanks, mom!” he said, grinning.

A visibly confused Inko raised an unsure hand in response.

“Of course…”

---

“Ho ho ho, don’t pull Santa’s bangs!” All Might declared through a clenched-teeth smile as he tried to pry open the iron-grip of the toddler he had bent down to greet.

While the parents laughed and took pictures of the Santa Might standing in front of the hospital, the child he was babbling at had become mesmerized by the two rigid blond bangs poking out from in front of All Might’s Santa hat.

Rather than grip the stuffed dolphin he was holding out, she had instead grabbed and held onto the golden handlebars instead.

“Ho ho ho, you’re gonna give Santa a migraine if you keep pulling his hair…”

“Alright, alright,” one of the mothers said, finally deciding to step in and save All Might from her spawn’s clutches.

But, she didn’t want to let go.

In the end, All Might was able to free himself, though the toddler was waving three long golden hairs in her hands -- prizes she had pulled from the number one hero’s head.

All Might laughed through his tight smile, thrusting the stuffed dolphin into the arms of the parents as he was not bending down to the child’s level again.

He had learned his lesson.

“Merry Christmas!” he said as he waved goodbye, relieved, the front of his scalp throbbing slightly.

It had been the last family that had crowded him at his arrival. Having been blessed with a brief reprise from fans, All Might reached into the pant pocket of his red suit, looking at the time.

Midoriya was almost ten minutes late.

Maybe he’s not coming?

All Might pushed the thought aside. He had complete and utter confidence in the boy -- he wouldn’t skip out on him. Not on Christmas Eve. Something obviously came up.

“All Might!”

The hero turned his head to see a familiar sight -- a green-haired teenager running toward him full speed, waving an arm wildly.

Though, the reindeer get-up he was wearing wasn’t typical.

“All Might? Where?” The blond turned his head wildly, as if searching for the famed hero. “You must be confused Young Mi-deer-iya. I’m Santa Claus.”

“O-oh! Right,” Midoriya’s eyes darted around, worried that was a child nearby and he had ruined the magic. Save for a couple of members of the press stationed a stone’s throw away, the hero and protege were relatively alone. “Sorry for being late, the train--”

“Oh, it’s not a worry at all, my boy! I’m glad you can make it. Santa Claus needs one of his trusty reindeers by his side!”

You know what, an elf may have been a better choice…

“Before we start All Might…” Midoriya glanced behind him at the reporters and photographers. “Can I talk to you? Privately?”

“Of course, young one! Why don’t we head inside? Oh, wait, let me... Thank you all for coming!” All Might said loudly, turning to address the gathered media personnel. “If you excuse me, Santa has to go visit some children…”

Leaving the media wasn’t as simple as making an announcement, though. Some wanted more staged shots of All Might in his Christmas costume, others were looking for additional quotes from the hero that could be included in their stories. After about twenty minutes, All Might put his foot down and disappeared into the relative safety of the hospital, asking a starstruck nurse if there was an empty room they could borrow momentarily.

When the door of the hospital room was closed and the two of them were bathed in privacy, All Might turned to Midoriya.

“What’s bothering you, my boy?��

“I, uh… I got you a Christmas present.”

The hero’s face, partially hidden beneath a large white beard, slackened slightly.

“Oh!” he said, caught off guard. “Well, thank you! You didn’t have to--”

“It’s not much,” Midoriya said, digging into his costume and revealing the gift he had somehow managed to stash away inside of it. He was staring down at it, unable to meet All Might’s eyes. “You were really hard to shop for. Nothing seemed good enough for you.”

“Midoriya…” All Might dropped the sack of toys he had been carrying on his back, reaching out to place a paternal hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Any gift from you is… more than good enough!”

Rather than push back against All Might’s statement, Midoriya simply held the present out.

He didn’t look up when All Might took it from his hands, or when he carefully broke open the red wrapping paper.

Inside was a photograph encased in a simple wooden frame.

It was a picture All Might had taken and sent to Midoriya several months earlier, when the weather had been much, much, warmer. The hero had taken a selfie in his buff form on the beach. His beaming face took up nearly half of the photo and, in the background, Midoriya could be seen in a mid-guttural yell, arms held out wide, a variety of tires hanging from arms as he ran.

It was perfect.

“I know it’s not much--”

“This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten,” All Might said, interrupting his successor. The bravado was gone, his voice was soft. He was being earnest. “I mean that, Young Midoriya. Thank you.”

Midoriya peered up at All Might’s face, a wiggling smile forming as tears dotted the corners of his eyes.

All Might held up his hands.

“Now, now, what did I say about crying--”

“Thank you All Might,” the teen said, inhaling loudly and blinking back the waterworks. “For everything you do. I’m happy to have met you.”

All Might’s smile softened.

“Likewise, my boy. Likewise.”

A comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only when there was a series of quick knocks on the door. The head doctor on duty was ready to meet with All Might, the nurse informed them, and lead him through the rooms of the patients he was to visit.

“Excellent!” All Might declared, settling back into his heroic persona. “Be right out!”

With that, the tender moment was over.

“I have to give my mom credit,” Midoriya admitted, scratching at the back of his head. “She suggested I go with something personal and I remembered this picture and how much you laughed at it... I’m just glad you like it.”

“Your mother is a very smart woman,” the hero said gently, eyes flickering back down to the picture held carefully between his gloved hands. He cleared his throat and, holding opened his red coat, he tucked the present safely into an inner pocket. “Tell me you got her something nice for Christmas too.”

Midoriya went rigid as All Might reached for his large toy sack.

“Got her… something… for Christmas…” he repeated, heart nearly stopping.

Oh god!

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I got her… a tea set!” the teen said through clenched teeth, completely aware he was a terrible son.

“Ah, a thoughtful present,” an oblivious All Might said with a nod of his head, opening the door of the room and gesturing for the teen to go through. “Now come on, let’s go spread some Christmas cheer.”