#she fucked up her back two weeks ago AND she's had a tumultuous time at work recently. she's the definition of grit tbh

[versary]

so the workouts for the individual quarterfinals were released today and this year there are four workouts and we have a slightly longer window in which to do them and submit our scores (leaving the door open for redos, which historically there hasn't been time before unless you were willing to Hurt, e.g., i had to redo one last year because we messed up the rep scheme and fortunately it was a good one for me so the repercussions weren't that bad but i was still a bit cooked). today i did workouts 3 and 4 which are the one's i'll do the best in so i thought it would be good for me to to do them while i'm fresh and feeling good.

workout 3 was the only one i was initially excited about - i am very good at handstand push ups. my goal was to get to the chest-to-wall HSPU and try to get 1-2 reps there. i was worried about the toes to bar and rope climbs - i am good at them but pulling is a comparatively weaker movement for me (i can press all day babey) - so i went unbroken on the HSPU, broke up the t2b and made sure i took enough rest, and finished the first part in 4:50. i did the strict HSPU in 3 sets (4-3-3) and was measured on the rope climbs (ouch) and got back to the wall at 14:05 which, by the time i was like good to go, gave me about 40 seconds for chest-to-wall HSPU and i knocked out 7 in one big set and then rolled down. stoked. absolute dream performance for me. i had THEE dirtiest lat/bicep/shoulder pump afterwards - couldn't bend my elbow for about half an hour haha. i was so happy!

had a delicious coffee and then did workout 4:

this i was originally not excited about... the first two weights are fine for me, but 70 kg is my 1RM clean & jerk - i'd actually only jerked it twice before, once as a clean & jerk and once as single off the blocks. i was worried that i'd get to that weight and then get stopped. BUT i have been WORKING recently: if i can do this complex at 67.5 kg there's no reason why i shouldn't be able to get singles at 70. so i warmed up, did one single at 65, and then started. did the 38s as 6-4 in 0:53, did the 56s as quick singles and finished at 3:42 which left me heaps more time than i expected, so rested my minute and then in the last 5 minutes i worked my way through six (6) pretty easy singles at 70, which is way more than i expected! i've never EVER been able to hit that weight consistently, and to be able to power clean and essentially push jerk it (i was doing these weird fucked up split jerks) in a workout after already do so many reps is really a testament to a) the training i've been doing, and b) the change in mindset i've had which has lead to increased consistency and confidence at those heavier weights. i was PUMPED. i'm still riding that high tbh!!

i'll do workout 2 tomorrow and then 1 on saturday and then that'll be it for another year! 🥹

[cowgurrrl]

Too Close

Pairing: rockstar!joel x actress!reader

Author’s note: this isn’t exactly where I wanted it to be but I still like it (ps fic named after this song)

Summary: “Why, get you gone! Who is’t that hinders you?” “A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.” A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act III, Scene II, Lines 318-319 [2.5k]

Warnings: arguing, language, tumultuous co-parent relationships, the l word, allusions to substance abuse, vague depictions of a panic attack, brief description of disassociation, poor sleeping habits, fictional situations of survivor’s guilt/traumatic events, this one’s a doozy y’all

Joel ushers you into his bedroom and quickly closes the door behind him like you two are sneaking around and don't want to get caught. You bite your thumbnail as you think, replaying the brief moment you saw Angela over and over again. He stands there, hands on his hips, and takes a deep breath. You don't know where to start. Two hours ago? Last week? Twenty years ago? Time seems to collapse between the two of you.

"If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Not Sarah." He says as if getting pissed at Sarah was even on your radar. 

"I'm not gonna get mad at her. She's a kid," you scoff. The fact that he even had to specify that makes your skin crawl. At what point during your relationship have you made it seem like you would ever be angry with her? "How long have you known?" You ask the million-dollar question, and he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sarah reached out to her a couple of months ago, and she responded. I didn't think she'd actually show up."

"How long is a couple of months?" 

"She emailed her before we left for New York." He says, and you have to sit down on the ottoman at the front of his bed to catch your breath. You bury your head in your hands and fight the tears stinging behind your eyes. Your knee bounces with unspent anger and anxiety, and your heart hammers in your chest. 

"So, the entire time I was telling you everything about my past and showing you where I lived and trusting you for the first time, you were in contact with your ex-wife?" You ask, but he doesn't say anything. You look up to stare at him, and he shakes his head.

"I didn't think she'd actually come into town." 

"That doesn't matter, Joel! You should've told me!"

"I didn't know if we were even anythin' before we went to New York, so it didn't feel important." He says like it's your fault, and you raise your eyebrows at him. You walk over to him, fire in your veins and venom choking you as all your frustration spills from you.

"Oh, is that why you fucked me? Because you didn't know and wanted to try something? Wanted to see if I was worth keeping around?" You ask. "Because you seemed to have a pretty good idea of what we were when you stuck your tongue down my throat, so please tell me what revelation you had that made you think you didn't have to tell me you were talking to the woman who left you with a baby."

"I didn't want to ruin our time together."

"Well, it's pretty fucking ruined now, isn't it?" 

"You don't get it!" He raises his voice, and you throw up your hands in defeat as he turns his back to you. You groan and rub your face, looking up at the ceiling in hopes that some sentient being will smite you right then and there.

"Then, explain it to me, Joel." You say, and he shakes his head as he faces you. You think of the young Joel you saw in the picture you saw two weeks ago. The Joel who was a single dad working construction to afford formula for his daughter. The Joel who was in his early twenties and divorced and scorned. The Joel who wrote one of your favorite songs and released it alone, not knowing what his future would hold. That Joel is hard to find when you look at him now.

"She's sober. She has a steady job in Texas. She's finally gettin' back on her feet. I've been tryin' for eighteen years to get her to even pick up the fuckin' phone, and now here she is, and she's better. This could be a chance." 

"A chance for what?"

"For us to be a family or, at least, for Sarah to have a relationship with her." He says, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek. You’re not family. You’re an outsider, someone to hang around until Mom gets to come back and take what’s hers. You’re not permanent in the grand scheme of his family.

"Do you still love her?" 

"What?"

"Do you still love her?" You repeat slowly. He gives you a look before running his thumb over an invisible ring on his left finger. It might've been a nervous habit, but you saw it. You saw the way he flinched when he felt skin instead of metal.

"I…" he starts. "I will always have love for her. I-"

"Oh, my God." You can't even stand to hear the rest of his sentence. You push your hair out of your face and start pacing.

"She's Sarah's mom!" He yells.

"And she left! She left and didn't give a shit about either of you, Joel! And now that you're famous and have money, she suddenly checks her inbox?!"

"You don't know what you're talkin' about." 

"Apparently, I don't know a lot," you say. He softens momentarily as the words hang in the air, and you shrug. You furiously wipe at your eyes as unauthorized tears roll down your cheeks. "I trusted you. I let you into my life. I told my fucking parents about you. Do you know how hard that was for me? Do you know how many years I spent protecting myself from this exact situation? But I trusted you not to do that. I," your voice catches in your throat, and Joel rushes over to put his hands on your arms. You know he's trying to rub his hands up and down your skin to soothe you, but you push him away, stumbling back from his touch. "I don't know where to go from here. I don’t know if there’s even anywhere for us to go after this.”

"We can work through this. We just needa talk bout it and figure somethings out, but we can move forward."

"No, we can't." You cry, and he gives you a confused look.

"Honey, look at me. Yes, we can."

"The contract is ending early. Apparently, your team is fucking ecstatic with how things are going and decided you don't need me anymore. That's what Melanie came to tell me before I fired her," you laugh, wiping your nose on your sleeve and letting out a sharp exhale. "I should've fired her a long time ago, but I did it today because she said I shouldn't be with you. It was my last straw, and I thought that not having any auditions or work lined up would be okay because this morning, I believed in us so hard that I was willing to endure that. I let myself make the stupid choice to be happy for once because I-" You cut yourself off. You can't even bear to think the words, let alone say them out loud. Joel stares at you with big watery eyes, but you can't find it in yourself to feel sorry enough for him to comfort him.

"I have to go. I can't be here right now."

"Please, just wait," he begs, and you shake your head, pulling your jacket closer to your body. He might've tried to say more, but you don't wait to hear it. You fly down the stairs, hiding your tears from the girls, and leave the house. You don't slam the door or throw one last comment Joel's way. You're sane enough to know not to put children in the crossfire of anything, let alone relationship problems.

Once you're at the curb outside of Joel's house, you let out a loud sob. Your hands shake as you pull your phone out of your pocket and hit the first number on speed dial. Ryan picks up on the third ring. The second he says your name, more tears fall down your face, and you feel like you can't breathe.

"What's going on?" He asks urgently, and you hiccup.

"Can you come get me, please? I don't... I can't go home. I don't want, fuck," you press your palm to your scorching forehead and try to force yourself to think. "I really need you."

"Stay where you are. I'm getting in the car now. Where are you?"

Ryan and Carolina hold your hands, rub your back, and offer you tissues as you tell them everything. The contract, the fake dates, the phone calls from Texas, New York, the girls, Melanie, Angela. Everything. They don't yell at you for lying about your relationship or blame you for what went down with Melanie. They just offer soft assurances that you're okay, and they love you. You cry through most of it, and they take turns holding you while you three sit at the dining room table.

You don't remember the last time you've cried this hard about anything. It feels like there's a gashing hole in your soul, and you're desperately trying to keep everything together so you don't lose it. And you want to blame it all on Joel because that would be easy—convenient. But you think that maybe this hole in you has always been there, and you've slowly been losing pieces of yourself without even realizing it. 

You think Melanie took a lot of it, pawning your shiniest pieces for brand new Range Rovers and Birkin’s. You think you left a bit here and there every time a director pushed you too hard, and you sat in your trailer for hours, staring at the wall and wondering how you could feel so disconnected from your own body. And you think that more was taken in every unwanted picture taken of you, in every headline talking about your appearance or lack of a partner, in every interview question that had nothing to do with your work as a trained actor. You want to go around Los Angeles with invoices, demanding that people give you back to yourself because how dare they take those pieces. You want to gather them in a box and try to fit them together again like a puzzle with bent and missing connections. You want your fucking life back, but it’s not yours anymore. It’s theirs. Maybe it always was.

"I'm so stupid," you whisper as you stare at your hands. Carolina wraps her arms around your shoulders and presses her cheek to yours, the smell of her floral perfume and Elizabeth's baby lotion surrounding you.

"You're not stupid. Not by a long shot, okay?" 

"God, why does this hurt so much? I feel like I'm dying."

"Because you love him," she says, like she didn't just destroy your world. You clench your jaw and try to stop yourself from crying more, but her soothing presence around you is enough for you to break. "You love him, and he loves you, and it's not enough to change anything."

"That's dismal." You try to laugh as you wipe at your eyes, and she nods. Ryan reaches across the table for your hand and holds it like it's fragile china.

"It's awful, and I wish I could take this pain from you. But, I swear to you, one day, you won't hurt like this. One day, you're gonna sing and dance again. You're gonna smile and laugh and make jokes again. You're gonna make beautiful art and fall in love with the way leaves fall, and you're gonna be okay." 

"How do you know?" You ask.

"Because I know you." 

Because I know you. Those four words scare you and make you grapple with the terrifying reality that they've seen the rotted parts inside you and still chose to love you. They remind you of how much you love them. They remind you of how much you love Joel, and it doesn't even matter because it will always end this way. It will always end this way, but it matters that the love was there. You wonder if it always will be. You wonder if one day you'll hear his song on the radio and be able to sing along. You wonder if he'll be able to see your movies. You wonder if supporting each other from afar is enough and decide that it has to be. There is no other choice. It will always end this way.

Carolina and Ryan let you sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall from them. The one that's always ready for you when you need it. The one with a pile of borrowed clothes with your name on it and the one with the soft sheets and extra quilts. You lay in the dark, your head throbbing with the weight of your tears, and you should be sleeping, but you're not. You're running through every single moment with Joel like you can will things to change. He fucked up. You both did. There are a million things you would change or take back, but Jesus Christ, were you happy. 

You shake the tears out of your eyes and reach for your phone, ready to mindlessly scroll through social media until you feel the tiniest bit better. However, your email inbox flashes with an unopened message before you can get to Instagram. You furrow your brows and open the app to see an email from Melanie. You open it out of habit and almost immediately sit up in bed.

From: Melanie Lundquist

Subject Line: Opportunity

Pike's assistant reached out since I'm your last manager on record. The role's written specifically for you, so it's yours, without a doubt. Don't say I never did anything for you.

-Mel

Attachment: THE_BEGINNING_OF_THE_END_R.PIKE

Richard Pike wrote you a role. An Oscar-winning producer wrote you a role. You immediately open the document and begin reading. You really should be asleep, especially after the day you've had with reshoots, but you can't stop devouring the words. It's about a young woman dealing with the survivor's guilt of living through a terrorist attack, mental health, and substance abuse issues. She's angry, sad, and hard to love at times, but she's also so fucking funny and caring. She's dynamic and heartbreaking and raw. She's everything you've ever wanted in a role. 

You stay up reading and crying over her story, feeling her pain so deep in your heart that it hurts. When you get to the end of the script, the sun is slowly rising, and you're almost certain that you'll die of dehydration, but you don't care. You find Pike's assistant's email address and tell her you need this role. Surprisingly, she writes back not even ten minutes later despite it being almost six in the morning.

Happy to hear it. Mr. Pike will produce the movie, but Mrs. Liliah Hanover will be directing and working with you directly. I will pass the message along to her team. Shooting begins at the beginning of next month in Ireland. The expected film time is six-twelve months, and housing will be provided upon arrival. Are you still interested?

For some reason, you type back a single, enthusiastic "yes!" before locking your phone and falling asleep for fifteen hours.

[dreamersbcll]

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding”

- whumptober, prompt no. 27

(hey. let me see. show me)

——————————————————————————-

There wasn’t a word for this feeling.

Doubt, maybe. Fear worked as well. Terror mostly.

But nothing quite like the word desperation would sum up this feeling.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. She knew that getting clean wouldn’t be a linear journey. Fuck, she had gone through this process at least four times, but she thought that it would be easier knowing that she was five years clean now.

Naturally, she was dead wrong.

It started slowly, like most things did. She would find herself staring at the liquor aisles in the grocery store just a little too long. It became increasingly more difficult to ignore the smell of alcohol at the restaurant she worked at, and her mouth watered more frequently. The itching started within a week of the first liquor aisle stare down, and it didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop scratching. It was a consistent itch all over her body, and her nails couldn’t dig deep enough into her skin. Long scratches stretched across her skin, open cuts ripping each time she flexed her muscles. Weirdly, it felt good to bleed, and the pain kept her alert and aware of her surroundings.

Sobriety was a fickle thing. Just because Sam was years sober, it still was an untamed beast slumbering in the pit of her stomach. When it was ready to wake, it clawed up her body and sat in her throat, begging her to give in.

Nothing would taste better than a drink. She didn’t care if it was cold or lukewarm, fuck; she would even drink a hot swallow of alcohol. Anything to numb the terror that sat in her body.

Once it got to the point that she couldn’t stand the smell of cleaning products anymore, she knew she was fucked. It wasn’t long ago that she was taking swallows of Lysol just to tamp down the desperation tearing her apart. She wasn’t proud of it, not by a long shot, but at least everything went silent.

That’s what alcohol was, anyway. It's a way to turn down the volume and make everything tolerable. She could think clearly and make (what she felt were) rational decisions.

But she knew better now. She knows that drinking was only the start of a tumultuous period that would ultimately end with her death.

(Sam had promised herself that if she ever drank again, she would ensure it was her last time on earth. She couldn’t risk breaking her sobriety and living on to try again. She didn’t want to try again. She was so tired).

Instead, Sam stood in the mirror, letting the dim lights in the bathroom light up her reflection. She stared deep into those dark eyes, noticing how gaunt and desperate they looked.

Just give us a taste, Sam. One sip. One swallow. Give us a chance. We’re starving. Please.

“You can’t, You can’t,” she shakily whispered, her hands shaking against the porcelain sink.

Her reflection stared back, the person in the mirror cocking her head. Sam knows that person well. She knows what they’re capable of, and she knows what they want. Death and destruction were sewn into her bloodline, always there, always begging. All she wanted to do was to give in and dig up the bottle she had hidden in the back of the pantry.

Tara didn’t know about that bottle. Tequila. Sam’s vice. She had bought it on a stormy night and stayed up all night staring at the bottle. She watched the glass glisten in the moonlight, afraid to move. If she moved before daylight, she indeed would’ve succumbed to its silent pleas.

That was two months ago. She should’ve known the downfall was coming. She has an addiction, for Christ's sake. It never ended. The battle was continuous, and she couldn’t lay her armor down. For if she did, she would make sure that she died in battle, leaving Tara to pick up the sword and too-big armor to fight her own demons.

Sam couldn’t have that.

So she fought.

Breathing deeply, Sam swallowed, her mouth dry. She could feel a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach, the monster in her throat cackling at her weakness.

She looked into the mirror, pleading to the reflection. “You don’t need this. You don’t. Stop, just, please. Stop.”

Her reflection didn’t care. It took what it pleased and offered nothing in return. It wanted to destroy every single achievement and chip she had ever earned, all for the sake of a drink.

Pathetic. A servant to the drink. Absolutely pathetic.

“Stop, stop, please. Please stop. I’m good. I’ve been good. Please,” she begged, her nails scratching against the smooth porcelain.

She closed her eyes tightly, shakily breathing out. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Before her reflection could answer, the door slowly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Sam didn’t dare to turn around, afraid that if she left her reflection alone, she would end up with a bottle in her hand and swaying on the top of a bridge.

“Sam?” the voice whispered. Tara.

Sam screwed her eyes shut tight and tried to loosen her grip on the sink. It didn’t matter what she did, as she still looked insane, staring at the bathroom mirror in the middle of the night.

“Hey, Tara. Go back to bed, baby. I’ll be there at some point.”

Instead of turning around and leaving, Tara stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows furrowed—her thinking face.

“Are you having… a moment?” Tara said slowly, carefully, as if Sam was diffusing a bomb.

In a way, she was.

Chuckling, Sam flexed her fingers, wincing at the stiffness. “Yeah, something like that. It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all good,” she said nonchalantly.

Naturally, Tara saw right through her. “Are you seeing him again? Do you need your medications?”

Sam flinched at the mention of her father, noticeable enough for Tara to cock her head at the action. It had been a while since Sam had seen Billy. It seemed like her demons took a turn torturing her into submission, as right now, she was fighting the urge to break her clean streak. Delightful.

Breathing out, Sam opened her eyes, staring at her reflection. “Uh, no. Not him. It’s something else.”

Tara hummed in response and slowly walked behind Sam, her steps purposeful and loud enough not to spook her big sister. She got behind Sam, her reflection peeking out beside Sam’s. Unlike Sam’s shell-shocked face, Tara looked puzzled, her eyes tinged with somber emotion. Sam shook her head slightly, knowing she was caught.

She might as well come clean now. “I'm afraid, Tara,” she forced out, the words foreign on her tongue.

Her little sister cocked her head, her mouth downturned in a frown. “What are you afraid of, Sam? I'm here,” she paused, thinking over her words. “Show me, Sam. Show me.”

Sam bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. “It’s in the pantry downstairs behind the rice and beans. It’s in that silver bag, the one I told you was a gift for Danny,” she whispered.

Without a second thought, Tara breezed out of the bathroom and went downstairs. Sam’s arms ached as she held onto the sink, but she didn’t move. She watched her reflection as she listened to Tara’s footsteps. The downstairs light flickered on, and the pantry door swung open.

Tears started to stream down Sam’s face, hot, embarrassed tears. She could hear Tara rummage through the dry food, and the bag's crinkling signified the end of her hunt. Sam bit down on her tongue, letting blood pool in her mouth, the metallic tang keeping her steady. Her tears of shame dripped onto her hands, making her grip slippery. It didn’t matter. Tara knew now.

She listened as her little sister made her way up the stairs, the silver bag crinkling as she walked. Sam closed her eyes tightly as Tara walked back into the bathroom, holding the one thing that would take Sam away from her.

Tara sighed at the state of her sister’s tear-stained face, her heart breaking in two as she saw the blood-stained corners of her mouth downturned. “Oh, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam laughed a bit, opening her eyes and watching the reflection of Tara taking the bottle out of the bag, her little sister’s face falling. Despite the anguish on Tara's face, Sam licked her lips, letting the blood paint her skin. Her mouth watered as the bottle gleamed in the light, and her heart raced. It was so close, within arm’s length. She could snatch it and down it within a couple of minutes.

Not taking her eyes off Tara’s grip on the bottle, Sam spoke carefully. “It’s not what I do, Tara. I suffer in silence. If I do it loudly, I’ll lose control. I can’t—fuck. I need it,” she whimpered, her hands slipping on the sink.

She loosened her grip, ready to turn around and snatch the bottle from her sister. If she did it quickly, she could lock herself in the spare room and let herself disappear.

But Tara was always a few steps ahead of her.

Before Sam could turn around, Tara had already unscrewed the bottle and poured it into the sink. Wide-eyed and bordering on a massive panic attack, Sam watched as her sister poured all her desires down the toilet, flushing it until the room stopped smelling like death.

“I— what the hell? Why, Tara? Why?” she cried, watching Tara cap the bottle and set it on the bathroom tile.

In a swift motion, Tara crossed the floor and pried Sam’s hands off the sink. Her little sister took Sam’s hands, firmly holding on as if Sam was about to bolt. She looked into her sister’s eyes deeply, digging her nails into Sam’s skin.

The pain felt so damn good, and it kept her awake. Sam matched Tara's breathing, following as her sister breathed in and out, her eyes never wavering from Sam’s.

Once she caught her breath, Tara loosened her grip and cupped Sam’s face with her hands. There, Tara searched Sam’s eyes, watching Sam’s every move. Still full of slight rage and overwhelming confusion, Sam stayed silent.

“I can’t have you leaving me again. I won’t allow it. I know you’re struggling; I’ve seen it for days. That-” she said, pointing towards the empty bottle. “That is just a way to torture yourself. Not anymore.”

Tara pulled her big sister into a tight hug. Sam sank into her embrace, tears of embarrassment soaking into Tara’s t-shirt. Her little sister hummed, swaying the two back and forth. Once she felt Sam limp like a rag doll in her arms, Tara spoke again.

“I’m here. It’s time for you to get your shit together. You’re five years clean. I’m not letting you throw that away for a drink. I’m here. Let's get through this together, yeah?” she soothed, rocking the two back and forth.

Sam nodded against her embrace, kissing her sister’s shoulder.

She didn’t take her eyes off the bottle until Tara dragged her out of the room.

They smashed it on the sidewalk the very next day. As they watched the glass explode across the pavement, Sam could feel herself breathe again.

[thegirlonpeetamellark]

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone  - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done. 

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me. 

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight. 

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it. 

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket. 

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six. 

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins. 

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.” 

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?” 

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words. 

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down. 

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense. 

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room. 

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do. 

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him. 

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!” 

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN. 

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another. 

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.  

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.” 

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap. 

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now. 

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?” 

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.” 

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls. 

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her. 

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother. 

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet. 

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears. 

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.  

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is. 

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep. 

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile. 

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm. 

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests. 

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms. 

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? 

“Are we all done, doctor?” 

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence. 

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively. 

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.  

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.” 

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece. 

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.  

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file. 

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality. 

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit. 

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.” 

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays. 

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy. 

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat. 

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth. 

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits. 

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them. 

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”  

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat. 

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury. 

She opens the door fully and glares at him.  

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses. 

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy. 

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits. 

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut. 

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely. 

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone. 

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen. 

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him. 

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides. 

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family? 

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have. 

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

[hb-writes]

Five of Swords

Written in response to Hauntober prompt #24: Tarot.

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe! An evening of tarot with Clara, Charles, and Tommy.

Characters Featured: Charles Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Tommy Shelby

-----

A slight shimmer glinted in Charles Shelby’s eyes as he giggled, head tilted back, leaning into his auntie as she tickled his side, a game they’d been playing at for a few minutes now, the tickles back and forth. She stopped the assault when he grabbed her wrist, their agreed upon signal that the other had had enough.

“Auntie, can you do another?” he asked, tightening the belt of his robe and shifting his fallen slipper back in place.

“You’ve already had one,” she answered. “And you’ve watched Ruby’s.” 

“But it’s fun,” he answered. “Please, can I read yours?”

Clara was poised to permit it, primed by an evening of her nephew’s smiles and cuddles and sweetness to allow the boy another quarter of an hour or so past his bedtime and she opened her mouth to say so at the exact moment Tommy cleared his throat.

“It’s past bedtime, Charles.” 

Tommy stood in the doorway, still donning his coat and hat, the fabric damp with the evening’s rain and Charlie turned to his father. “But we’re playing tarot, dad.”

“We’re not playing tarot,” Clara answered, her cheeks growing warm as she looked at her brother's raised eyebrow. 

“Well, you can play with Aunt Clara in the morning. Frances is waiting.” 

Charlie glanced at his aunt and Clara’s lips pressed into a frown. “Sorry, Charlie boy. Best to do as daddy says, eh?” 

“But you don’t have to go to bed and you don’t do as daddy says.” 

“Well, I’m an adul--”

“She’ll be up to bed herself shortly, Charles,” Tommy answered. “So, you go on, be a good boy and say goodnight, eh?”

Charlie relented, dutifully pecking his aunt on the cheek before standing up, scuffing his slippers across the carpet as he crossed the room.

“It’s not even very late,” he said as he reached Tommy’s side. 

“Your aunt has already given you an extra thirty minutes.” 

“That’s all time he was owed, Tommy,” Clara interrupted. “Because I wasn’t here Wednesday night.”

Tommy acknowledged her statement with a small glance as he took off his jacket and cap, placing them on a chair before turning back to Charles, bending down to the boy’s level, both hands on his shoulders.

“Right, then, so Aunt Clara’s debt is paid, and you, my boy, are due for bed.” 

Charlie gave his father a hug. “Will you come up for a story?” 

“I’m sure your aunt has already given you two stories.”

Charlie huffed. “Fine, but you have to give me a story tomorrow. You do better voices.”

Clara scoffed. “Well, that’s the last time I let you stay up late, Charles Shelby!” 

Charlie grinned at her over his father’s shoulder and Tommy guided him towards the hall, shaking his head as he stood up and walked to where Clara sat on the floor, her legs extended beneath the coffee table. Tommy sat behind her on the couch, picking up one of the cards from the coffee table and studying it.

Clara shuffled the pile in her hands, directing her focus to the cards and not the brother she’d been successfully avoiding for close two weeks now.  

“So you owed my boy time?” Tommy asked.

Clara glanced at him, shrugging as she reached for the card. “Less than you owe him, I’m sure.”

Tommy ignored her words and pulled the card back from her reach, gesturing for her to hand over the pile she’d started shuffling back together. 

“You weren’t here Wednesday night, then?” he continued.

“I got caught up at the office,” she answered. “And I had school work. And I wasn’t going to make someone drive me out only to go back to the office again first thing.”

Tommy hummed as he leaned forward, dropping a card on the table, leaning back in silence as they both studied the card. 

A young man and his five swords in the foreground, the tumultuous sky above him, his beaten opponents around him. The card indicated conflict, disagreement, and winning the battle, but not the war. But Clara wasn’t interested in either battles or wars with Tommy anymore. 

“That’s quite telling,” he finally said, nodding towards the card.

Clara reached forward, reversing the card and switching its meaning as she scooted up onto the couch beside him. 

“How about peace instead, Tommy?” she asked.

“Peace, eh? Ada told me you wanted peace, but that was nearly a week ago now,” Tommy said.

“Well, Ada should learn to keep her mouth shut,” Clara answered. “And I’m sick of fighting you.” 

Tommy nodded. “You’re ready to a--”

“I’m not apologizing if that’s what you’re going to say.” 

“Good,” he answered. Tommy wasn’t after an apology anyhow. “If you apo--”

“But I’ll consider a compromise,” Clara answered.

Tommy snorted. “And what compromise is that?” 

“I’ll let you apologize to me... and I’ll admit you were right,” she said.

“Really?” Tommy asked. “You’ll let me apologize?”

Clara nodded. “And I won’t even tell anyone you did it.”

Tommy nodded.

“But you can’t tell anyone I said you were right either,” Clara added.

“Would ruin your rebellious, independent sister facade, eh?”

“Yes, and if I talked, we’d ruin your cold, heartless, bad man facade.”

“Who says it’s a facade?”

“Me, for one,” Clara said. “You’re not cold and heartless, Tommy.”

“I’m not?”

Clara shrieked as she tried to pull away from the wind chilled fingers he placed to the side of her neck.

“Alright, so you are cold, then,” she said, keeping his hand away by holding at the wrist. “Bitterly fucking cold, but yeah, Tommy, you were right and I know that now. I still don’t like the way you--”

 “I shouldn’t have handled it like I did. You’re nearly a grown woman and I apologize.” 

Clara released a small smile, leaning back against the arm he’d settled over the couch behind her. 

“Thank you,” she said. “And you know, Tommy, I’m not nearly a grown woman. I am a grown woman, very much an adult, actually.”

“If you say so, my girl.”

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

[corner-stories]

dead bean ghosts

Arrowfam. Flashfam.

Among Us Nights. Family Bonding. Cursing. Yelling.

983 words.

(ao3.)

The first official Arrow Clan vs. Flash Clan Game Night was going smoothly. With every player tuning in from different time-zones, the fact that both clans managed to play at all was a miracle in itself.

But five rounds into Among Us and Dinah still didn’t have a good grasp on the game.

So Mia sat beside her in the Star City brownstone, ignoring the unfair advantage of seeing someone else’s screen to better aid the city’s local screaming bird. Mia was playing on her laptop and Dinah attempted to play the game on her phone.

As Mia helped Dinah understand the tasks of the Skeld, the voice chat was alive and well. The rule that people not talk during the game was thrown out the window during round one — Roy and Wally were as chatty as old friends were and Bart was being Bart. Frankly, it was rather unreasonable to expect a group of Speedsters to stay quiet.

At least they got the memo to not give away the identity of the player who brutally murdered their little multi-colored sentient bean avatars.

Over the chat Wally was telling stories about their old Teen Titans days, little Irey West was expressing regrets over killing Jesse in the last round, Bart was dropping swear words like the gamer he was, and Roy was calmly reminding everyone that Lian was awake and watching cartoons in the next room.

Meanwhile, Dinah struggled to complete the most basic tasks. Mia had essentially been idle for the last few minutes trying to help Dinah out. Who knew that getting a card through a slot could be so vexing to the psyche?

“Just swipe it.”

“I am swiping it.”

“Swipe it slower.”

“I am swiping it slower.”

Dinah grumbled as she moved her finger across her tablet screen. She rarely ever felt her age, but tonight was pushing her.

“I am getting too old for this shit,” she muttered sourly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mia assured. “So you’re ancient? So what? Who cares?”

The younger girl’s tone was calm as she spoke, but the second she looked to her laptop things got a little more… deafening.

“What the fuck!??! Who just killed me?!?”

“So much for dead people not speaking,” came Jesse's voice from the chat. Her words garnered a chuckle from the Speedster clan.

“And not cursing,” Roy added.

With a sigh, Mia simply maneuvered her now dead multi-colored avatar around the map, moving through walls like only dead bean ghosts could.

“Killing while AFK is a dick move,” she said as she completed the wire-connecting task. “Just saying.”

Dinah nudged her slightly. “What does AFK mean?”

“Away from keyboard,” Mia explained.

Dinah rolled her eyes. “You Zoomers and your made-up words.”

From the voice chat, the two heard Bart chuckling.

“See, Mia? This is why we don’t invite the old fogies to game night.”

While the Plucky Archer tried to suppress her laughter, Dinah glared at Mia’s laptop screen and the open voice server window.

“Excuse me, how old do you think I am?!”

Bart immediately stuttered, a rarity for the motor-mouth of the Flash Clan.

“Uh… I don’t think I should answer that.”

The entire voice server let out a chuckle while Dinah scoffed sharply.

“Good call, Kid.”

For a few more moments the group continued to play. Despite being dead, Mia found amusement in other aspects of the game — like Bart naming himself “Peen” and Roy pushing the “no cursing, Lian can hear” rule while swearing like a sailor at 80% of the tasks.

Despite the conversation, things were going a lot more smoothly than the last time Mia joined Bart for a game night. A few weeks ago she had hopped online for a Teen Titans Among Us session — the tumultuous evening had given her a full display of Rose Wilson utilizing every curse in the english language, Tim regretting the choice to clear his schedule to spend time with the rest of the team, and Bart singing the entire High School Musical 2 Soundtrack (for some reason.)

“Yo guys, I’m AFK,” Bart chimed in. “Quick pee break and I’ll be back.” The sound of his headphones hitting the desk could be heard before anyone could respond.

“Do Speedsters even need to call their bathroom breaks?” Roy wondered aloud.

Wally was quick to answer — “I can vouch and say that it’s very, very, very hard to piss at super speed.”

Through the voice chat the Arrow and the Bird could hear the other Speedsters murmuring in agreement, much to Mia’s amusement and Dinah’s chagrin.

“Thank you, Wally, we all needed to know that,” the older woman said dryly.

Soon a familiar three-note chime was heard and Mia’s body was finally reported in coms by Irey.

Fittingly, Roy started off the discussion with an accusation. “Jesse’s been sus the whole game.”

A scoff could be heard from the voice chat. “I’m doing my tasks, Harper,” Jesse claimed. “What about you?”

“So do we vote or skip?” asked Wally.

“I say we all just vote Bart to see how he reacts,” Mia suggested, and what followed was a collective shared mumble from the chat, one that seemed to agree with her words.

Even Dinah didn’t hesitate to cast her vote as she saw fit.

Soon the sound of Bart clamoring to his chair was heard.

“KK, I’m back,” he said casually. “Who are you guys…”

On everyone’s screens the animation of the votes tallying up was played, all of them collecting next to Bart’s icon.

There was a beat, then at the top of his lungs the younger Speedster screamed —

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING???

Mia grinned proudly as the animation of Bart’s sentient bean astronaut getting ejected played. As he floated lifelessly amongst the stars, Bart managed to get last word in —

“YOU PEOPLE HAVE MADE A MISTAAAAAAKEEEE!”

The entire voice chat erupted into laughter.

[finalgirlkateausten]

Druxy

I needed to exercise my muse with something other than the chapter I've been writing for three days, so this is a drabble set before the prologue of my James au... which is still not out yet. But it'll be posted on tumblr once it is!

Summary:

Druxy. Adj. Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.

(Or, Rupert misses his son's ninth birthday. Rebecca may be willing to overlook many of the cracks appearing in her marriage, but this is not one of them.)

“Dad’s gonna be home in time for the party, right?”

Rebecca nods, sorting candy into party favor bags. “His flight gets in at noon, and your party starts at three.”

“Yeah!” Her newly-nine-year-old son does a bouncy dance around the kitchen, only pausing when he realizes he’s at eye level with the tootsie rolls. “Can I have some candy?”

“You’re going to have plenty at the party…”

“Pleeeeease, Mum? It’s my birthday…” James gives her his best pout, which she should stop giving into at this age, but it’s hard to resist his big blue eyes.

“Alright, since you said please.” She can’t stop an amused smile from crossing her face as he reaches up and grabs a piece of chocolate.

Noon rolls around and Rebecca pauses in her party preparations to make sure James eats lunch. He’s almost too excited to sit still, but a favorite snack of ants on a long makes even a boring turkey sandwich appealing.

“Is Dad gonna be home soon?”

“His plane should have landed,” Rebecca confirms. “It’ll take him a bit to get home from the airstrip, but I bet he’ll be home by one-thirty.”

(He should be home by one, but it’s always better to overestimate when giving a child a time window.)

In the back garden, Rebecca directs decorators on placing the balloon arch, and James runs around getting underfoot. It takes longer than she’d expect, but eventually, blue, green, and yellow balloons are strung up all around the yard. Perfect for a vaguely jungle-themed party, although pinatas and cutouts that might bring home the theme had been fazed out of James’ birthdays years ago.

(Rebecca doesn’t see anything wrong with a few tacky decorations at a child’s party, but Rupert had been oddly firm, as always. Maybe if James had seemed against it she would’ve pushed, but he never seemed to care about decorations as long as he got to run around with his friends. And so she’d gone along with it, deciding that any number of odd requests and requirements were worth it for smooth sailing in her increasingly tumultuous marriage.)

Speaking of which…

It’s nearly a quarter to two and there’s no sign of Rupert. She sighs and sets her hands on her hips. Where is he? He should’ve been home half an hour ago.

She can’t control when the plane lands, but she can control when presents get set out. Rebecca heads inside to the guest room she’s been stashing them in.

“Is Aunt Sassy coming?” James turns a yellow envelope from his godmother over in his hands as Rebecca stacks up the corresponding presents.

A pang hits her chest as she realizes how long it’s been since she’s seen her best friend. “No… not this year,” she answers, “but she did send you a lovely present! Look at that sparkly wrapping.”

“It’s so big, too!”

The big sparkly box turns out to be a trampoline, which means Sassy has absolutely won best gift. Rebecca thinks Rupert might object to the grass dying underneath it, but he still. Isn’t. Here. And James has absolutely noticed.

“I think we should cut the cake now,” she says gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Colin’s mum says they need to leave soon, and you want everyone to get cake, don’t you?”

“I want Dad to be here for cake!” he protests, tears welling. “You said he was coming home today…”

For a brief moment, anger flashes through Rebecca, because this is not the first time she’s had to explain away Rupert’s broken promises to their son. But she tamps it down, keeping her composure as she kneels in the grass and hugs him.

“I’m sure his plane just got delayed,” she soothes. “He would be here if he could. How about we eat cake now, but make sure to save him a piece?”

James sniffles bravely, like he doesn’t want to cry on his birthday. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll pick him the best piece.”

Long after the party is over, after the guests have left and even a sugar-high James is sleeping soundly, a car finally pulls into the driveway. Rebecca sighs in relief, steeling herself as she heads downstairs to meet her husband.

She hasn’t seen him in nearly a week, but he doesn’t greet her with a kiss or even pull her into his arms. Instead, his eyes rove critically over her usual silk dressing gown. “What, you weren’t going to wait up for me?”

“You were supposed to be home at noon,” she says, her voice soft but accusatory.

“I’m sure I wasn’t.” He waves a hand dismissively and moves past her, tossing off his blazer and loosening his tie.

She follows him to the master bedroom. “You missed your son’s birthday party.”

For just a moment, Rupert freezes, and she sees the man underneath the confident exterior, the man she isn’t even sure she knows anymore. His brows crease. “That was today?”

Rebecca scoffs. “You forgot you own son’s birthday!?”

“Of course not, darling,” he refutes, toeing off his shoes and stretching out on their bed. “The plane got caught in some clouds. We couldn’t land at the expected time.”

“The expected time was ten hours ago,” she reminds him, scowling. “And it was sunny.”

“You’re confused. You’ve had a long day.”

“Yes, I have!” She folds her arms. “Because I had to throw an entire birthday party and entertain a dozen parents all by my-fucking-self!”

“Don’t curse, dear,” he says flippantly. “It’s only attractive when we’re in bed.”

The leering smirk he follows that with is what does it. She can’t remember the last time she’d actually found that expression enticing.

“Which will not be tonight,” she snaps, her voice tight with anger. “I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

She wonders what it says about their marriage that after a week apart, she can barely bear to spend twenty minutes in a room with him.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123

~^~

Saturday, 13:20

Song: Benny - Boys Will Be Boys

Jens watches the story again, watches a redheaded girl he doesn’t know wrap her arm around Lucas’s neck and pull him into the frame. The two of them grin cheesily at the camera, Lucas’s eyes squinted exaggeratedly, happily, as the girl hollers a ‘happy birthday’ and presses a kiss to his cheek. Next is a full shot of the party, reposted from the same girl, then a recording of Lucas’s own, with a shorter girl with a head of curls who Jens thinks is Isa, and then the boys he recognises as Kes and Jayden. All of them giving Lucas the same cheerful, enthusiastic wishes.

Happy birthday.

He had woken up to Lucas’s post, with the balloons leaving no doubt as to its purpose.

He’s startled from examining further when his door opens and Moyo slips inside, smiling easily at him and instantly flopping onto his bed. “Hey man. Oh, is that Lucas’s party? Why the fuck didn’t we know it was his birthday?”

Jens stares at him, brows raised and lips slightly parted. “What are you doing here?”

Moyo raises a brow back. “You invited me?” He gives a small laugh as Jens continues to look on in confusion. “Dude, where is your head at these days? Remember on Thursday at lunch when Lucas was talking about going home and you got all pouty so I asked if you wanted to hang out? And you said to come here?”

“Right,” Jens eventually allows. It does poke vaguely at his memories, but it’s quite unclear. Still, it isn’t as if he’s going to turn Moyo away. He has no reason to. It’s better than staring at his phone any longer. “Cool.”

Moyo snorts. “Okay, cool. I also texted you when I was leaving my house. And you didn’t reply. Which is why your mom had to let me in.”

Jens furrows his brows before drawing down the notification bar on his phone. He purses his lips when he sees the text from Moyo, wondering how he had taken on such an absentminded focus that he missed it completely. “You did.”

“But I can see you were preoccupied,” Moyo raises his brows. “Didn’t you already see them when you woke up?”

“Yeah,” Jens mumbles.

“So what’s the obsession?”

“I’m not obsessed. Just, trying to see who I know.”

Moyo snorts again. “If you know anyone other than Lucas in those dark, blurry ass shots, I think that’s a little bit obsessed. I know he’s your new favourite toy but surely you can survive without him for one day.”

Jens feels angry, suddenly. He isn’t sure if he’s right to be, knows that Moyo probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but he’s already upset and so incredibly tired. It leaves him wrinkling his nose in distaste and sitting up and away. “Why do you always have to make it out like everything is so gross? You know there’s a way to make a point without fucking making fun all the time?”

It feels surprisingly good to get it out, and where he expects regret to claw through his chest, a small stream of relief flows through him instead.

However, it leaves Moyo’s brows shooting towards his hairline. “Sorry, man. What has you so pissy?”

He sits up next to Jens, bumping his elbow gently, and now he begins to feel a little bad. Still, the upset hasn’t quite run out. “Why do you think it’s so wrong for me to care about Lucas?”

“What?” Moyo frowns. “I never said that. Lucas is cool, I’m glad we’re all friends with him.”

“He’s not my friend.”

The words slip out before Jens can stop them, and then there’s no taking them back.

Moyo’s frown melts away in his confusion as his brow furrows again. Then he lets out a small, somewhat nervous laugh. “What, are you that pissed you didn’t get to join the party?”

“I am,” Jens agrees easily, then has to pause, has to center himself. He thinks of Robbe yesterday, so happy and understanding, and of Lucas just before he left, so happy and excited, and of Moyo a year ago, laughing at the idea of anyone being bi, nose wrinkled at how ‘gross’ it appeared to him.

Then he thinks of how that was a year ago.

Then he says, “I am pissed, because my boyfriend didn’t even tell me it was his birthday and I don’t know why and because it doesn’t surprise me that the first thing you did is make fun of it.”

Moyo’s lips part, and he simply stares at him as they fall into silence. Jens looks back, trying not to let himself falter, trying not to let his fissures show or crack any further. It’s difficult, more so than he thought it would be, and he puts it down to the tumultuous feelings already raging through him after the surprises this morning. It also feels somewhat more terrifying to be voicing it in this room, under this roof. Perhaps this is where it should feel easiest, that it should be a safe place, but he finds his eyes flickering towards the door instead, making sure it’s shut tight. It’s not like it had been, wrapped up in Lucas’s warmth in their own little universe or under Robbe’s gentle gaze in a familiar setting. It’s nerve-wracking and nauseating, to listen for footsteps and watch Moyo look away from him.

Jens is inches away from pulling his hair out when Moyo finally turns back, appearing cautious as he licks his lips. “So you’re...you’re bi, or something?”

Jens’s heart clamours as he nods.

“And you’re with Lucas?”

“Just for about two weeks,” Jens says quietly.

Moyo’s brows raise, but he nods, once again licking his lips and averting his gaze. He focuses on a spot on the duvet as he speaks again. “Like...you’re into him? Like you would want to have sex with him, and everything?”

The little flicker of irritation returns. “Yeah, man, maybe, and I don’t need you telling me how it disgusts you or whatever, okay? Just—“

“I don’t think I ever want to have sex. With anyone.”

Jens snaps his mouth shut as his friend meets his gaze, surprised to have been interrupted.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be interrupted with that.

“What?”

Moyo makes himself small, hunching his shoulders slightly, but he keeps his gaze on Jens. It’s oddly full of nerves, alive with apprehension, overcast with doubt. Below it all, there’s a small hint of relief. Jens suddenly understands what’s happening.

“You don’t like sex?” he carefully pushes.

Moyo curls in on himself further, shrugging without opening his shoulders back up. “I’ve never had an actual experience to base it on, but the idea of it doesn’t actually appeal to me, no.”

All of this is admitted quietly, almost tersely as Moyo picks a thread loose in the sheet. Jens lets him, watchful and thoughtful, wondering where it is he’s supposed to take it from here. He hadn’t been prepared to come out to anyone today, but he hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else would come out to him.

He has to admit, however, that he’s a little confused.

“But you talk about it all the time. About getting with girls, about what you’d do, and all your shitty dirty jokes?”

“That’s what we all talk about,” Moyo points out. “Aaron was whining over getting laid for months before Amber and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about it. It’s what we’re supposed to talk about. Even Robbe isn’t as shy about it now. Like shit man, what else am I supposed to say?”

Jens eases up, letting his expression soften as he shifts slightly towards him, setting his phone aside entirely. “The truth,” he says gently. “Anything other than digging yourself into a deeper hole.”

“Yeah, because I wouldn’t have been the butt of the joke, the prude, if I just said I didn’t want to join in right?” Moyo scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to lean back against the headboard. “Don’t give me that.”

“Moyo,” Jens tries, but the words aren’t there. He knows, no matter how much it disappoints him, that his friend is right. They would have joked, and Jens would have been the main instigator.

He realises, with a sort of derisive amusement, that he’s as much the reason Moyo hadn’t come out to them as Moyo is the reason Jens hadn’t come out himself.

“I didn’t even realise what was wrong with me, why I revolted against it even while making dumb jokes or random passes. I thought it was just like, frustration, or jealousy even, that I didn’t actually have the experience. I knew that talking about it, wanting it, was the normal thing, the guy thing.”

Jens’s heart twists, and he’s instantly shaking his head back. “Bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Moyo snorts, shaking his head. He still won’t look at Jens. “Isn’t there? Fuck, I didn’t even understand it until Noor came onto me and I had to literally shove her away.”

This is another new surprising piece of information.

“Noor? Seriously?”

Moyo closes his eyes, nods his head, doesn’t say anything else. Jens remains quiet, as well, absorbing the information and giving Moyo room to think. It’s a dead sort of silence, not comfortable or awkward, but heavy. It’s only when Jens realises that Moyo isn’t going to offer anything else that he pushes a little further.

“When was that? I mean, the thing with Noor?”

Moyo shakes his head slightly, shrugging again. “Like two months ago maybe?”

“Two months?”

“I know.” Moyo purses his lips, picking at his nails as he stares down at his lap.

Jens thinks. “You’re not...forcing yourself to do anything, are you?”

Moyo finally looks at him, head whipping around as his brows knit together. “What? No. It’s not like that. Since then, she’s been helping me figure my shit out. Because I...I don’t know, I went into like this panic mood. It wasn’t even about kissing or sex it was like I realised I wasn’t attracted to her at all. Not physically. Like I know that Noor is beautiful, but it’s like I didn’t care. My mind could understand it and my body just didn’t feel it. And then I started to think about it and I’ve never actually been attracted to anyone. Not just Noor, just in general. Girls or guys. It confused the hell out of me, because I thought I did like her but I just...don’t think I can like anyone like that. Sexually.”

“Okay,” Jens nods slowly. “I’m still just not really understanding all your talk about something you have no interest in.”

“I’ve already told you. That’s what’s expected, y’know? That’s how you be a man.”

“Where is that shit coming from? Because I know it’s not your parents, and I hope it isn’t us.”

“No, not my parents, but what about the rest of my family? My uncles and even some of my cousins, I don’t know, it’s like fucking ingrained in them. I’ve ingrained it in myself. Even with you and Robbe, it’s different. They’d see it as like this minor error, but at least everything still works the same. With me it’s like...I don’t work, like this thing just isn’t there at all and—“

“Hey, hey, Moyo, woah,” Jens cuts him off, laying a placating hand on his friend’s shoulder. He waits for Moyo to steady himself, taking a deep breath with a clenched jaw, and then he gives a light tug to his shoulder. He has to do it again before Moyo actually gives in and looks at him, and then Jens keeps his expression serious. “Everything about you works whether you have sex with someone or not. Look at it like this. Your dick could be chopped right off, never able to use it, and you’d still be Moyo.”

He makes a cutting motion with his hand and then a sweep to the side as he makes a ‘phew’ noise through his teeth. It has the intended effect of making Moyo crack a smile even as he cringes, slapping Jens’s hand down with a shiver.

“And you said I make everything fucking gross, man. Jesus.”

Jens cracks, too, letting a small laugh escape as Moyo’s smile widens and his shoulders relax just so. “But it feels better, right?”

Moyo shrugs again, drawn-out and ashamed. “Still abnormal either way.”

“You’re not. You’re just asexual, I think.”

Moyo’s brows instantly shoot upwards. “You know what that is?”

Jens blinks at him. “Do you?”

“Dude, it’s been the only word in my head for weeks. Why do you know about it?”

“I kind of researched into everything when…”

He trails off, letting Moyo pick up on the implication himself, watches him purse his lips and give another nod. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Robbe, and only yesterday,” Jens admits. “You? Apart from Noor?”

Moyo purses his lips, shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t react better to you actually...I mean, Jens, you know I have no problem with it right? What I said last year, it was really stupid. That’s not how I think anymore. Or at least, I’m trying not to think like that.”

“It’s okay,” Jens says softly. “I think I definitely understand a little better now. I’m sorry I haven’t made it easy for you to tell me, either.”

“We can circle back to me, okay? Right now we’re gonna talk about Lucas. You really didn’t know a thing about his birthday?”

Jens kind of wishes they could continue talking about Moyo, because in the last few minutes, he’d forgotten all about his own predicament. Now he’s forced to face it with a groan as he drags a hand over his face. “No. And I was telling myself it wasn’t that weird, because maybe it just hadn’t come up or he didn’t like celebrating or something, but now that you’re asking I feel like it’s weird.”

“Well maybe it is that. It looked kind of like a surprise party,” Moyo offers. “Maybe he just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Not with a new relationship.”

Jens isn’t quite sure why he flushes at that, but it makes Moyo’s lips tick slightly upwards. “Yeah,” he blows out a sigh, “but he also hasn’t messaged me. Like things were good yesterday before he left, and he fell asleep on the phone to me last night, and then like an hour later,” Jens makes a vague gesture, only waving his hand back and forth, but Moyo nods with a grimace.

“Maybe he’s stuck in bed. Hungover.”

“Maybe. It just freaks me out, ‘cause I know this is what he does when he’s pissed, or when something’s wrong. Gives me this radio silence. And I can’t go see him at his flat when he isn’t there.”

Moyo hums, then simply says, “Fuck. I’m kinda glad I’m not in this relationship game.”

Jens snorts, rubbing his hand over his face again as Moyo locks an arm around his shoulders and gives him a brief squeeze. “I thought Luc was going to be easier. These past few weeks have been, but,” he breaks off on a sigh, slumping back against his pillows as Moyo slips his arm out from behind him.

“You know what I think?” Moyo says. He waits for Jens to look at him before producing an unopened bag of weed. “I think you need some of your chill back.”

Jens only hesitates for a second before grinning and snatching the bag out of his hand.

[shotgun--rider]

Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

---------* ---------

You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents’ car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that  would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic. 

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves. 

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.  

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend. 

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on. 

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card. 

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this. 

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…” 

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point. 

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--” 

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you. 

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A. 

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,” 

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you. 

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,” 

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know. 

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place. 

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot. 

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”. 

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea! 

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily. 

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious. 

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you. 

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine. 

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time. 

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions. 

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried. 

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone. 

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her. 

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn. 

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off. 

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.” 

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?” 

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan. 

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy. 

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room. 

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows. 

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking. 

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something. 

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back. 

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot. 

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great. 

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs. 

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing. 

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs. 

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction. 

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real. 

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression. 

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,” 

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. 

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this. 

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on. 

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

------

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[14K Words/1Hr. Read - Teacher!Bang Chan x Admin!Female Reader - Fake Relationships, Guest Appearances, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn, New Teachers, Vanilla, Office Sex, Allusions To Troubling Subjects]

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You should’ve expected a phone call when you read the email. At least then you would be somewhat prepared for the verbal lashing you were currently receiving from one of your greatest teachers. 

“I’m sorry, but — wait, you know what? No I’m not, I’m not sorry — but I am not staying here with this dumpster fire waiting to happen! He’s wrecking the department — Johnny, let me talk — and I didn’t even want him here to begin with. Congratulations, ma’am, you torpedoed my program I worked so hard to build.”

Doyoung paused, waiting for you to call his bluff, to appeal to his good side as usual. He was right. He’d done so much for his school — for the district, really, and this was getting out of hand. Johnny could be heard behind him, the poor principal having apparently had his desk phone wrestled away from him to begin with. 

“Mr. Kim,” you spoke into the phone, mustering all the confidence you had in you, “what do you want me to do? I mean it. Tell me what you want.”

“He goes or I go,” Doyoung dramatically laid out into your ear. Johnny could be heard trying to console the raving teacher before Doyoung apparently ducked him every few seconds. “I’m losing my mind. I have 150 students becoming fucking hypnotized and they’re influencing their peers like the plague.”

“Besides losing either of you,” you carefully negotiated, “what do you want me to do? I value your input; I always have. Dig into the meat with me here, please.”

“I will not teach beside some noble renegade who wears hoodies to class and asks his students to call him by his first name. I won’t teach in the same building, nor in the same school. This is dangerous, and you know it is. For all the money you’re throwing at PR this year you could be putting it in your students.”

You hated that Doyoung was right. This was not a great start to the year. A sigh escaped that you had not meant for, and Doyoung audibly steeled himself on the other end of the receiver. He was waiting now. 

“I’m coming down there,” you announced. Apparently Johnny heard you, a god fucking dammit being heard behind Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung, however, was sated. 

“Fine,” he replied, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was surprised he got anywhere. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

And like that, Doyoung hung up. You slumped down in your chair, having been pacing your otherwise pristine office for the past 15 minutes which had felt more like 15 hours. You were fussily rearranging your desk, trying to calm yourself back down when your assistant finally felt it was safe enough to poke her head into your office. 

“Ma’am—” Yeji greeted before you held up a hand to stop her. You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. 

“How many more calls this week?”

“Only four,” she replied. A relieved sigh softened your tense shoulders as she set the personnel file you requested on your desk. 

You felt so old now, run ragged by all the mayhem, but it wasn’t so long ago that you were young yourself. Even then, you still were according to most standards. You were the youngest assistant superintendent to ever serve the district, a set of magnet schools within the city comprised of one private Montessori primary school, one public STEM-focused junior high, and one private-public hybrid high school of the arts. You pined for the ultimate position, but that chair was long occupied by Mr. Simmons, a token favorite of the school board. He called you dear and was always acting like some big man pitying a little girl. However, this didn’t mean you hadn’t tried like hell to make an impression. 

Your first three years had been a terrific uphill trajectory. In year one, you brought on Doyoung to replace the retiring choir teacher and head of the music department at the high school. To date, he’d brought in more accolades than his predecessor did in twice the time. For your second year, you collaborated with your junior high on an agricultural enrichment program that offset food costs district wide to the point you could improve offerings in all three cafeterias. This year, you re-established the district PTA. Doyoung’s rabid Booster Club and the parents of the junior high’s robotics team made up the first meeting, and more and more parents had joined since. 

So it only seemed fair that this year was your first true hurdle. It had been such an innocent decision: you took a proposed program from the junior high and adapted it for your high school students. A music production and distribution program was a clean, sleek idea that was sure to impress the PTA and enrich the lives of your students in their already affluent music department and work as a dual credit with the business side of the class. What you hadn’t betted on, however, was what exactly a young teacher could get into in a high school setting. 

Chris Bang wasn’t naive — you were sure of it, looking at his portfolio. He’d cut his teeth independently producing from a young age and gathering a loyal following online. This was a concept you understood well enough, but had a time and a half explaining to anyone older than you, it seemed. Anyone older than you, but also especially Doyoung, who was very fiercely proud of his hard work to get his double Masters in Choral Conducting and Music Theory at 21 and didn’t have the patience for homegrown prodigies. You couldn’t blame Doyoung, really, even with his dramatics. His competition choir was a force to be reckoned with — surprisingly disciplined, endlessly talented, and ravenously competitive — and now two of his students were wrapped up in all this, too, and that was just the extent you were aware of. 

You tapped out an IM to Yeji from your desktop, asking her to come back into your office, and she dutifully popped in a few seconds later. She pulled up a chair in front of your desk as you rested your head in your hands for a moment. “Tell me, Yeji,” you sighed, “what’s your read on this?”

“Well, ma’am,” she mulled it over, “it’s not great. It’s awful, really. But it’s hard to tell by now what’s real, what’s a cry for attention, or what feels real but is actually just the zeitgeist. You know how this is, what it can turn into.”

You did. You’d remembered your own whirlwind feelings at a similar age, even just out of high school. Strangers and dissenters had a hard time believing it, but before you had assumed the role of meticulously poised and proper, you were frustratingly belligerent and stubborn like many of your peers when you were younger. It was easy to recall how real, how present every moment was at the time, but you didn’t even remember the whole story now. In fact, you hadn’t thought of that story in ages, but you were suddenly reminded of the smell of pine trees and sugar, the cool electricity of being out past midnight. It was quite possibly the most excited you’d ever felt, but now you couldn’t remember the fine details, the corners sanded down to curves over time. To your students, these letters were the most exciting and dramatic thing to ever happen to them, and if they would remember the details later on would depend on how you handled the situation. 

The first letter surfaced just a week before, and online of all places. A full declaration of this girl’s undying love for Chris and all of the very, very, very inappropriate things she wanted to do with him, found in an envelope on the keyboard outside his office and posted online before he could ever see it. The next letter was eventually found two days later, apparently picked up from where it had missed the trash can: a 17 year old boy, feeling emboldened enough to finally profess who he was — gay, madly in love with Chris, and willing to risk it all. A third was stolen from a girl’s backpack from some bullies and she had been a wreck, so sure that Chris had picked one of the other two and she’d missed her chance. That girl hadn’t returned to school yet. Who knew what else was going on in the hallways, in the cafeteria and bathrooms, in the parking lot after school? 

Four more parents contacted your office, according to Yeji. Four more letters. And now Doyoung was threatening to quit, for added reasons you hadn’t even been aware of. You flipped through Chris’ personnel file, hoping not to find any red flags, but hopefully find any reason this spiraled out of control, anything other than tumultuous teenage life wreaking havoc on your students. 

Your sigh renewed in spades as you glanced at your assistant again. “Who do you remember most from high school?”

Yeji’s eyes were cast downward as she thought about it. “Other than my friends? Probably the student teacher in my auto class,” she blissfully reminisced. “The teacher would sleep half the time and the student teacher would just teach us whatever we wanted to know and what we needed to know for tests. I remember I had the biggest crush because of that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Yeji gave an apologetic smile. “What about you?”

Her question knocked you off your feet for a moment. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting it, but you immediately had an answer. “Aside from friends? Weirdly enough,” you began, “someone I didn’t meet until graduation.”

As sickly sentimental as the thought of it was, it was true. You didn’t even remember that boy’s name anymore, but you’d met exactly three times before you left for college. He had been hanging out by the bonfire on the beach at a grad party no one had expected to get so crazy. You couldn’t remember your conversation, but you could remember his bleached hair tucked under a beanie catching your eye as he sat by himself, his friends apparently wreaking havoc on their own somewhere. His lip ring was crooked, and in a fit of beer-buzzed confidence you’d fixed it for him while you talked about the phony gravitas of graduation. You’d almost kissed him, too, connecting over things that seemed way more kismet than they probably were when your friends finally made you walk home with them. 

You gathered up the rest of your patience and courage as you bid Yeji goodbye until your return and headed out to your car in the lot, making the tedious journey to the high school. The handsomely vintage architecture was charmingly modern inside the gates and within its walls, but not overly so. However, this also meant the school was a hike and a maze to navigate through to find the music department. You were distracted, though, missing a turn here or there and having to turn back a couple times now that you were suddenly remembering your clandestine romance from years ago. What was his name? It wasn’t even that long ago. Had so much really happened since then? You wracked your brain. He had a reasonably fresh and nice scratcher tattoo on his bicep, you remembered, but you couldn’t remember what it was for some reason, just like his name. He had to have said it in one of these memory bites. 

The second time you’d met, he’d been handing out flyers on the boardwalk for his own show at a rave in a warehouse on the other side of town, out where the beach met the woods. He’d seen you before you’d seen him, and he had popped up with a greeting of Hello, stranger. He had made you promise to be there, which is where you met the third and final time later that night. He greeted you again the same way. Hello, stranger. You’d thought it was cute then, and still did, which must be why you still remembered that detail, at least. He liked your shoes, your worn work boots you’d picked up at a thrift store and refused to get rid of despite all the times your parents asked. 

Those warehouse shows were always nuts, all sorts of vendors arriving who were willing to shack up with any event that passed through. He had bought you cotton candy from one of these vendors when you met him after his set and you chatted as you walked along the tree line, talking about his dreams of becoming rich and famous on his own terms. He kissed you, once, and you tasted his lip ring and spun sugar for weeks. You found yourself wondering now if he ever did become rich and famous. 

Doyoung gave you a passing glance in the hall as you stalked towards Chris’s classroom: he looked impatient but thrilled and, sure enough, well dressed in his usual suit and tie. You wondered if this new staff member was exactly what Doyoung was fear mongering. Maybe it was simply a difference in values. This was Chris’ first year teaching professionally, you remembered, and now you felt miserably guilty. What a horrible way to start a career. You hadn’t even visited your new teacher since he began, but just the door outside his room was a mess. Doyoung’s fretting made more sense now. Even though you’d only gotten four phone calls, Chris’s classroom door was plastered in letters. 

The door creaked and fluttered as you opened it and peeked your head inside. The room was devoid of any human presence. For a space that needed to serve multiple purposes, it was sparsely filled except for classroom materials and equipment. Regular desks and chairs filled the floor as opposed to risers or music stands like in the other department classrooms, but there was still a soundproof practice room in the back of the room, and only the recording equipment stored around the room gave any hint to the classroom’s purpose. To deal with the mess after the third letter, a sub was leading Chris’s classes in the library, but you at least expected to find him here himself, or at least some posters or framed photos. You peeked inside the small office at the head of the classroom, finding it just as empty as well, but with some more personality. A few extra milk crates of visibly nicer vinyl records for sampling and listening were stacked beside the desk along with a nicer record player than what was by his desk out in the classroom. Some books sat on a shelf with a modest cactus in the corner, and finally some photos: Chris shaking hands and smiling with tons of industry players and friends, and occasionally appearing in one of those hoodies Doyoung had been warning of. He did own suits, apparently. Multiple. And he looked good in them. 

A polite cough surprised you at the door of the office. 

You whirled around, the sun outside silhouetting Chris as he stared at you in his dimly lit office. “My office hours are cancelled this week. May I help you?”

It was your turn to cough, clearing your throat. He was certainly young. He was certainly handsome, his grimace pronouncing the charming dimples in his cheeks. He certainly didn’t dress like a teacher. Chris stood in the doorway of his own office, looking at you curiously in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He even had a backpack hung on his shoulder and a bag of greasy fast food in his hands. He suddenly looked down at it, embarrassed. 

“I, er, wore out my welcome in the teacher’s lounge, it seems,” he sighed out a sullen laugh. “And I needed some fresh air.”

“Mr. Bang, I—“

“Call me Chris,” he insisted with a tired grin. Your heart shamefully thumped at how friendly and cute he was. It was easier to pretend you didn’t hear him. He stepped around you and dropped down into his desk chair. He silently gestured at his food, appearing to ask if you were alright if he ate while you talked. You nodded. He dug into the bag and cheekily offered you a fry. You coolly shook your head. 

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but as assistant superintendent—“

Chris sputtered, standing up from his chair as he choked down the fry he’d just put in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he gasped finally, “I didn’t—“

“I know,” you nodded again. You waved up a hand in understanding. “Please, sit back down. I wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, considering the current state of affairs.”

Chris stayed standing, uneasy and fidgeting. “Alright, what do you want? Is this it? Please don’t suggest I need an attorney, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“What?” You asked, surprised. 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Chris lamented, “but I’ve gotten dozens of emails and messages through the school portal from parents and students asking me if I did anything, and it’s doing my head in.”

“They’re what?!” You hadn’t even considered anyone actually thought the teacher was guilty of anything. He nodded gravely. 

“Read the letters outside!” His demand came out brokenly as he pointed behind you. “They’re begging me and taunting me to do all sorts of shit. Confess, quit, fuck them — all sorts of awful trash that I never even imagined. I just wanted to teach. I don’t know why the hell this is happening to me.”

You had no idea about any harassment. This looked bad. It looked bad to your students, their parents, the staff — everyone. You pulled out your phone from your purse and brought up the PR rep’s number, now on your speed dial. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Of course I didn’t—“ he sputtered before you cut him off. 

“I wasn’t asking, Mr. Bang. You didn’t do anything and I believe you. A good superintendent would support good staff. Your first few months brought nothing but praise past my office.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris quietly said. He finally sat down as you dialed the rep. She would be by shortly. You found another chair hiding under a pile of books and cds and moved them so you could sit. Chris was looking at you oddly now as you hung up, sitting closer than you’d normally like in the small office. You shifted uncomfortably. Chris offered you a fry again before you stiffly refused once more. He shrugged and began inhaling his food in earnest. 

“Hungry?” You asked sarcastically, instantly regretting it. There was no sense in kicking him while he was down. 

“Emotional eater,” he clarified around a mouthful, equally sarcastic in your resumed awkward silence. You considered the young teacher in front of you. If you recalled the personnel file, he wasn’t just a brand new teacher, he was new to the area as well. A rumor apparently spread among the students and even some of your staff that he had been running away from something, but you never paid that any attention until you were actually in the same room with him. He caught you zoning out in his direction, an eyebrow raised as he paused on his mouthful of food, and you sheepishly pulled out your phone and checked your agenda until your rep finally found you hiding out together in the tiny office. 

Ryujin had become your go-to girl since the school year started but even more so over the past week. Public relations for a school district should never have to become very high-maintenance work, but Ryujin was quickly proving herself over-qualified for the job. She stood in the doorway, tall and cool in her confidence despite her short stature as she looked over the situation. 

“Stand up,” she simply directed Chris. 

He gave you a quick glance, not moving until you nodded. Chris set his food down and stood, hands in his hoodie pockets as Ryujin circled him. He warily shied away from her prodding as she pinched and pulled at his clothes, looking at tags and labels. She fiddled with the cute studs in his ears, tugged on the strings of his hoodie to draw him more to her level, and ruffled his dark, fluffy hair to look for showing roots or product. Ryujin looked at you now. “This isn’t so bad,” she told you decidedly. 

Chris was confused, left about ten miles behind the conversation. “Why—“

“What do we do?” You asked. Chris looked wildly between both of you as you decided his fate without him. “We’re dealing with harassment now.”

“Of course we are,” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, look at him.”

“Hey!” Chris rightfully looked offended, even as you held up a calming hand to settle him down. Ryujin impatiently waited for you to let her continue. 

“He doesn’t look like a teacher, he doesn’t act like a teacher, he’s under 30, and— I’m sorry— he’s cute. He was bound to get eaten alive when his students are only a few years younger than him and he has no experience.”

“So,” you reiterated, “what do we do?”

“He can go back to teaching,” Ryujin ruled, “but he has to look and act the part. No more first-name basis, no more street clothes.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Chris laughed in disbelief. 

Both you and Ryujin glared at him now before she continued. “He’ll have to make a statement first. I’ll write it, of course. He can speak at the next PTA meeting. But —“ she turned to face him for once, “you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spouse? A partner? Some boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Now you shared Chris’ confused look. “Why does that matter?”

Ryujin folded her arms. “I don’t mince words. Sympathy, mostly. For anyone worrying, he’ll clearly appear to have support. For anyone who is doubting him, he clearly appears to have a loyal and loving presence in his life that can attest to Mr. Bang never having any nefarious predilection for his students and never intending to inspire any regrettable actions. It’s ultimately a similar reason to why I suggested you should wear a wedding ring.”

Your face heated up once again at being outed in front of your staff member. Ryujin had suggested a fake wedding ring ages ago when you first hired her. The moment you were appointed, parents instantly began doubting you. Even Superintendent Simmons, a parent himself, questioned you at your third interview. How could you — a young woman with no spouse and no children of your own — ever deign to understand what it’s like to raise and nurture one? The sheer stubbornness that you felt in response to that sentiment made you refuse such a placating notion as a fake wedding ring. Chris seemed to notice your embarrassment before he piped up himself, almost seeming to want to change the subject back for your sake. 

“No,” Chris said simply, “I’m single and fine with it.”

“Look,” Ryujin rolled her eyes, “that is fine. Find a fake, then. It just needs to look real. It’s not fair, but these parents will assume you’re a better person if you’re not single in this situation. They need to see that you’re a loving and committed professional who just wants to teach and nurture young minds. The next PTA meeting is this Thursday night. Today is Tuesday, so you have a little time, but not much. Consider it, and I’ll have an optional line in your statement for whatever you decide. Do you have a suit?”

“For funerals and weddings,” Chris grumbled. 

“A sweater is fine then,” Ryujin shrugged. She put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “This is going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” You realized with thorough embarrassment that you sounded distressed. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, “the Superintendent wants a meeting about his son or something. You will be fine. Keep me updated.”

Ryujin ghosted out the door as fast as she’d come, and Chris reeled. “The nerve! I can’t believe her, can you?”

“Yes,” you nodded seriously, “I can. She’s right.”

“Oh, come on!” Chris blustered. You stood back up now, gathering your bag in the crook of your arm and straightening the carefully pressed collar of your suit jacket. 

“I don’t want to see you have to end your career so soon, Mr. Bang,” you sympathized as you pulled out a business card from your purse and handed it to him. “Again, I’ve only heard good things about you until all this. Call me if you need anything. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Things settled for one day. And then Thursday morning happened. Yeji was pale as you entered the office in the morning. 

“John called from his cell.” 

You checked your watch. First period was just starting at the high school. 

God dammit. 

You jogged into your office, grabbed the phone, and dialed him back. Johnny was out of breath. “I have a situation,” he panted into the phone. You could hear shouting behind him. Specifically, you could hear Doyoung shouting behind him. God dammit. 

The tires on your car screeched as you peeled out of the parking lot of the admin building, tearing across town and barely breathing until you passed through Johnny’s office on your way into the building. He was icing his cheek with a cold pack from the nurse, his tie loose and slack around his neck and his suit jacket haphazardly slung over the back of his chair. Before you could say anything, he just shook his head with a disappointed laugh before returning to work at his computer. You walked quickly through the hallway, students watching you from their first period classrooms until you reached the music department. Taeil, the band teacher, closed Doyoung’s door behind him as he saw you in the hall. 

“Ma’am,” the teacher greeted, thoroughly exhausted, “I wouldn’t go in there. We already called a sub for the rest of the day and I took Doyoung’s kids to the library for independent study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you thanked him graciously, “do you have any idea what happened?” Taeil shrugged helplessly. His tie was crooked as well, his rolled sleeves uneven. You looked over at Chris’ room, open to the hall. Letters had shuffled off the door and onto the hallway floor. “Take care of Doyoung,” you instructed Taeil, “make sure he’s okay and that he gets home alright.”

Taeil nodded and let himself back into Doyoung’s classroom as you carefully approached Chris’. The room was dark, books and papers strewn across the floor. You cautiously switched on the light, only to find the teacher slumped in his chair at the head of the room, icing his own face with a metal water bottle. He silently glanced at you and sighed as you rushed over to check on him. You set your purse on his desk and gingerly pulled the water bottle away, sharing Chris’ sigh as you saw the bruise on his cheek. It felt a bit gross to still find him so frustratingly handsome in this moment. 

“What happened?” You softly asked him. Chris sank into the chair and gave a dejected shrug, helpless to recollect. And he didn’t get much of a chance to even try, as a commotion erupted in the empty hallway. Doyoung stood fuming in the doorway with Taeil futilely attempting to pull him away. 

“So you are here,” Doyoung grimaced at you before he shot a glare at Taeil, “why are you lying for her? Everyone is treating me like I’m insane and I’ve had it.” He stormed over, only stopped as you turned to press a confrontational hand to his chest. Doyoung had quite the busted lip. 

“Mr. Kim, I know tensions are high—” you began staunchly before Doyoung steamrolled you. 

“Do you?! Do you even know what happened?” He leaned to the side, staring daggers into Chris. “Tell her, you sorry excuse of a—“

“I’m telling you, Kim, just like I have been telling you,” Chris glowered, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! You’re the one who came in here looking to start a fight.”

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Doyoung shouted. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him look at you. 

“Tell me, then, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung shiftily looked back and forth between the two of you. “Tell you what, ma’am?” he grumbled. “Tell you that I had the joy of overhearing one of my brightest students talking with her friends during zero period, bragging about fucking in his practice room? Tell you that she’s just a freshman? Tell you that I caught her and her friends giggling as she wrote her own fucking letter?” 

Doyoung pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his suit jacket and shoved it into your hands. You looked back at Chris, his shaking eyes horrified as he was apparently hearing this all for the first time. 

“I admit, I took matters into my own hands. I flew off the handle. Why, though, would I come to you with all this first, ma’am?” Doyoung pleaded. You recognized the helpless heartache in his eyes, hating how much he was losing his students. “You wouldn’t come to me first if I asked for your help. You’d go straight to him.”

You glanced down at the notebook paper in your hands, catching glimpses of curly, naive confessions, and you looked back at Chris again. He didn’t look guilty. You didn’t want him to be. You wanted this all resolved, as cleanly as possible before you possibly wrecked the year before winter break. You thought fast. 

“I did go to him first, Mr. Kim,” you conceded, quiet yet confident, “and I apologize if my actions come across as selfish, but this ordeal has caused quite the strain on mine and Chris’ relationship, even more so since it’s still fairly new.”

Doyoung backed up, aghast as his eyes flicked between the two of you again. His normally soft gaze was pure hellfire. “You’re kidding me,” he shook his head in disbelief. He had no interest in waiting for a confirmation before he turned to storm off, herding Taeil along with him. 

Chris was staring at you when you turned back to face him, shocked as he was at your sudden plan. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

You pulled out your phone to dial Ryujin, but before you actually sent the call through, you bored your eyes into Chris, who was still wincing past the bruise on his face. “You still didn’t do anything?”

“Never,” he adamantly shook his head. 

“Good,” you nodded. “We will need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. My assistant will call you with details.” You plucked your purse up from his desk and shouldered it. Chris watched, still stunned as you made for the door. His continued stare made you pause, a hand on the door frame as you turned back to face him. “You’re innocent,” you explained, “but if you quit you’ll be proving everyone who’s doubting you right. It seems like no one is on your side except me, so if no one will do anything then I will. You’ll be fine, Mr. Bang.” With that, you regained your confidence once more to walk down the hall. You caught your breath before you tapped out a message for Ryujin on your phone. Somehow, you didn’t expect her to call you right away. 

“I’m sorry, but you what?!” Ryujin exclaimed, stooping you in your tracks from wherever she was. 

“You said he needs to find someone and make it look real!” You hissed, trying to keep your composure the best you could in the quiet hallway. 

“I didn’t mean you!”

You grumbled out a curse under your breath. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that clarification,” you bit out, “so what do I do now?”

Ryujin could be heard tapping on her cell phone as she spoke to you. “I’m on it,” she assured you, “and I’m sure you already figured you need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. We need to make sure you’re on the same page. I’m forwarding you the statement I wrote. Hang tight, I’m going to meet you at your place.”

Chris frowned at the suit laid out on top of your couch after you’d extracted it from its garment bag. Ryujin had brought it, on loan from some unnamed resource, complete with notecards of her prepared statement in the breast pocket. “Why does this also feel like proving everyone right for some reason,” he said uncomfortably. 

“What exactly is wrong?” You sighed. Chris fidgeted. He looked out of place in your apartment, his soft black hoodie and worn jeans contrasting starkly with your minimalist and meticulously organized sanctuary. His brows were furrowed with impending panic, but he looked determined. 

“I’m nervous,” he bemoaned, “tell it to me again.”

“We met over the summer at a cafe downtown,” you explained impatiently. 

“That’s so soon for someone like you to be backing up a pariah like me,” Chris laughed, almost on the verge of breakdown, apparently. He was choking down a milkshake. He’d brought you one too, of course, but when you politely refused he took it as a consolation prize. It was incredible to you that he seemed to be in such good shape for how much food he put down. Or, you realized, maybe a catastrophe of this caliber wasn’t very common for him. 

“Put on the suit, Mr. Bang,” you urged, “please?”

“Oh my god, you need to stop calling me that if we’re dating!” Chan nervously laughed again.

“Look, I’ll be just fine, I’ll be able to fix it when we’re in front of people,” you insisted, “but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? I’m having an entire escape plan thrust upon me and I’m trying to adjust.”

“Well,” you huffed as you found yourself meeting his level, “maybe you wouldn’t need this escape plan if you didn’t take such a lax approach to teaching.”

“Excuse me?” Chris asked, blindsided by your outburst. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what people are saying!” You doubled down in defense, squaring up against him as you impatiently folded your arms. 

“Why don’t you tell me, ma’am, what exactly people are saying about me?” Chris stood defiantly, toe to toe with you and daring you to follow through. You took the bait. 

“You know exactly what people are saying,” you challenged him, “that you refuse to take the role seriously because it’s easier that way. You give these students too much freedom, and you’re encouraging them to act out. Who needs homework? Who needs textbooks? Who needs seating charts? They call you by your first name and think you’re their best friend, that you’re one of them, only older, just like they wish they were! They live and die by your approval because you seem so cool and you don’t seem like a teacher.”

“Oh, so I don’t seem like a teacher now?” Chris scoffed. 

“They certainly don’t respect you like one,” you snapped. A deep pause coursed through you both like a cold breeze before he burst. 

“Well you sure as hell don’t respect me like one, so why the hell are you helping me?!” Chris shouted. 

“Well,” you mocked, quickly losing grip, “here I was thinking it was the right thing to do!” You heaved out a frustrated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and finally turning away as you couldn’t stand to look at him. 

However, you may have glossed over the in-progress milkshake that had been in his hands, now currently all over his hoodie and on the spotless hardwood floor of your apartment. 

“Oh, great!” Chris laughed incredulously. “I sure look like I could use the help now, Miss Assistant Superintendent. Guess I’ll put on the stupid suit so I don’t make a bigger fool out of myself at my public execution tonight.”

Your face regrettably heated up as Chris frustratedly tugged his hoodie off over his head, his shirt following right after as he fished the pressed white shirt out from within the suit jacket. He had an admittedly nice figure, his toned torso never being hinted at through his comfy wardrobe. A set of tattooed compass roses on his upper arm caught your attention, and you wished you didn’t find it attractively endearing. “I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he ranted, “no one would ever believe I’d date a stuck-up, uptight, tyrant like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you fumed as you turned away, not wanting to get distracted, “except no one would believe I’d ever date an arrogant ingrate like you.”

Chris could be heard pacing behind you as he buttoned the shirt, apparently pausing at your mantle over the fireplace. “I bet you were a nightmare as a student, a real grade-grubber and brown-noser,” he grumbled, now seeming to have found your framed photos of you and your friends at graduation, first from high school and then from undergrad. “I’m going to hang myself with this godawful tie— is this you?”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over and snatched his tie out of his fingers to do it yourself. He’d already deftly changed his pants while you weren’t watching. “Sure, that’s me,” you muttered, “and no, I wasn’t a nightmare, thank you very much.” You paused as you felt a shift in his silence and glanced up at him. For the first time you noticed a subtle cologne on him, a gentle musk that was miserably attractive on him and you just wanted to get this over with even faster. Chris was giving you that indecipherable look again as you fiddled with the stupid necktie. From this close, you could see a cute little dot just under his lip, a telltale spacer that more than likely usually held a lip ring and—

Oh. 

Hello, stranger. 

Chris was gravely silent as he parked in front of your apartment later that night. The PTA meeting had been a disaster, starting the moment you left to travel back to the high school, where the meetings were held in the main theater. A loaded silence had staked itself between you the whole drive, and neither of you had reviewed Ryujin’s statement whatsoever. Nonetheless, you sat and stood close enough to each other during the meeting to be clear but not obscene in what you both were implying with your proximity, and you were faithfully beside him as he approached the podium. It was difficult to ignore the hushed whispers resounding through the audience. Chris’ brazen confidence was all but gone by now, fully broken as multiple hands immediately shot up to get a word in. Chris had forged ahead, though, even as his hands tried not to tremble around his notes. Ryujin’s statement didn’t mince words, just like her. He read out how his inexperience wrongly led him to take a more casual approach to teaching, how he’d recklessly and misguidedly inspired his students to put too much trust in him. He read out what a struggle this presented for both of you, being faced with accusations of such severity, and wishing to regain the trust of the assembled teachers and parents. The hands stayed in the air, and Johnny moderated question after question and Chris adamantly confirmed again and again and again that he had done nothing except naively neglect to put a firmer stop to all this. He was the one, and not Ryujin, to say that he should have brought the letters to Johnny’s attention and not simply ignored them, hoping the situation would stop on its own. More hands kept raising. Seemingly every parent belonging to a letter on Chris’ door was here wanting personal reassurance and, subsequently, a reason from him that their children were acting out. It felt like a never ending ordeal, a constant string of hurt and confused parents needing comfort. Johnny had no words for Chris when he finally ended the meeting, putting him out of his misery. Nothing else got done on the agenda that night. He only clapped a sympathetic hand to his teacher’s shoulder. 

You tapped out what happened in a text message to Ryujin. Her diagnosis was optimistic but tough, and in your continued silence in the car, you suddenly realized you were stopped in front of your apartment. Chris was quiet, zoning out at the wheel until you nudged him.

“Ryujin says we can still do this,” you encouraged him. “Enough of the parents should believe you. We just need to make sure the students and staff do, too…. as well as the board.”

Chris leaned forward, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. “I wish they didn’t have to believe me. They’re probably stressed as hell over this. This whole thing is such shit,” he muttered. “We don’t even like each other.”

“We don’t?”

“What?” Chris sullenly chuckled. “Just because we did ages ago?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I remembered that pretty fondly. I thought of that kiss all summer.”

“We kissed?”

Ouch. 

You sighed. “Fine then. You’re right. We don’t like each other. You’re cocky and naive and I’m…”

“Uptight?” Chris smirked, but he shut his mouth when you clearly didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’re doing, you know. I just… I’m going through it.”

“I know,” you commiserated. 

“What do we do now?” 

“There’s a board meeting next Wednesday night,” you explained. “You can accompany me to that, and that’ll take care of them. Until then, we keep up appearances at school, now that we’re exposed.”

“How are we doing that?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you reassured him. “What’ll you do now?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris laughed tiredly, “probably go pick up a taco box and try not to ruin this suit.”

You nodded in understanding as you unbuckled your seatbelt and dug around in your bag for your keys. “No hoodies, okay?”

Chris nodded, watching as you stepped out of the car and fussily smoothed your skirt back down. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I can manage,” you grinned softly as you pulled something out of your bag. You handed him the offending note from that morning. “I didn’t do this just because I thought you didn’t do anything. This letter is addressed to a Chris but it appears to actually be a student named Christian S.”

“Oh,” Chris grimaced, “isn’t he Superintendent Simmons’ son? I have him in fourth period. He’s one of the first chairs in Taeil’s concert band. He’s sort of… gross, sometimes, about girls. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still disappointed.”

“You alright?”

“I should’ve done something,” he muttered as he sank back into his seat, still staring at the letter. 

“Don’t start with that,” you lightly admonished, “it’s not always easy to know when to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly. 

“Of course,” you said with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

Johnny and Doyoung did a double-take as you walked into the music department the following day at lunchtime. It only made sense to you that if Chris was trying to dress up more, you’d match him by dressing down more. Your requisite suit and heels were switched out for a simple blouse with some tailored jeans and flats. That alone was a huge step for you, considering you even refused to dress down for the annual Welcome Back picnic for the district staff every year. You felt uncomfortable despite still looking clean and poised, but leagues more approachable apparently, proven as students’ passing glances lingered on their way to the cafeteria. Johnny’s look was simply one of surprise, but Doyoung’s was nothing but bitterness. Even Chris, as he happened to prop open his classroom door when you walked down the hall, was curious to see you looking so casual and chipper as you strutted up to him with a bundle in your arms. He was surprisingly handsome, wearing a blazer over a simple t-shirt with some slim jeans and sneakers — better, but not quite there. He couldn’t help a small smile as you theatrically revealed what you had brought: his cleaned hoodie and shirt folded and draped over a bag of takeout to split. 

“Hungry?” You asked sweetly, but hopefully not overdone. A couple of students walked past, their eyes boring into you. Chris looked unfazed, took the hoodie and shirt from your hands and, with a quick look down the hall at Doyoung and Johnny, beckoned you into the classroom with a nod.

“Starving,” he answered with a grin, and even gave Johnny a cheery wave as he promptly shut the door again behind you. “What are you doing here?” He quietly asked you, the dazzling facade of confidence instantly crumbling. His panicked surprise wasn’t lost on you. 

“We need to keep up appearances like I said. It’s Friday, you’re going through a hard time, and you’re eating like you grew another stomach. I brought us something to eat,” you explained, pushing the bag into his hands. 

“You—“ Chris looked dumbfounded, eyes darting between you and the food in his hands, “— brought me lunch?”

“Yes? What else was this supposed to be? I’m your girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” You led Chris back into his own office and helped yourself to a seat. “We also need to brush up on our relationship in case anyone asks.”

“Fine,” Chris nodded as he dug into his food. “Let’s study, then. I’m guessing you went to college right after we met, and I’m sure you taught at least a little before this.”

“Grade schoolers,” you nodded, “it was good but not for me. I never asked about your accent.”

“You did, actually. That first time, so that’s probably why you don’t remember. I grew up in Sydney, moved here before junior year in high school. Do you live by yourself? I didn’t see a roommate or any cats.”

“I live by myself,” you confirmed, “I gave up on roommates around the time I took this job. No time for pets, either. I guess I’m too uptight.” Chris winced as you continued. “Yes, I’m aware of it; I guess I’m just sensitive. Did you find a good place in the area?”

“Yeah,” Chris said thoughtfully, “cute little house. You should probably see it sometime.”

“You bought a house?!”

Chris’ ears reddened. “Yes? Again, it’s little. A couple bedrooms, a couple bathrooms. Lots of work to be done on it, but it’s all mine. Here, look.” You watched, momentarily stunned as he fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. He pulled up a surprisingly adorable photo of Chris in front of a humble little house, holding what you could only assume was his dog you didn’t know he had. “Cute, right? Her name is Berry. You should meet her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head in advance, “but you could afford a house? What brought you to teaching anyway?”

“Producing was good, but not for me,” Chris meekly bit at his lip, “I always wanted to try teaching what I know, and thankfully your team brought me on while I’m still earning my degree.”

“So one day you just decided to be an educator?” You asked dubiously. 

“Didn’t you?” Chris seemed more cagey now, more defensive. 

“Sure, but maybe this explains your approach to teaching.”

Chris sighed hard and set his food down. “You know what? I knew you were bringing it back to that. Here I was thinking we were on a little better footing after last night. My approach to teaching came from thinking of what I wanted when I was these kids’ age. I wanted someone to treat me with respect and value my opinion and talk to me like an adult.”

“Right,” you nodded, “but that acceptance clearly looks like an invitation to some students.”

“An invitation to what? The other staff are always saying how closed off their students are, but they’re not like that with me. They’re proactive, they’re independent, they’re thoughtful, they’re excited to be here.”

“What about students who aren’t yours?” You challenged him with your stare. It would’ve looked better in a suit. “Your students are in love with you — some of them literally — and it makes them act out with their other teachers, even students who aren’t yours are citing you as their inspiration. Terrific and capable teachers are being defied simply because they’re not you. Admit this is easier for you than establishing and upholding boundaries.”

Chris listened, but he scoffed nonetheless. “Fine. It’s easier. I’m terrified of these kids but I want them to like me and trust me. But even if I assign them homework and treat them like they’re children, that still won’t solve how the teachers don’t trust me.”

“They will,” you impatiently assured him. 

“Even Doyoung?”

“Why do you care?!” You gave a stunned chuckle. 

“I mean he punched me in the fucking face yesterday,” Chris shrugged. “Is it true you two dated?”

You gaped at him, stunned. “Why do you care?” You repeated. Chris nonchalantly shrugged. “Are you jealous?” You were provoking him on purpose, but there was no use in pretending you weren’t disgusted with this line of questioning. 

“No! We don’t even like each other.” Chris was floundering, now facing his desk more than you. “I’m a naive and arrogant asshole and you’re an uptight ballbuster who sold out, remember?”

“Sold out?” You guffawed, standing up now. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I grew up.”

“Right, well—“ Chris barked as he got up to square off against you. “Did you grow into a stuck-up busybody who is more worried about how she looks than how she’s doing?”

Chris’ ears were burning scarlet as you bristled at his words, but he still walked you to the door as you stormed away. “That was too much. I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly before he opened the classroom door into the hall. 

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bang,” you quietly gritted out, despite your saccharine smile in case anyone was watching. “I’m helping you and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

You were right back in your suit jacket and skirt on Monday, having stewed all weekend over how much more you hated doing this with Chris now. Worse, you hated feeling like he was right. He was shamefully attractive and smart and funny and charming and as much as you hated it — he was right. Somewhere between getting your teaching degree and getting offered your job, you’d become incredibly jaded by the people around you, but not without reason. Even now, the only people who went out of their way to make sure you didn’t feel like you were some child were Ryujin and Yeji… and Chris. Doyoung had, too, which was why you had dated briefly, but now he had joined everyone else in babying you like you were bound to fail. That wasn’t even mentioning the board, made up of all men from old money who mostly seemed to hire you for humor and bragging rights. Even still, this wasn’t even mentioning Superintendent Simmons, who talked to you like he was a lion with a mouse in its paws. 

So, sure, you had reasons to be aloof around the people surrounding you, but Chris’s nagging was starting to bother you. Yes, you were leagues more organized and fastidious than you had been growing up, and you even took some solace in sprucing up your space, but you also had to recognize you were quick to do that instead of facing problems at times. It was easy to organize the kitchen for the fourth time or clean out your closet, but it wasn’t always easy to deal with adult problems. You took great pride in your appearances, because looking capable helped you feel capable, but did that mean you were? It was difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciphering Yeji’s bemused look on your way into the office on Monday. 

A gorgeous bouquet of flowers was sitting on your desk. You curiously walked over, plucking the small envelope from within the buds and gently prying it open. 

Hello Stranger,

1. Are these still your favorite color? You mentioned it years ago so I could be wrong. 

2. I’m sorry about Friday again. I know I’m a hot-head and what I did was terrible. You’re not stuck-up, and you’re not a tyrant. When I think back to that summer, I thought we were on the same page, and now you make it look so easy while I feel like I’m completely lost and failing the whole time. I appreciate you helping me. Thank you. 

A stiff sigh fell from your lips as you looked at the note in your hands, with Chris’ dumb, nice handwriting giving you a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You quickly paged Ryujin and Yeji into your office. Once both girls were sat waiting for you, it was time for the dreaded question.

“What do people think of me?” 

Both girls looked like they’d seen their lives flash before their eyes as you sat at your desk and did some quick typing. When you showed them your screen, they both gasped. There was you, all acne and unfortunate appearance choices at your high school graduation. “It’s not a loaded question,” you promised, “think of it more as a confirmation. I think I’m trying too hard to hide this person.” You gave the girl in the photo a sympathetic look. She was bright, funny, and brimming with potential — even you could see that. 

Yeji surprisingly sighed out her answer first. “The other office staff were still whispering about you when you hired me. They said you just wanted to hire other young women to look progressive.”

All three of you rolled your eyes at the sentiment before Ryujin piped up. “The board does like you… because they think you’ll do their bidding. They think you’re ruthless. The teachers think you have an iron fist. The Superintendent? Well, you know how he feels.”

A sour grimace pulled at your lips. “Why don’t I like any of that?”

“Is it because it’s not what she would want?” Yeji thoughtfully asked you as she nodded in the direction of the photo on your computer screen. You thought back to what Chris had said, about wanting to be the person he wanted around at that age. It was such a trip, thinking of what that girl would do if she saw you now. She’d give you a belligerent sneer and close herself off from you because you were a cold witch and you knew it. The girls watched as your shoulders softened, sinking into your chair as you pulled out your phone and found Chris’ number that Yeji had fetched for you. 

>>Thanks for the flowers. I’ll be by tomorrow so we can try this all again before the board meeting dinner on Wednesday. 

There were decidedly less stares as you walked down the halls of the high school again the next day when the lunch period began. You saw Johnny try to catch your attention out of the corner of your eye, but you simply waved as you passed his office. You had a sneaking suspicion it was about your outfit. As opposed to Friday’s jeans, you felt much more comfortable being more comfortable as opposed to someone you thought you should be. The pencil skirt remained, only now in a cozier dark pallet and much comfier material. The biggest changes were pairing the skirt with a soft flannel shirt and a smart pair of suede oxfords. You felt exposed in how dressed down you were again, but Chris’ surprised smile as you stood in the doorway of his classroom reassured you. He looked good, his hair moderately styled back and wearing another smart blazer over another old band tee. You could see he was even wearing chinos today, still managing to coordinate them with some worn boots not unlike the pair you used to own all those years ago. It was a good look, one that made you a bit more bashful than you had been already. 

“Hello, stranger,” you cheekily greeted from the doorway. 

“Hey,” he smiled back, motioning for you to come in. 

“Hungry?” You asked, fishing a bag out of your purse and placing it in his hands. He peered inside as you set your purse on his desk. 

“Are these—?”

“I felt so awful this weekend,” you sighed as you leaned against his desk, still unable to keep from straightening stacks of his papers, “and especially after yesterday. I couldn’t think straight so I cleaned my apartment and made you some cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He asked incredulously before taking a bite. You could’ve sworn his eyes actually sparkled for a moment. “Alright, these are so good there’s no way you still can’t think straight.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Just like you were already right, about almost everything. But you left one detail out.”

“What’s that?” Chris grinned around a mouthful of cookie.

“You make it look pretty easy yourself,” you smiled softly. Chris raised an eyebrow. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I know you do,” you laughed, “but it’s true! You’ve already done just fine in an industry of your choosing and impulsively decided to become an educator? And you just happen to be financially smart enough to have a house already? It’s reckless but it’s admirable.”

Chris choked on the last of his cookie, his dark hair falling out of place as he composed himself. “I, er, should be up front about that.”

“About what?”

“About deciding to change directions,” Chris sighed. “I had a giant proposal on my hands. I could have had my own company and my own team, but it was a huge investment entirely depending on me and my success. I froze up. I had enough. It felt way too big. I got rid of my fancy apartment, I got rid of my suits and watches, and I just moved.” A sigh fell from Chris’ lips as he folded his arms. He couldn’t meet your imploring stare. “I wish I could do what you do,” he continued. “I want to march headfirst into every single thing no matter what people think of me.”

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You covered your mouth as your face heated up. “I’m terrified,” you explained. “Just like you were scared to take that chance, just like you and most of us are reasonably scared of these kids — I’m terrified. I’ve worn suits to attend sports events and picnics with the staff from how terrified I am of them.”

“Well, you look really good today,” Chris beamed at you, but the distracted nuance of his gaze didn’t let it last long. You playfully sat back on his desk, trying to keep his mood up. 

“I feel good today.”

“I lied, by the way,” Chris sheepishly blurted. “I know we kissed that night. I thought about it all the time. I didn’t go out with anyone for almost a whole year, I thought about it so much. If you knew I still remembered, I would be too tempted to get distracted. But I’m getting distracted anyway, so I thought you should know. You look really good today.”

A flattered smile pulled at your lips as you reached for Chris’ hand where it rested on the desk. His hand was warm and gentle in yours and he looked up at you, silently gauging your look to see if it was alright to lean up more into your space… when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Johnny. 

>I was trying to get your attention when you came in. Simmons is here TOURING THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT. Get that time bomb out of there NOW.

But it was far too late. Superintendent Simmons could be heard talking to Doyoung in the hallway. Chris watched curiously as you whirled around just in time to catch them appearing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’d love to hear your plans for the year but— ah, hello, dear!”

You winced at the use of the word “dear” but fought it back. “Superintendent,” you nodded cordially, “what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take a stroll through the department,” the older man coolly insisted, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “I also thought I could finally meet young Christopher here since I wasn’t sure if he was accompanying you to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your question was stated friendly enough, even as you subtly waved a calming hand back to Chris to keep him back. 

The Superintendent shrugged. “You know how it is, dear. My son takes his class but I haven’t even met the man before. We’re certainly not exempt from being aware of current goings-on and I wanted to see who all the fuss was about.”

“Do I live up to your expectation?” Chris suddenly asked, unmistakably indignant as he came forward. 

“Seeing as my expectations were of a naive, insubordinate, carpe-diem-prescribing kid,” Simmons smirked, “then yes.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent,” you huffed sharply, “but I do not appreciate you speaking to Mr. Bang that way, first as one of my staff members and second as my partner.”

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Simmons threw his head back with a laugh. “Your partner? How unbecoming of you, dear. Now, I would normally do the professional courtesy of discussing this in private, but as you always deem it appropriate to throw a fit, I’ll do it here— you know we need to terminate Mr. Bang. Too much liability.”

A wildfire ignited behind your eyes before you quickly jumped into action. If you had a moment to spare, you would’ve considered the possible consequences. “Mr. Simmons,” you spat, “you know for a fact there are liabilities just as big, if not bigger, right under your nose, just like I know for a fact Mr. Bang is in possession of a confiscated note containing quite the insinuation that your son Christian is having a very close and troubling relationship with one of Mr. Kim’s most promising freshmen.”

You hazarded a look behind you and Chris returned it, petrified. It was a low, risky blow, but an apparently fair one as Mr. Simmons’ eyes grew wide. He stubbornly shook his head. “Christian is a smart boy who is studying hard and has no time—“

“—Christian turned 18 over the summer and wants to have as much fun as he can in high school before he goes to college,” Chris finally spoke up. “He’s said as much in class, and if I recall correctly, that girl is 14. I can show you the letter. He met her at a party that she doesn’t remember but all she knows is she is woefully in love with him. As your son’s teacher I’m a mandated reporter if I think this is an unsafe situation for either of them.”

“You want to play executioner with a man you admitted you just met? Fine,” you warned. “But just like your gossip, you’re not exempt from this, either.”

At that moment, Doyoung sheepishly poked his head into the open doorway, politely coughing to get the attention of Mr. Simmons, who was now sputtering until his face had turned red. “Mr. Superintendent,” Doyoung timidly spoke up, “perhaps you would like to come discuss those plans—“

“Fine time for you to decide to act like a teacher,” Simmons growled towards Chris, before he thrust a fat finger into your chest. “This isn’t done, dear. He’s on thin ice, and now you are, too. Let’s see how long it can hold both of you.” Superintendent Simmons turned on his heel, marching out the door past Doyoung and towards his classroom. Doyoung leaned into the room, giving you both a look that remarkably appeared to be sympathetic support. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked. 

You nodded shallowly, still a bit stunned. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kim.” Chris was seemingly dazed as you turned to face him. “Mr. Bang, can I see you in your office?” 

Chris barely nodded himself, having gone pale during your confrontation, and Doyoung silently wished you well before closing the door behind him and trotting down the hall after the older man. You clutched onto Chris’ sleeve and pulled him into his office, guiding him in before you quietly closed the door. 

You realized you were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling hard with adrenaline as you looked behind you to check on Chris. He was staring back at you, almost shocked, even as you gently took his hand again to make sure he was alright. His fingers had turned clammy where they squeezed yours, and you shared a brief silence, recovering and staring at each other until he finally spoke up. 

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Bang,” you nodded, leaning back against the door and pulling him a little closer. You felt a bit lightheaded. “I wanted you to finish your thought from before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded dutifully, now cutting right to it as he followed your hand in his to press against you where you leaned against the door. His lips hesitated a mere breath away before he finally kissed you, deep and seemingly driven by every kiss he’d wanted to give you since that night years ago. You could’ve sworn you tasted cotton candy and his lip ring again, maybe even smell evergreen trees if you weren’t mistaken by his cologne. It was electric, re-energizing enough that Chris seemed to finally realize what just happened outside in his classroom. 

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped like he just came up for air. “Did I just threaten the—“

Chris’ frantic recollection persisted even as you continued to kiss him. “Did you just warn the superintendent that he is better off tending to matters closer to home in more need of his attention? Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to be fired,” Chris lamented, but even still he let his lips run over your jaw, falling into you and pressing you into the door. 

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head as you cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you for a moment. “He would’ve said so. He knows this is bad and it’s going to be a pain to deal with.”

“Wait, you don’t want me to—“

“Report? You just said you should. Honestly, Mr. Kim probably would’ve already if he read the letter more closely in the first place.” You held his gaze as you led his hands around your waist and he quickly got the hint, wrapping around you and diving back into you. “Am I still a ballbuster?” You breathlessly chuckled. 

He nodded heartily as he nibbled and kissed your neck. “I love it.” Chris hesitated as he pulled away from your throat, almost asking permission as he kissed you hard against the door, his tongue hot and needy against yours as he almost knocked the breath out of you. 

“Mr. Bang—“ you gasped, and you felt him shiver in the cutest way. He seemed emboldened to let his hands get a little braver, following your hint when you led them to the waistband of your skirt, and he fumbled with your shirt as he untucked it and began unbuttoning it. It was a bizarre sensation, feeling so vulnerable to someone you hadn’t known long but had been thinking of for years, and maybe you weren’t the only one. Chris’ breath seemed to catch in his throat as he leaned back enough to see, his hungry eyes falling on you as he pulled open your shirt and became impatient for more. You gasped again as he pushed you back against the door, his strong hands now tenderly roaming down your chest and groping your breasts as he kissed you before he came back to the waist of your skirt again. His confidence seemed to be returning in full now as his hands firmly ran down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, his lips trailing down your chest and nuzzling your cleavage as he gingerly lifted it. Another gasp caught in your lungs as his fingertips wandered up your legs and paused, his trepidation even spreading to the extent that he seemed hesitant to kiss you again. You reached up to gently cup his face, his cheek warm against your palm as you tried to see what could possibly be wrong in this moment. Out there, sure, that was all understandable, but in this tiny office there was no reason for anything to be wrong. 

“Mr.—“ you began softly, instantly cutting yourself off as you realized. Oh. “Chris,” you began, more confidently now, “are you alright?”

He sighed out a small laugh before he finally kissed you again. “I am. I just missed you, is all. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s still hard to believe any of this is happening, so Mr. Bang is going to be fine for my students but I’d much prefer it if you and I are more personal than that.”

“I can do that,” you grinned, that stunted gasp from earlier finally coming back and completing as Chris finally let himself caress you under your skirt, getting as personal as you both were yearning for. His fingertips were firm but slow, purposeful as they teased the hem of your panties but continued over them to feel you between your legs, making you so aware of your heat against his hand. He smirked as you shivered at his touch, and you felt your face heat up. “Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, “it’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris assured you, finally gasping himself as you regained your mental footing and let your hand drop, trailing down his chest to get an exploratory grip on his growing erection in his pants before you brought him back to kiss you again. His muffled sighs and moans grew feverish as you teased him through his clothes, up to the moment he pressed your hips back against the closed door. You watched curiously as Chris’ lips ghosted down your chest and stomach until he was on his knees for you, dangerously close to nuzzling your damp heat until you let yourself subtly roll your hips towards his mouth. He took the cue to instantly pull the thin fabric aside, just enough that he could dip his tongue into your folds. 

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as he lapped you up, one hand holding your panties aside and the other clutching onto your bared thigh as you squirmed and mewled for him. Your fingers stroked back through his hair as he held you tight and hungrily licked until he just happened to hit the perfect spot. That, of course, was when he stopped, leaning away and his shiny lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. “I need you so bad,” he drawled, “I’m getting impatient.”

“You?” You giggled sarcastically. “Impatient? Impossible.”

Nevertheless, Chris rocked back onto his feet and pulled you over to his desk before he sat you on top of it, gently pulling your knees apart to step between them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Do it.” 

Chris grinned shyly as he unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down enough to reveal his hard cock, groaning as you brazenly grabbed his length and pumped it a few times in your hand before guiding him into you. You both gasped in tandem now as you were stretched open, and your legs quickly found purchase around his hips as he kissed you again, the faintest taste and scent of your wetness still on his lips. He filled you out unexpectedly, prodding deep into you in this angle and his girth just wide enough at the base to make you whimper each time he bottomed out. 

“God, this is so good,” Chris groaned against your lips, “you’re so good. I’ve thought of this so many times.” His groans and whispered curses were hot in your ear as he fucked you on the desk, and you were both lost in this endless moment while you both sounded like you were steadily climbing your respective peaks until you noticed his prolonged smirk. 

“What’s so funny?” You jokingly accused. 

“Nothing,” Chris shook his head with a breathless smile, “I’m just surprised. I honestly expected you to be a little more in charge.”

“Oh, am I not as dominant as you thought?” You pouted for effect, seeming to only convince him for a second before you kicked him back into his chair anyhow and willingly taking his bait. He watched, his hands clutching the armrests with intrepid excitement as you dropped onto his lap. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Chris nodded hungrily as you raised your hips, just enough to pull your panties to the side and grind your soaked pussy against the head of his cock. You both sighed in pleasure at the sensation as you took your sweet time dipping his length into you just the slightest bit, your lips parted to barely kiss him the whole time you teased yourself against him. He actually waited patiently as you barely rolled your hips lower into him, even as he began to get impatient again. “Heh, hey,” Chris laughed under his breath, “aren’t you gonna—“

“Whatever happened to your lip ring?” You asked him, teasingly oblivious to his question. 

“My wha— oh, that?” Chris was almost delirious trying to rock his hips up into you. “Don’t laugh, but I didn’t think it looked very professional when I first interviewed. I already wasn’t wearing it out to events and meetings, so not wearing it to school made sense.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” you smirked as you playfully pretended you were about to kiss him over and over, your lips ghosting over his own time and time again as his cock surreptitiously tried to work deeper into you, “but that’s ridiculously funny. You’re literally still wearing your earrings, and don’t try telling me that’s different. Weren’t you waiting for something, by the way?”

“Was I waiting—? Come on, aren’t you going to…?”

“Aren’t I going to what?” You asked innocently. Chris’ head lolled back against the head of his chair in exasperation. 

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” His question was quiet, almost as if he were shy to be saying it out loud, but he asked it nevertheless. 

“Sure,” you shrugged casually, “are you going to wear that lip ring for me sometime? I want to see if it has the same effect.”

“Anything, if you’re that easy,” Chris quipped, even as he was unable to hide the excited tremble in his voice. 

“I’m easy?” You asked, eyebrows raised as you finally sank deep onto Chris’ erection and kissed him again. His muffled groan was thick, laced with satisfaction as you began to ride him in earnest. The hot moans falling from his lips echoed your own impassioned whimpers, only growing more feverish as you angled your hips down, enabling yourself to grind your clit down against his lap. By now you were so lost in it that were thoroughly soaked through your panties you were still wearing.

“Are you sure you’re not easy?” Chris chuckled exhaustedly, even as he nuzzled against your heaving cleavage and gripped tight onto your hips. It was his turn to whimper as you desperately ran your fingers through his hair to clutch onto him as you felt your peak coming fast. Chris must’ve not been far behind, considering the way he sweetly groaned your name against your skin, as if to personally coax out your orgasm. 

The air between you was hot, static, and the way Chris held you was surprisingly affectionate. Despite how much ire and sarcasm had been slung between you previously, now you were both rendered speechless, your staccato breaths falling heavy in the spaces between your sighs and moans. Giving in to Chris didn’t feel like giving up like you had been afraid of for some reason. Reality seemed to be that he may even be quite fond of you, maybe even more than you’d previously imagined, despite how much you did or didn’t change. He obviously wanted to do more than kiss you, and now it seemed he wanted to do more than just fuck you. Chris’ fingertips dug into your hips as he thrust up against you, and you suddenly caught yourself meeting his gaze. The feeling was mutual, apparently, the blown out arousal in his eyes probably echoing your own impending orgasm slowly rising up your spine and making your head spin. He seemed to catch this as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and pressing his lips to your throat as he pistoned his hard length deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive walls and daring you to cum.

So you finally did. It hit you hard, giving you barely a moment’s notice for you to grab onto Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck as your core shuddered, radiating out to your quaking thighs and trembling fingers as your heightened moans hit a fever pitch. This, of course, was the final straw for Chris, his orgasm not far behind yours as he tensed up, palms pushing flat against the small of your back as he rutted into you with a broken groan. He uttered a sharp curse under his breath, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own climax spilling into you as you finished riding out your own on his lap. 

It felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other’s shoulders as you both fought for breath and you finally realized how cramped it was straddling Chris in his desk chair, the armrests uncomfortably digging into your legs. As if to mitigate this silent complaint you had, Chris gently began to ease you off of him as he simultaneously pulled you to him for a tiredly satisfied kiss. The bright lights in your eyes finally dulled and the imaginary cotton in your ears finally fell out, letting the sound return to normal. You could hear the low drone of the air conditioner, the muted hum of the hard drive in Chris’ laptop, the clatter of the classroom doorknob outside turning open—

Chris heard it, too, with how he bolted upright with you in his lap. You both stared at the door of his office in terror; this was no way for the assistant superintendent to be found, in post-orgasmic bliss with her legs wrapped around a teacher who was still in a heap of trouble, and you had no chance of escape. Footsteps could be heard approaching before Chris quickly pushed at your retreating knees, apparently on the same page as you when he helped you slide off his lap and under his desk. You scrambled forward to grab at his chair and wheel him close as he desperately stuffed himself back in his pants and tried to make himself presentable. A knock came at the door and Chris quickly wiped the accumulated perspiration off his brow. 

“Come in—!“ he coughed, trying to sound chipper and casual, and as if he didn’t just orgasm with you barely two minutes prior. He gave you one crazed look to make sure you were alright shoved under the desk before the door to his office gingerly opened.

“Hey—“ 

Doyoung?

“Mr. Kim!” Chris sat up a little straighter, inadvertently kicking you in your shin in the process and nearly making you curse out loud. You reflexively punched him in the knee, making him jump as he tried to appear natural. “Is everything alright?”

“What, with me? I’m fine. It’s just...” Doyoung sighed, apparently not moving from where he awkwardly stood in the doorway of the tiny office. “Was it true, what you said about the superintendent’s son?”

“It was,” Chris said solemnly. “Would you like to see the letter again?” His question was genuine, any ill feelings towards the other teacher seeming to have dissipated by now. Your ears perked up as Chris leaned forward. You could hear papers shuffled overhead. He still had it? You could hear a piece of paper being handed to Doyoung, whose sigh only multiplied. 

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, “that’s so…”

“I know,” Chris commiserated. “Will Samantha—“

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Doyoung resolved, “but first, about the other day, I’m sorry about—“

“Mr. Kim, you don’t have to apologize,” Chris insisted, “tensions were high, you were upset, and you were protecting your student. If you’d like to help me report this I’d appreciate that. You’re a good teacher.”

“So are you, Mr. Bang,” Doyoung conceded sheepishly. “Maybe you can join me in the teacher’s lounge for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

You could hear the smooth heel of Doyoung’s oxford turn to leave and Chris backed up from the desk. The sigh of relief you both let out revealed that you had apparently been holding your breath. He slumped back in the chair before leaning forward to offer you an assisting hand. 

“Oh, one more thing—“

Chris snapped upright in his chair, accidentally kicking you again before his knees knocked into the top of his desk. He grinned through it as he attempted to look nonchalant again. “Yeah?”

“So,” Doyoung began stiffly, “you and her are, like… a thing?”

“Er,” Chris floundered for a second. “Yes. Why?”

“Why? Oh, I mean, it’s nothing,” Doyoung fumbled, “I meant, I guess, is it serious?”

Chris’ Adam’s apple could barely be seen bobbing with his sudden gulp from your vantage point, and you didn’t blame him. Serious? It wasn’t a stretch to imagine his ears turning beet red again. Your thighs were beginning to get sore where you were folded under the desk. “No! I mean, not yet,” Chris said, his stammer matching Doyoung’s now. “I want it to be, though. I really like her. Why?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You felt like such a sucker, but why did you also feel so smitten? 

“No reason,” Doyoung laughed politely. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. She looks different with you, you know? You look good together. See you later.”

The door finally clicked closed and you both waited for the classroom door to do the same before it was Chris’ turn to let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed heavily, melting into his chair before sliding back. His gentle hand reached down to help you out from under the desk. You held his hand, his fingers warm in yours as he met your gaze. “Hello, stranger,” he grinned, “did you have fun under the desk?” Chris fussed with your clothes, helping smooth your skirt back out and buttoning your blouse back up before he realized you were staring at him. He suddenly looked concerned, sitting up as he tried to make sense of your expression.  “What? Is everything alright?”

“You want this to be serious?”

Chris almost flinched as he defensively tried to figure out your tone. He settled for getting back up from his chair and squaring up against you once again, arms folded matter-of-factly like he anticipated a confrontation. “You know what? I do.”

“This isn’t even real, Chris,” you smirked, flattered by his sincerity. “We don’t even like each other, remember?”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “Holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Go ahead, then, tell me how we aren’t real.”

“Well,” you smiled, “you haven’t asked me out, for one thing.” 

It seemed Chris finally caught up to your game. “Fine,” he sarcastically scoffed. “Would you like to go out with me some time?” 

“Sure,” you playfully shrugged with a smile. “How about now? Are you hungry?”

Chris was amused as he pulled you close into his arms. “You know what? I’m actually not.”

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

The Sweetest Taste

AU Ice Cream Shop Featuring Cake for the 5sos fic event sponsored by @maluminspace and @h0tsos

Word Count: 5,979 (I’m a long winded bitch, oops)

CW: this is smut so 18+, NSFW etc. M/M and M/F oral as well as sexual situations and strong language from the outset and throughout.

Special thanks to @adoring-lrh for helping me edit this monstrosity.

Event Masterlist

"I'm so bored," Calum complained, leaning back against the counter. 

"Me too, but I have to train you how to close so you're not leaving early," you told him but you were just as bored as him. 

Your parents had recently expanded the family business by opening up a second Cali-Cone Dream location in the touristy "historic district" downtown. Your dad's grandparents started the ice cream shop after moving to California from Missouri after World War 2.  They'd invested their life savings in the shop and helped build the boardwalk. You’d grown up in this shop, and since it was early in the season and still slow, it was up to you to train the new hires. It was a pain in the ass, but at least your parents weren't breathing down your neck. 

"If you keep complaining I'll make you clean the freezer. You'll have shrinkage for a week," you teased him. 

"Like you wouldn't find a way to fix that," he shot back, wiggling his dark eyebrows at you. 

Calum was the only new hire you liked. Jeremy was a kiss ass to your parents, Rico was boring, and Amanda was dumber than a bag of hammers. The smartest thing to come out of that girl's mouth was her boyfriend's dick. You'd already told your Mom it wasn't going to work out when you'd asked her to cut lemons for tea and she came back with oranges. Calum, however, was funny, a quick learner, and great with customers, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.

"How is it only 3 o clock? Can we play cards or something? If I stand here much longer I'm gonna keep eating ice cream, and this is supposed to be my hot girl summer," he pouted before giving you a saucy wink. He was a total flirt and you weren't complaining. Three weeks ago he'd barely said a word, but you two had become fast friends and he'd really come out of his shell. 

"I don't think you have to worry about that," you laughed.

 The dark blue, slightly too tight, uniform t-shirt accentuated his bulging biceps, broad chest, and golden brown tan. The Cali-Cone slogan, "The Thrill of the Taste" scrawled across his back in bright red letters kept giving you dirty thoughts. 

"We could close early, maybe show me another of your secret spots." Calum leaned towards you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

 A week ago you'd gotten tired of him whining that there was nothing to do now that the college bars were dead since most students went home for the summer. You'd taken him out with you after you closed up shop. You'd avoided the popular rowdy country bar, and the dark thumping underground hip hop club, choosing instead to head for the beach. You took him to a spot under the boardwalk past the large boulders known as "The Breakers" where the local police patrols usually stopped.

You brought your beach bag and a popup tent you could both lounge in so bugs wouldn't eat you alive. He'd managed to sweet talk a bottle of wine out of his landlady, who knew he was only 20. It wasn't very strong, but it made you giggly and warm. Perhaps Calum lounging next to you on the blanket had something to do with that.  After a few rosé flavored kisses his hands began to wander, and you had to put an end to it.  Calum started to apologize, but you told him that the only reason you stopped was that your cycle hadn’t ended yet. 

After that, Calum laid back on the blanket and began to talk.

He told you he was in his second year studying music composition and theory at the Strozzi Conservatory. He'd recently broken up with his high school sweetheart, and it had been painful. As a result Cal decided to not go home for the summer, deciding instead to take a workshop on-campus teaching local teens. He was a bit lonely but looking forward to the tourist season.

"This is the first time I've had time to myself where I don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks about me or what I do," he told you, taking a gulp before handing you the wine to finish off. You were sitting up and he was laying across your outstretched legs looking up at you.

"Ooh the wild college years," you laughed. You had seen many sheltered middle-class suburban kids get the first taste of freedom away from their helicopter parents and lose their minds. "If you're trying to get fucked up don't buy anything on the boardwalk. I've got a friend so at least you know it's clean." 

"Nah not like that, but good to know." Calum took a deep breath, looked up at you, and then away. The shadows from the small camp lantern made him look mysterious and brooding. "Can I tell you something? I feel like I can trust you." His voice was soft and he rolled on his side concentrating on tracing lines along the skin on your legs. 

"You can tell me anything," you assured him.

"I want to--uh I guess experiment with different sorts of types of experiences with something new. I mean, obviously new. What I mean is, not what you'd expect maybe. Shit!" Calum rubbed his eyes and you held back a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that," he paused again.

"Calum, are you into guys?" You ask, not wanting to rush, but you were running out of time. You only had about half an hour before the tide would start coming in and you had to leave. 

"Is it obvious?" He asked, his eyes wide. 

"Nope, I wouldn't have guessed at all, but I've had this conversation with a friend before. I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me, but we have to leave here in a bit." You checked your phone.

“So that’s it?” he asked. 

“Dude, it’s not that serious. Tell me who you’re scoping out and I’ll let you know what’s up. That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun as well,” you told him.

He looked so relieved, and you could only imagine what it took for him to tell you that.

Calum sat up and you started rolling up the blanket. You packed up your beach bag and Calum held the lantern as you twisted and folded the tent in three quick fluid motions before sliding it into its bag. 

"How did you do that so quickly in the dark?" Calum looked impressed.

"Practice, now come on, follow me, watch your step. It's slippery," you cautioned him.

It had gotten chilly and you were both shivering as you ran back to your car. 

"You won't tell anyone at work will you? I know it's not a big deal but I don't want everyone in my business." Calum bit his lip and you could tell he was questioning his decision.

"Dude you're fine, but what made you decide to tell me?" The question slipped out before you realized it.

He looked embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was hoping maybe you could help me out. I don't know how to read people and I don't want to make an idiot out of myself." 

"Of course," you replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Well there’s this lifeguard. He’s blonde and has a bird tattoo on his arm,” Calum told you. 

You cringed, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “Sorry sweetie,” you replied, “ that’s Cody and he’s not only straight, he’s a complete jackass.”

Calum slumped and looked defeated. “Don’t worry sweetie,” you reassured him. “The summer is just getting started”

A clap of thunder pulled you from your daydream.  If it was going to rain there was no chance business would pick up. You glanced over at Calum perched on the stool behind the cash register playing on his phone. His dark curls were falling across his forehead and your fingers itched to play with his hair. Being bored and horny was never fun and you were willing to bet Calum could take care of both. As if he could read your mind Cal looked up and caught your eye. The smirk that spread across his face let you know you were being too obvious, but you didn't care. 

"If you keep looking at me like that I might forget I'm on the clock,"  Calum licked his lips and looked you over. "You're lucky there are cameras."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind? It just so happens I know all the spots the cameras can't see," you raise your eyebrows at him, challenging him to take it further. 

The loud jingle of the bells hanging from the door startled both of you. You look up to see a familiar figure ducking through the door just before the sky opened up and began pouring rain. 

"What's up Luke? Since when are you afraid to get wet," you teased the tall blonde walking towards the counter. You'd known Luke Hemmings for years, his dad was on the city council with yours and his mom taught sixth grade. He'd been a year ahead of you in school, and you'd both played varsity basketball in high school. He'd dated several of your friends, and before that, your older sister had a tumultuous relationship with his brother Ben several years back. 

"Maybe I'm sick of the pool and want my old job back," Luke shot back. He'd worked three summers scooping ice cream next to you until he turned 18 and could work as a lifeguard on the beach. 

"Sorry, dollface, I've managed to replace you, I even found someone better looking," you replied. 

The Hemmings brothers were gorgeous and always had girls falling at their feet, but you'd never been that impressed. Not that it stopped y'all from hooking up on occasion, including once in the walk-in cooler after closing the summer before your senior year. It was a small town and you'd dated, hated, or hooked up with most of the guys your age.  Luke's history was more extensive than yours. He'd not only hooked up with you and many of your female friends, but you'd kissed many of the same boys. 

He looked from you to Calum who was standing to your right suddenly engrossed in the patterns on the tile floor. You could see the flush on his cheeks and his leg was jiggling nervously. Luke looked Calum up and down, his blue eyes lingering on the younger man before shooting you an approving grin. 

"I see you found a college boy. Can't say I blame you, much better looking than that ginger from last year," Luke snickered.

"I'm gonna go check the cooler," Calum told you, barely audibly before ducking in the back. 

You looked at Luke who was as confused as you were before excusing yourself to follow Calum. 

You barely made it around the corner before Calum popped out at you nearly scaring you to death. 

"What the hell," you squealed as he pulled you into the freezer.

"That's the guy I was telling you about," he hissed as the door shut behind you.

"What are you talking about?" 

"Remember when you drove me home the other night? You asked if I had anyone in mind so you could find out which team they played for," his voice was a panicked whisper, and his dark eyes were wide as saucers.

Then it clicked. "You were talking about Luke?" I asked, my voice louder than I meant for it to be.

"Why are you yelling? Yes, obviously that's him, except you told me his name was Dylan."

"You said tall, curly hair, with a bird tattooed on his arm. Luke doesn't have any tattoos, his mom

hates them," I replied, but doubted myself now. I hadn't seen Luke in ages, he'd always been a spoiled Mama's boy and maybe Liz finally caved.  

"That tall drink of water has a hummingbird tattooed on his arm, but that's not important right now. Have y'all hooked up?" You nodded and Calum scowled. "Figures he would be straight," he sighed.

Your brain finally caught up to the situation at hand, and you had an idea. 

"Listen to me Calum, you're gonna wait on him. Offer him a strawberry waffle cone, it's his favorite," you pushed him out of the cooler and back towards the front. 

You popped your head around the corner and whistled making Luke look up from his phone. "I'll be out in a second. I keep telling Dad this freezer needs replaced, have one on the house, but try not to scare off my new employee please," you shoot him a stern look as Calum came around the corner behind you. 

"I'll try not to bite, but I make no promises," Luke laughed before turning his attention to Calum. 

You moved just out of their sight, but still within earshot to see if your little plan worked. 

"So uh, yeah, the boss said you could have a free waffle cone. She said you like strawberry ice cream," Calum started out a squeak but he cleared his throat and continued, in a deep rough tone that gave you the shivers.

"Did she now?" Luke's voice dripped honey and you could hear him smiling. "I'm surprised she remembered, but she's good like that." 

"That's why she's the boss," Calum was cautious, and you stifled a laugh. "Have y'all known each other long? Are you close?"  

"Oh we know each other very well, and we've been close, very close sometimes. She's easy to talk to, I'm sure you know how it is," Luke answered and you had to put your hand over your mouth to hold back a laugh. You'd recognize that syrupy flirtatious tone anywhere, it was obvious Luke was seducing your new employee. You peeked around the counter to see Calum handing Luke his ice cream cone. A double scoop, perfectly dipped, pink and creamy, just barely starting to drip around the edge you watched Luke begin to lap it up while keeping his eyes on Calum.  

The power flickered as Luke leaned back against one of the tables in the dining area, half sitting half standing, his long legs crossed at the ankle. He was wearing the black swim trunks trimmed in bright red every lifeguard wore on duty and a thin white reflective windbreaker unzipped almost all the way to his waist revealing his broad bare chest. You could see Calum fidgeting nervously with the ice cream scoop while trying not to stare. Luke was not making that easy, his lips and tongue working obscenely in a way that was starting to make you horny, and you knew what he was doing and why. Poor Calum didn't stand a chance. It didn't help that he'd worn basketball shorts to work and the clingy fabric made his arousal obvious even where you were standing. 

You stepped back trying to figure out your next step. Your intention had been to introduce Luke and Calum but watching them together made your thoughts wander places they shouldn't. The rain was really coming down, sheeting the windows and sounding like pebbles being hurled against the roof. Daylight had turned dark as the storm really kicked up. You could hear the guys talking as you checked the weather on your phone. You were stuck here at least another 30 minutes as a big blob of red on the radar moved through your area. 

"She said I dare you to kiss the person on either side of you, and I didn't know if I wanted to kill her or kiss her." You heard Luke's voice and realized you'd zoned out and you headed back towards the front. 

You stepped through the swinging doors just in time to hear Calum ask, "why was that?" 

"Because the girl to his left was my friend who was absolutely gagging for Luke's cock," you answered as Calum jumped and Luke laughed.

"What was her name? Crystal? Kristen?" Luke bit the tip of the waffle cone off and sucked the remainder of the ice cream out of the bottom, glancing at you before his eyes returned to Calum. 

"Kirsten, you did end up sleeping with her, " you reminded him. "Tell him who was on the other side."

Luke licked his lips and grinned. "Keeeerstin, that's right, and that 4th of July we all did crazy things if I remember correctly. To my right however was the hottest soccer player in school who I'd had a crush on for ages." 

Calum nodded and Luke's gaze flickered your way once again, his blue eyes bright and mischievous, before he continued, "I was freaking out when we kissed but then he ended up taking me back to his house and we fooled around on his sister's swing set." 

You laughed along with Luke as you watched Calum realize what Luke said. His head snapped up, blinking rapidly and his mouth opened and closed refusing to find words before you saw him look at you, then Luke, and then back to you as everything clicked into place.

"Is that what strawberry ice cream meant? Were you setting me up?" Calum asked.

"Not a setup, but wanted to see if Luke remembered the code. Turns out there's not as dumb as he looks," you walked up to Calum stopping just inches from his chest looking up at him. "And you did say you were bored." 

"What did you have in mind?" He raised his eyebrows at you, still unable to look at Luke. 

“I mean, Luke likes strawberry ice cream, and so do you. I doubt we’re going to have many customers with this rain,” you told him. 

“They closed down the beach because of lightning so no one is coming out,” Luke chimed in. 

“That’s what I was thinking, so it sounds to me like the three of us have some time on our hands,” you replied. You looked at Calum and he nodded but his eyes burned into you.

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” he asked apparently reading your thoughts. 

“I can handle anything,” you puffed your chest out and heard Luke snicker, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Calum.

“I’m down if y’all are,” he challenged, finally looking at Luke. 

Am I really going to do this? Your thoughts were racing and your heart was pounding as hard as the rain. CAMERAS you thought before remembering you'd been the one who updated the security system and there was a workaround.

Thunder crashed so loudly you felt it shake your bones. No one would come around today, and it made no sense to stay open or send Luke home in this storm. 

"Calum, go make sure the back door is locked, Luke if you could flip the bolt and get the blinds," you told them before you ran back into the office where money was counted. Behind the desk was the breaker box and you flipped the switch that shut off the security cameras and half the lights. 

You poked your head out at Luke and motioned for him to follow you towards the back. You bumped into Calum as he came back towards the front.

"Where are you going?" He asked

"Break room, even with this storm I'm worried about someone peeking in," you reply.

"Really?" Calum was skeptical.

"Around here you never know," Luke told him.

You flipped the light switch, but only two bulbs lit up casting the room in soft blue light with long shadows. 

"So I hear you got a tattoo, Hemmings," you said, trying to break the ice. Calum looked even more nervous than you felt, and you silently asked Luke to take charge. 

He winked at you unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off his shoulders. You noticed he was still lean and lanky but he'd definitely filled out, added some muscle definition. Sure enough, there on his right bicep was a small hummingbird. 

"I can't believe Liz finally caved," you teased.

"Honestly I just went and did it, and then dealt with the consequences. She's still mad, but nothing I can't handle," he replied. Luke looked over towards Calum. "You have way more than I ever will, can I see them?" 

Calum nodded and came up beside you. He started off nervous, but as he explained his tattoos starting with his parents’ initials on his hands, working up past his wrists, to the lovely bird with his sister's name, he explained when and where he'd gotten them. Some, like the thistle on his left bicep, had special meaning relating to friends and family. While others, like the spade and the horseshoe, were aesthetic choices. 

"Is that it?" Luke raised his eyebrows and bit his lip. 

"Nope," Calum smirked, warming to the other's man's attention. He reached behind his neck and in one swift motion pulled his shirt off over his head. You felt your pulse quicken and heard Luke suck in his breath next to you. Calum was brawnier, broad-chested with black ink on brown skin. Without realizing it you reached out to touch him, trailing a fingertip along what looked like a feather etched underneath his collarbone.

"What's this?" You asked, feeling your insides quiver when he turned his brown eyes towards you. 

"It's a silver fern, my mom's Maori from New Zealand," Calum's voice was a sultry whisper.

"And this?" Your fingers slide down to the "Choose Life" on his chest.

"It's from Trainspotting and- OH," Calum moaned as you absentmindedly tugged his nipple.

"Do that again," Luke told you, his hand sliding down over his dick now a bulge in his black and red lifeguard trunks. 

You tugged, harder this time, and were rewarded with a sound somewhere between a moan and a hiss. Calum licked his lips before his mouth hung slightly open as your fingers traveled to the other one, repeating the motion. Both men moaned in response and Calum noticed Luke palming himself through his shorts.

"Enjoying the show?" He asked with a slight smirk.

"Oh my God yes," Luke responded, squeezing his cock slightly. "All I can think about is the two of you sucking me off." 

"I'm down for that," you reply. "What do you say Cal." 

Uncertainty crept into his expression and he paused, "I want to but I've never done that before."

"If you want I can show you," you offered, the idea had you excited like never before. 

"Is that ok?" Calum asked.

Luke's blue eyes went wide. "Fuck yes, please," he whispered.

You untied the drawstring on Luke's shorts and tugged them down past his hips letting his long cock spring free. Rock hard and leaking as you wrapped your hand around the shaft, you could feel his body react to your touch. You stood on your tiptoes and playfully kissed his lips before you sank to your knees in front of him. 

You looked up at Calum who was watching your intently, lips pursed in concentration. 

"You know what you like so start there. Personally I like to tease a bit to start off," you tell him, flicking your tongue around the tip. "You wanna keep it wet and keep it moving. I think spitting is gross but if you gag a little it gets everything nice and sloppy." You took Luke's cock in your mouth getting it slick and shiny as you bobbed your head, taking him further down your throat each time until your nose was almost touching his belly. 

"Oh shit," you heard Luke's growl above you as you came back up for air. You continued pumping him with your hand as you looked up at Calum. 

"Come on, you try," you beckoned to him. 

Calum was eager now, as he kneeled next to you, looked up at Luke, and wrapped his hand around your much smaller one as you stroked Luke's cock together. 

"Oh God," Luke moaned, the sight almost sending him over the edge. 

Calum leaned forward and brushed his lips against the taut skin before his tongue darted out to get his first taste. Luke's knees started to buckle and he leaned back against the break table which was inches behind his thighs. Calum hesitated, eyeing the table before glancing at you, but both you and Luke knew the table could easily hold his weight. 

"It's fine, keep going," you pulled back and gave his arm a nudge.

"Are you sure? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do,” he replied.

"You're sucking a dick not disarming a bomb, just don't bite and you'll be fine," you told him with a giggle.

Calum swirled his tongue around the tip and you saw Luke grip the table's edge, his knuckles white. Calum began sucking, softly, and slowly before gaining confidence he built up a rhythm. Luke grunted, his eyes screwed shut and his chest heaved.

"Stop," he pleaded, "you're gonna make me cum too fast." 

Calum pulled back with a pop. "I thought that was the point,"  he smirked up at the older man.

"God what I wouldn't give to let you both take turns riding me," Luke moaned, grasping his cock tightly, fighting for control. 

"What's wrong Luke?" You reached up and ran your thumb along Calum's plump bottom lip. "His pretty mouth got you all excited. Thinking about how you're the first guy he's ever sucked off? About how lucky you are?

"You keep talking like that and you're gonna make me cum in my pants," Calum warned you.

"Not yet, I wanna help with that," Luke growled. 

"We gotta finish you first," Calum grinned and got back to work. Luke cursed loudly as his cock disappeared down the other man's throat. Calum stopped and almost pulled back but kept going. 

You looked up at Luke, he was staring down at the two of you with half-open eyes. You reached up and cupped his balls, giving them a gentle tug. That sent him over the edge.

"Oh shit I'm gonna come," Luke yelled, bucking his hips. Calum tried to swallow but he started coughing so he leaned back, cum dripping from his chin and splattering on his chest. You watched Luke fight to keep his eyes on Calum before they rolled back in his head as his knees shook and his breath escaped him in ragged gasps. 

He sank to the floor next to the two of you watching as you pulled Calum in for a kiss tasting Luke on his lips. When you broke away, Luke was there kissing you first and then Calum. 

"That was so good, let us take care of you now. I bet you're ready to burst. Let's see what we're working with here," he said as he reached into Calum's shorts. You both smiled as Luke pulled out a cock that was a bit shorter but thicker than Luke's. 

"Damn Cal, you've been holding out on me," you purred in his ear as you moved behind him. 

"I would've fucked you that night on the beach if you'd let me," he admitted.

"I was indisposed, but we'll have to make up for that," you tell him before you kissed your way up his neck.

"Raise up a bit," Luke told him as he pulled his shorts up before laying on the carpet. He positioned his head just under Calum's balls blowing on them as you reached around and massaged Calum's cock. "This is gonna be all I think about tomorrow at work. I'm gonna be rock hard sitting up in that chair just thinking about what I wanna do to the two of you." 

A huge thunderclap seems to shake the building and the lights flickered as your lips found Calum's neck as you nipped at his skin. You'd been fantasizing about marking up his throat and couldn't resist leaving a mark. He whined in response and pushed back into you before moaning as Luke's mouth went to work getting Calum's cock nice and wet before sucking and humming on his balls. You continued to suck tiny bruises on Calum's flesh as Luke's mouth stayed busy alternating between working over Calum and talking dirty. 

"I'd love to watch you fuck her before I come up behind you and take that ass. Imagine being between us, having your cock buried in her pussy while you're stretched and full," Luke told him and the idea gave you the most delicious thrill. The idea of Luke fucking Calum into you had you aching for your own release, but right now you wanted to make Calum feel good. You twisted your hand slightly as you stroked his cock.  Calum's head rolled back resting on your shoulder, moaning over and over as you kept one hand on his dick and the other tugged his nipples. You couldn't see what Luke was doing but you heard sucking noises between Calum's moans. 

"I'm getting close," Calum warned you. "Oh God keep doing that," he gasped and you could hear Luke humming as he sucked. 

You jerked him faster, concentrating on the tip, tugging his nipples harder as your teeth grazed along his shoulder. 

He erupted onto Luke's chest with an "Oh God" that was both a prayer and an exultation. Luke quickly moved so he was sucking the tip and the two of you worked together to drain every drop. 

Calum slumped back against you and you peppered his skin with kisses as you felt him shudder as he came down from his high. 

"That was incredible, I don't think I can feel my legs," Calum said as he shifted so he was no longer kneeling. 

"I bet," Luke laughed as he got up. He walked over to the sink in the corner by the refrigerator and grabbed some paper towels. He got himself cleaned up before bringing some back for you and Calum. 

"Are you ok?" Luke asked when he noticed you were breathing heavily. "Do you need your inhaler?" 

You reached out your hand so he could help you up. "I'm fine, that was just intense and I got excited," you winked at him as you stood up. He pulled on your arm and caused you to stumble and fall into his chest. He wrapped you in a cuddle and bent his lips closer to your ear.

"I haven't forgotten about you princess," Luke's words made you shiver with the anticipation. You could tell your panties were soaked and your core throbbed as Luke gripped your hips and lifted you on to the break table. He stepped between your legs and put this hand under your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. Calum was still on his tongue as it tangled with yours and you tasted his essence which was sweeter than Luke's. His hands tugged at your shirt and you broke away to let him lift it over your head. He kissed you again as you fumbled with your bra, unhooking it before you tossed it across the room. Luke's mouth moved to your breasts and you saw Calum still seated on the floor as he watched you with Luke, his eyes glazed over with lust.  

When your eyes met Calum jolted out of his gaze and scrambled to his feet. You almost laughed as he tripped over his own feet as he readjusted his shorts, but at that moment Luke's mouth closed over your stiff nipple and the laugh became a moan.

Luke's fingers were clawing at your waistband and you lifted your hips as he pulled your shorts and panties down at the same time. 

The rain was beating against the roof in sheets now, but you could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Luke spread your legs and stepped back to show Calum. "She how pretty and wet she is for us. We gotta give her something special as a thank you. Want me to show you how to make her squirm," Luke teased, running a finger in between your soaked folds, and you pushed your hips up with a frustrated grunt. 

"Nah," Calum looked you dead in the eye with the cockiest smirk you'd ever seen in your life.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I've been fantasizing about this for weeks," he was talking to Luke but his eyes were on you. "Tell me princess, do you taste as good as you look. I bet you're as sweet and juicy as a pink Starburst." 

You don't even recognize the sound that escaped your lips when Calum's mouth moved between your thighs. His tongue danced and moved in ways you'd never experienced, curling inside you before swooping up between your lips and lapping up your nectar. His pillowy lips sucked on your clit alternating with soft cool puffs of air over your fevered skin.  

Luke buried you in a flurry of kisses and you didn't know where each one was going to land, your mouth, breasts, neck, belly, shoulders, along your hairline or on your fingertips. 

Calum was relentless, barely coming up for air as he buried his face in your pleasure. You felt like a live wire as your nerves danced under your skin while Calum's tongue found every pleasure spot. Your heels beat the table in time with the storm raging outside as your orgasm started to build. You wanted to praise him or cry out but Luke covered your mouth with his. 

You arched your back almost slamming your head back on the table as Calum furiously worked on achieving your high. He wasn't going to let up until you were screaming for him, and you gladly obliged. Your climax hit you hard enough to see stars and your whole body let go.

"Damn baby," Luke's voice was in your ear but sounded very far away. 

You tried to close your legs but Calum wouldn't let you. He held them open still sucking your clit his fingers buried inside you as he coaxed another orgasm out of you.  He moaned into your skin as you drenched his face, your thighs, and the table as you came undone. He didn't stop until you were whimpering from being overstimulated, and only then did he finally pro back. 

He stood up and grabbed Luke for a kiss leaving the tall blonde as breathless as you were. The storm was still raging but your heartbeat was returning to normal. You sat up, a bit embarrassed by the mess.

"Sorry about that, can one of y'all get some towels?" You ask even though you hated to interrupt them. 

"Don't apologize," Luke stroked your thigh, and Calum did as you asked. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen." He looked over at Calum, "will you teach me how to make her squirt like that." 

"Hell yeah," Calum answered as he gently cleaned you up. He landed a tiny kiss on your nose. "Thank you," he whispered, almost too softly to be heard. You reached down and squeezed his hand as you shared a smile. 

"How about I help y'all close up and we head back to my apartment?" Luke asked. 

"Great idea, we'll order pizza and see where the night goes."  You slid off the table, wobbled a bit but Calum wouldn't let you fall.

"Sounds like a plan, boss," Calum grinned. "Can we get ice cream too?" 

"Sure, what flavor?" You asked as you pulled your shorts up and Luke tossed your bra to you.

"Strawberry," they answered in unison before you all cracked up.

"Oh this is gonna be a great summer," you called over your shoulder as you walked out of the room.

@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @sublimehood @ihatetigers @calteahood @5-secondsofcolor @tea4sykes @wildmichaelflower​ @noshamenion​ @punkrockpreferences​ @rosecolouredash​ @cal-pal-cuddles​ @damselindistressanu​

[marwritesgood]

Match | O. Diaz

Pairing: Oscar x Finnie!Reader

Timeframe: Season 2 - Season 3 (SPOILERS)

Summary: It’s hard what they have had to go through, but they’ve always had each other.

masterlist

A/N: lemme make one thing clear, siblings who have had to assume parental roles in their younger sibling’s life because of incompetent parents are nothing to glamourise or sensationalise. that shit is so hard and so unfair on everyone involved, because it robs so many kids of the luxury of getting to be a kid. no one deserves to have to grow up so fast. i am so touched by how this was represented this season. cheers xox

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Monse was packing a bag and really about to make a decision I could already tell she would live to regret. With Cesar and her broken up, and out last conversation being a tumultuous argument, it seemed she didn’t care about the people she was leaving behind.

“Are you really gonna keep ignoring me, Monse?”

My little sister turns to glare at me, only to turn back around and zip her bag up, before placing the strap over her shoulder. For the past few weeks, she said all but two words to me (”fuck you”), the rest of our communication were made up of me talking and her glaring holes through all the sides of my head.

“Dad?” Monse calls out, as she heads into our kitchen, with me following after her. Our dad was drinking a mug of coffee, when he turned up to see us standing on the opposite side of our kitchen island. “Can we go now? I’m starting to sense a negative presence in the room”

“Oh grow up,” I retorted, folding my arms as once again, Monse spoke of me indirectly, but glared at me in the most direct way possible.

“Actually sweetie,” my dad began, before awkwardly reaching for the car keys in his pocket, and handing them to me as he continued. “I’m gonna let Y/n drive you there.”

Monse may as well have thrown a full-blown tantrum with the way she scoffed aloud, crossed her arms and stormed off to where my dad’s car was parked. I predicted that perhaps Jamal’s dramatic tendencies were beginning to rub off on her.

The first few minutes of the car ride were silent. Monse had opted to listening to music as opposed to listening to me, but when her phone died, I quietly thanked the universe for giving me a chance to make amends with my sister.

“Monse?”

“What?” She answered harshly, turning her head to the view outside her window as opposed to looking at me.

“... I’m sorry, okay?” She shifted her posture so she was sitting taller, and glanced my way for a split second- sure sign that she was willing to listen to me, finally. I wasn’t one to be the first to say sorry, Spooky could tell you all about that. “You have a right to know who our mom is, and I shouldn’t have tried to stop you from finding out.”

Monse nodded, which was enough for me to feel lighter now that things were better between us. The next few minutes were silent against, but it was far more bearable this time around.

“She’s changed you know,” Monse whispers only just loud enough for me to hear. And just like that, my heart dropped. I was so afraid of her getting hurt, but it seemed like she was already setting herself up for that without even realising. “You could stay for dinner... See it for yourself.”

I sighed. I wanted to be honest with Monse. I wanted to tell her the brutal truth about what happened between our parents from the time we were born to the time she left us for good. But seeing how happy Monse was, packing her things and looking to spend time with the one person she’s yearned to know for so long. What kind of a person would I be to ruin that for her?

“Maybe another time, Mon.”

That’s all I needed to say for Monse to drop the topic. The fact that I didn’t respond in an outrage was enough for her, it seemed. Little did she know how hard it was to keep myself from yelling and bawling both at the same time.

Once we got to Julia’s house, I helped Monse with the one suitcase she had packed, while she carried the other backpack she brought with her. We didn’t even need to knock for the door to swing open, and for Julia to embrace Monse in a warm hug. Nice to know she was capable of showing affection to her daughter.

As they pulled apart from one another, I coughed quietly to fill the evidently awkward silence. When I looked up, I saw Julia gazing at me, tears brimming in her eyes. How I wished I had just sprinted to my dad’s car and drove off. I signed up for making amends with Monse, not reuniting with the woman who ruined my life.

“Y/n?” She place her hand over her mouth, and inhaled deeply. I stared at her, emotionless, because I knew getting angry or upset would make things worse between Monse and I. I didn’t need that. “You’ve grown up so beautifully.”

That was far different from how she treated me in the few years she stuck around. I wanted to slap her then and there.

“I’m gonna go say hi to the kids,” Monse said, as she wheeled her suitcase inside, right after taking her shoes off beside their coat rack. 2 seconds in and she was already changing her habits to fit in. I didn’t want to know what she’d be like when I pick her up in a month or so. I secretly hoped she would be begging to come home by then.

With Monse gone, Julia’s expression turned from joyful to regretful. I already had my fair share in life to know white tears when I saw them. For some reason, I stuck around long enough witness them fall again.

“Y/n... I am so sorry,” she wept. She had the audacity to cry in front of me, like she was the one who dealt with the brunt of her actions. I knew then that she hadn’t changed. Not enough for me to ever consider sticking around for dinner, so much as a conversation.

“Monse didn’t specify how long she’ll be staying, but she has my number and unlimited texts.” I wasn’t about to be vulnerable in front of this woman. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of talking out what she did to her daughter. She didn’t deserve that. She never would. “She knows most of the important stuff she needs to know, but if anything comes up, just get her to call or text me.”

Julia nods silently, understanding that just because Monse wanted a relationship with her, didn’t mean she was any less dead to me than she was the last time she abandoned my family. 

I was about to turn around and leave, but there was one thing I needed to get off my chest. Not for my sake. Not for Julia’s. But for Monse’s.

“She’s been looking forward to this for a really long time,” I began, looking over Julia’s shoulder and watching Monse run around the living room with Julia’s youngest kids. “Longer than you know... So I swear to God, Julia... If you hurt her the way you hurt me, I will make sure you live to regret it.”

The way she held her breath, as I coldly threatened her, was enough for me to be satisfied. I drove off without saying goodbye. Without even looking back to see if Julia was still standing on her front doorstep, but I knew she was. I wonder if she understood the irony in that.

With little to do, now that Monse was out of the house and my dad was getting ready to hit the road again, I decided to stop at Oscar’s on my way back home. For most of my life, he was the person I went to when I needed to vent to someone who got me.

And that was the thing that made me fall for him so quickly. He just... got me.

“You saw her?” He asked, as he fixed the both of us cups of coffee. Neither one of us were going to be sleeping anytime soon. Not with all the shit we had going on in our lives.

“Yeah,” I answered sadly, fiddling with the mug handle. Spooky took hold of my other hand; a thing he’d do anytime I started fidgeting with something. “She hasn’t changed... I wish Monse would see that.”

“You spent your whole life protecting her from Julia,” he reasoned. “She never had to know what she did to you guys... You didn’t want her to hurt the way you did growing up.”

I nodded. He was right, but that didn’t make the situation any less painful than it already was.

“I’m scared it’s gonna happen though,” I whispered, staring down at my mug as a way of keeping me from tearing up. “You should’ve seen how happy she was... How much trust she has that Julia’s actually changed.”

Oscar runs his hand over his mouth and down his chin, before gently squeezing my hand. 

“She has to find out somehow,” he stated, looking at me apologetically because nothing he could say could change what would inevitably happen. “We can’t protect them from everything... no matter how badly we wanna.”

And we couldn’t. I couldn’t protect Monse from our mom. Oscar couldn’t protect Cesar the world of the Santos. But we really wanted to. We really really did.

***

It had been a good handful of months since Monse and I saw Julia last. Much like I predicted, she hadn’t changed. And unfortunately for Monse, this meant she had to find out the hard way that our mother was an awful person. 

“You’re really not gonna go to the funeral?”

Monse and my dad were both dressed in their nicest black attire, whilst I was still wearing what I had gone to sleep in. I told them I wouldn’t step foot in Brentwood again, but it seemed that they only now understood how serious I was.

“Y/n,” my dad always spoke softly to the two of us, particularly when we were at a disagreement. “I really think you should come with us.”

I took a spoonful of cereal to my mouth and chewed loudly, before speaking again. This was my way of emphasising how little I cared for the matter at hand. Julia was dead to me a long time ago. I already did my grieving. She didn’t deserve so my respect, so I wasn’t about to pay that to her anytime soon.

“I’m not coming.” I looked at my dad and shook my head. He sighed, and took hold of the car keys, before grabbing his coat. Monse however wasn’t having any of it.

“I can’t believe you,” she said loudly, despite my dad’s attempts at calling her to go to the car. “Our mother is dead, Y/n. Don’t you think it’s important you go to her funeral?!”

I placed my bowl down abruptly, making my dad walk back into the kitchen, because anytime Monse and I dropped what was in our hands, shit was about to go down. 

“She’s been dead to me for a long time, Monse, I don’t owe that woman anything.”

I could feel my dad’s eyes widen, and I knew I was beginning to cross a line. Talking bad about Julia to my dad and Oscar before was one thing, but now that she was dead, and since this was Monse I was talking to, we were in uncharted territory.

“What about me, or her kids? You’re being so selfish, Y/n!” I ignored her and began putting my dishes away. It hurt hearing her say what she did, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. Monse, however, apparently was. “You know you’re a lot more like her than you wanna believe.”

And I thought I was crossing a line.

“You better watch your mouth, Monse,” I growled, trying to keep myself from throwing something at my little sister. A spoon perhaps? “You have no right to say that to me. Unlike her, I’ve looked out for you from the beginning.”

We moved away from the kitchen island, and were now standing opposite each other, with all but my dad in our way. He held both his hands out, almost as a precaution in case one of us threw a punch.

“Oh please,” she spat. My dad glanced over at me. Knowing where this was heading, he knew how personal this was becoming for me especially. “I never asked you to become my mother.”

I gasped quietly, only just loud enough for my dad and I to hear.

“Y/n-”

I shook my head. There was no coming from this, at least not today. No matter how softly my dad spoke to me or how hurt Monse was by everything that had happened, I couldn’t bring myself to pretend like things were okay. They weren’t. They hadn’t been for a while, even before we found out about Julia.

No longer able to stand in the same room as Monse, I walked out of the kitchen and out of the house, making sure not to tear up until I was positive that I was definitely on my own. This wouldn’t last for long though because, just as I did in any time of crisis or mental breakdown, I headed towards Spooky’s place.

And just as well, by the time I got there, I saw his father walking away from the house, a duffel bag in his clutched hand- the same he had when he arrived from prison. I waited around the corner until he left, before approaching Oscar. 

I could tell that whatever argument they were having, it wasn’t one I needed to get involved in. 

“Spooky?”

Once realising I had seen what happened, he shakes his head, runs his hand over his mount and sits on the steps of his front door. Making no sudden movements, I slowly sat beside him.

“Did he leave?”

He flares his nostrils and looks up at the streetlights before nodding.

Shifting closer to him, I placed on hand around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder, only after placing a small kiss on the bare skin. 

“You not going to the funeral?”

I shook my head, before leaning into him. He takes his arm and wraps it around my frame, allowing me to lean into his chest. He was so good at showing me love, despite never receiving any from the people he needed it most from.

“How are you gonna tell Cesar?” I asked, looking up at him concerningly.

“... I don’t know,” he sighs.

“Why do we have to go through this?” I cried, placing my head in my hands. Oscar rubs my back gently all the while. “It sucks so much, you know? When Monse was staying at Brentwood she looked so happy... Why couldn’t we have had that growing up? Julia can give that to her white kids... but not to us.”

It was a rhetorical question of course. Spooky and I had our fair share of pain. We both knew how messed up things are for no apparent reason. 

“You know she wrote her a letter?” Again, a rhetorical question. I knew for a fact that Monse told Spooky about it in a drunken haze. “Despite everything that happened, Monse still cared about her.”

“... How about you?”

My lips began to tremble, because I finally began to understand why I held so much anger towards Julia. Why, even when she showed some kindness to Monse, I still couldn’t look at her without feeling so much rage in my heart.

As I began to tear up again, Oscar held me until I started to recover. I hated how much power that woman still ad over me. That even when she projected all of her internalised insecurities onto me for a good chunk of my life, I was still distraught that she was gone. That we’d never be able to reconcile our relationship.

The sun began to set when I rested my head on Spooky’s shoulder, and stared out into the block we called home; thinking about our two siblings, of whom we had to look out for. Of the innocence we were robbed of. Of the childhood we never got to enjoy.

“Do you think they’re gonna be okay?” He asks, staring just as intently as I was into the streets. 

“Yeah... They will.” And I really believed that.

“What about us?” This time he turns his to me and gazes into my eyes, emphasising how serious and intimate his question was. “Think we’ll make it?”

I couldn’t think of an answer that would accurately encapsulate my enthusiasm and confidence, so I took hold of his face and kissed him softly. And I could feel him smiling as I did so, pulling me closer to him with the strength of his arms. 

[narukoibito]

charity work

Wow, so I wrote a published a thing after 10+ years away from fanfiction. Please check it out if you’re so inclined!

Summary: He'd only meant it as a joke, but here she was. Ginny Weasley, his celebrity crush, armed with economy toilet paper rolls and three dozen eggs, ready to commit a misdemeanor all in the name of charity. Muggle AU Harry/Ginny

Tumblr prompt: "You're famous and I jokingly left a comment on your social media post asking if you'll go egg my ex-partner's house with me this weekend, and I never actually expected you to respond, let alone show up Friday night with dark sweatshirts, toilet paper rolls, and three egg cartons tucked under your arm" & hp_fangal's version where Harry is the famous one, Shooting for the Stars.

FF.net | AO3

Harry flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh, letting his bag slide carelessly to the ground. Sirius popped his head out from the kitchen.

“You alright there, Harry?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled from his dejected position.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and turned to Hermione, who lifted her head up from her book for a moment to give Harry a disapproving look.

“He’s been brooding all week,” she announced.

“Cho?” he asked knowingly.

“He hasn’t said, but…Cho,” Hermione nodded.

Harry made a rude gesture at his childhood best friend and godfather, who sniffed disdainfully and chortled respectively.

Yes, it was indeed his girlfriend — sorry, ex-girlfriend — who was once again souring his mood, but Sirius and Hermione didn’t know yet. He hadn’t had the heart to tell them that he’d caught her cheating on him with none other than Cedric Diggory. Not only had Cedric taken Harry’s position as a starter on the school team when Harry tore his ACL several months back, but then the recruiters who had originally come to see Harry had taken a shine to Cedric, and now several teams were making him offers. Hermione and Sirius had been going on for months about how Cho wasn’t being particularly supportive during Harry’s recovery period, but Harry had waved them off. Turns out they were more right than he could have imagined, and he simply could do without the knowing and pitying looks.

“This’ll cheer you up,” Sirius said, walking over to the wireless.

“I think something’s burning,” Harry grumbled as Sirius flicked through several stations. Sirius let out a yelp and jumped back to the kitchen, but not without first finding what he was looking for.

“Now tell me, Miss Weasley,” an unctuous female voice crowed, “about your victories off the pitch.”

Despite himself, Harry perked up. Ginny Weasley was his favorite football starter since she made a huge splash going pro at the young age of sixteen — and immediately proved her worth by leading her team to victory at her first game. He may or may not have several posters of her hanging in his closet.

“Oh you heard that I cook the meanest eggplant dish on the team?” Ginny’s sweet voice lilted over the wireless. When Harry laughed, Hermione peered at him over her book again, amused.

“That’s a very…lovely quality, my dear, but no, my avid listeners want to know all about your tumultuous love life. We all know how much you enjoy playing the field…”

Harry let out an ungraceful snort.

“I did always like playing with balls, yes,” Ginny quipped. “I’m pretty good at kicking them, so they say.”

The reporter cleared her throat loudly. “Too true. I believe one of your past paramours was reportedly found writhing on the floor when you parted ways.”

“Oh no, that was simply a handsy fan who didn’t seem to understand the meaning of ‘no,’” Ginny corrected her dryly.

“Your latest lover, Puddlemere team’s Michael Corner, and you seem to have had a bit of a nasty split,” the reporter’s voice oozed with false sympathy. “The photos of him and his assistant, Lavender Brown, in a passionate embrace —”

“You mean snogging in the dark corner of a bar?”

“Oh this must be so difficult for you,” the reporter sniffed. “You seem to have such trouble holding onto a man — they seem to prefer more feminine women over your company! Tell me, does it have to do with your being raised with six older brothers? Perhaps the rowdiness of such a boisterous family environment was not conducive for healthy relationships with men?”

Harry threw a stray cushion at the wireless, but from his horizontal position, he missed.

“Miss Skeeter, I’m not sure how my upbringing has anything to do with my boyfriends deciding to be cheating gits rather than about being forthcoming about their feelings.”

“Of course, dear. Please, tell our listeners as such a seasoned veteran, how you cope with heartbreak, especially when you uncover such deceit?”

“I’m a big fan of karma. People tend to find that what comes around goes around.”

“So mature of you.”

“And if they wake up with their house egged and teepeed, let’s hope they realize the error of their ways.”

Harry could picture Ginny’s trademark mischievous smile, and he felt his own lips curling up.

“Surely, Miss Weasley, you aren’t condoning such a crime?”

“All hypothetical, Miss Skeeter. But who am I to complain if the universe takes it upon itself to serve justice? Having grown up with my brothers, I find that anything is possible if you have enough nerve.”

As the interview wound to an end, Harry felt inexplicably lighter. He even managed to shift himself to a sitting position and found himself scrolling through Ginny Weasley’s public Instagram profile. He was momentarily distracted by a recent posting of her sticking her tongue out at the camera while cuddling with a kitten, where she alerted her fans to tune into her upcoming interview with the radio host of Me, Myself, and I.

He punched in a simple message in the comments: Caught my girlfriend snogging my replacement on my uni’s football team while I was supposed to be convalescing, and now I want to help push karma along the way this Friday. Care to lend a hand?

“You’re looking better,” Sirius observed, popping his head back into the living room.

Harry tossed his phone to the side and smiled. “Is dinner even edible anymore?”

During dinner (extra “crispy” chicken Sirius calls it, mashed potatoes, and vegetables), Harry finally caved in and told Sirius and Hermione what happened. They were so outraged on his behalf, it actually dulled his own anger enough for him to admit he was difficult to be around while he recovered, and he was probably not the best boyfriend at the time. They wouldn’t hear any of it though.

After Hermione headed home and Sirius to his study, Harry receded to his room where he took a moment to appreciate his hidden poster. Then he headed to the shower, where he may or may not have decided to relax by picturing a particularly sassy redhead. When his head hit his pillow, he immediately drifted off to a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

--

Harry let out a big yawn as he rose from his last class of the day. He paused to stretch out his right leg, which had a tendency of getting stiff after sitting too long post-surgery.

As his classmates trickled out, he whipped out his phone, already pondering where to grab take-out for his solo night in since Sirius was planning an evening out (don’t expect me home tonight). A red notification blared out at him, which was odd considering his rare use and minuscule follower-ship on Instagram. He clicked on it, wondering if someone commented on his recent post of Sirius with a big, black shaggy dog.

It was a message from…

The phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

Ginny Weasley? Bringing the phone closer to his face, he stared at the message beside her smirking profile picture.

I’m in. When and where?

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. Was he dreaming? His celebrity crush since he was seventeen, the one he had just wanked to two days ago (and countless times over the years), wanted to help him egg and teepee his ex’s place?

After a moment’s hesitation, he began punching in the details of the closest station to Cho’s.

Meet around 10?

His thumb hovered over the send button. What did he have to lose? He pressed down. He swallowed hard as three hovering dots appeared.

See you soon.

“Fuck,” Harry said aloud to an empty classroom.

--

Harry couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe someone had hacked into her account and was just having a lark. Maybe he was going to be mugged on arrival.

“Yes, that must be it,” he assured himself as he ascended the stairs to the front of the station.

“Are you H-P-Lightening?”

Harry looked around and nearly tripped over the last step. For a second, he thought he might have been right about being mugged, given the hooded figure that appeared on his right. But the figure pushed back her hood, and fiery gold-and-red hair spilling out like a curtain.

It was her. Ginny Weasley.

Standing in front of him in an oversized hoodie, a bag of toilet paper (economy size, she didn’t skimp), and several cartons of eggs. Her brown eyes glinted with mischief, and her lips were curled up in her devil-may-care smirk. She was close enough that he could not only make out the splattering of attractive freckles across her face, but he could catch what seemed to be the sweet smell of flowers.

“Er —” was all Harry could manage.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not him?”

“No — I mean, yes, I am. That’s me. Harry Potter.”

Her smile brightly. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Yeah, nice,” he said stupidly. “I’m a huge fan. I didn’t think, er, I never thought —”

“I seem to be a terrible influence,” Ginny laughed, and the way it made her nose crinkle sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Since I put the idea in your head, the least I could do was help out and prevent you from getting caught.”

“Do you always rescue brokenhearted blokes on your public profile?”

“Only the really particularly pathetic ones,” she grinned back. “My publicist is always encouraging me to take on more charity work.”

“Smart,” Harry nodded sagely. “It’s good to engage with the people from time to time. Humanize you.”

She was laughing again, and he felt ridiculously chuffed that he was making Ginny Weasley of all people laugh. It did loads for his self-esteem considering Cho was always either bemused or offended by his snarky remarks.

“Exactly,” she said, holding out an extra hoodie for him. He thanked her and pulled it over this head, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be so pleased that they were matching. As he took some of the supplies from her, and they began walking, she continued, “I don’t know, your comment kind of stuck out to me.”

He glanced at her when she seemed to hesitate and was surprised when she quickly looked away, a bit of color on her cheeks.

“And the fact that you didn’t give off any stalker murder vibes was a plus.”

He laughed. “But really, thank you,” Harry said. “I was, er, brooding, as my friends and family like to call it because of Cho, and your interview cheered me up — the way you didn’t let that awful reporter get under your skin was truly something else.”

“Ah yes, Rita Skeeter,” Ginny smiled stonily. “Should have known better than to bet against my twin brothers.”

“Bet?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t believe them when they said Michael, my now notorious ex, was shifty. Swore it wasn’t true, and they bet I’d have to go on Skeeter’s show if I was wrong. They constantly goad me about my poor judgment in men, which was really what got me riled up enough to take them on. Then a week later, I caught Michael doing some yoga with his new assistant. ‘Course they tried really hard to explain why they were working on her downward dog naked.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said airily. “He was a prat. If he’d just broken up with me like a decent human being, I wouldn’t have had to deal with all the latest tabloids. Besides,” she glanced at him curiously, “seems like I wasn’t the only one who’s had some bad luck with romance lately.”

“Ah yes, my tale of woe. I caught my ex snogging the guy who took my starter position after I tore my ACL. All around the time when there were recruiters coming around. Her timing and choice couldn’t have been better.”  

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand touching his arm. He felt heat shoot through him.

“Ah, it’s not really fun hanging around a depressed sod.” One side of his mouth twisted up with a touch of bitterness. “She didn’t much enjoy my moods.”

Ginny snorted. “Right, because what mattered then was her having fun.”

Harry shrugged. Aside from some awkward, fumbling, and a bit sloppy kisses, he wasn’t really sure how much fun Cho seemed to have around him. She’d always been trying to get him to talk about his feelings, like about his parents or how terrible he felt about his injury or the lost his dream opportunity to go pro. Her insistence often made him clam up or shut down.

Ginny started asking him questions about his uni and his team, and soon they were chatting like old friends about football strategies and tactics, favorite moves, new players with potential. It was very possible he revealed just how well he knew her team’s stats, but if she noticed, she graciously doesn’t comment.

“Here we are,” he realized, skidding to a stop in front of a blue house. Ginny pulled him back behind a tree. He peered at her curiously, but she was scanning the quiet street and the house.

“Doesn’t seem like anyone is home,” she announced.

“There was a game today, with a party that tends to go pretty late.”

“Well isn’t that perfect?” She smiled at him as she pulled the hood back over her head, and he mirrored her motion.

With remarkable coordination and teamwork considering they didn’t speak a word but rather communicate with meaningful glances and stifled laughter, they began decorating the bushes, garden, porch, trees, and roof with toilet paper. Then they returned to the pavement with the egg cartons.

“Care to go first, Harry?” Ginny asked, a softness in her eyes despite her artful tossing and catching an egg with ease.

He picked up an egg and hesitated. The anger and betrayal churned through him, but there was a part of him that still wondered if maybe he should let it go.

“Hm, worried you’re unable to throw from here?” she asked casually, her eyes flashing with mischief.

Was that a challenge? She gave him an assessing glance before turning to the house.

“Maybe you don’t think you can hit that awful thing,” she said, pointing at a crow sticker attached to a window, grinning wickedly.

“Watch it, Weasley,” Harry said roughly. He wound his arm back and with impressive accuracy, hit the crow sticker on the window. “Hah!”

“Seemed a bit aggressive there,” she laughed.

“That thing always gave me the creeps,” he admitted sheepishly, remembering how the shadow of the crow seemed to follow him in that room. “Now then, you may be a great starter, but what about your arm aim?”

Her egg splattered noisily right at the center of the door.

“If we only conditioned our legs, we’d be pretty lopsided.”

He laughed as they continued to goad each other with more and more difficult places. But soon, they began to throw with more ferocity, each seeming to exorcise some past demons.

His egg cracked against the porch stair where she first kissed him in the rain.

“I wish she had never kissed me.”

Her egg smashed against a different window.

“I wish I had broken things off when he kept pestering me about wearing more dresses.”

Another cracked against the roof.

“Wish I hadn’t pushed myself too far for those stupid recruiters!”

One landed against the door handle.

“What does my love life have to do with how I play, Skeeter?”

As they went through the eggs, they spouted all the things wrong with their previous relationships before moving to other frustrations until all three cartons of eggs were empty, and the house was a comically gooey, papered mess.

Harry dragged a hand through his tousled hair, dazed by how much better he felt. He met Ginny’s eye and warmed at the sight of her flushed cheeks and pleased smile. She reached out and took his hand, and without a word, he let her draw him away, leaving the tangled mess of feelings about Cho and his doomed football career behind. Her hand in his felt like the only real thing in the world.

They walked together, hand-in-hand, in comfortable silence back to the station. As they drew closer, he grew nervous and turned to face her.

“Thank you, Ginny,” he blurted earnestly.

“You’re welcome. It was really fun,” she said. She seemed to hesitate for the first time the entire evening, looking over his shoulder.

Panic shot through him — was this it? Would he ever see her again?

“Actually,” she said slowly, “I rode here. I could give you a lift if you like, instead of taking the train.”

“Rode?” He echoed, turning to follow her gaze. His mouth dropped open. There, parked surreptitiously, was a gleaming motorcycle. “Bloody hell, Sirius will love you.”

“Sirius?”

“Um, my godfather. He’s got a thing for motorcycles. Treats his like it’s a national treasure,” he explained, blushing. “I’ve been riding them since he took me in.”

Something shifted in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he may have imagined it. Back was the shining amusement.

“Well then, I take it you’re not afraid of a bit of speed.” She wound around him towards her ride. She opened the storage unit and tossed him a helmet. “You’ve always got to make sure you have a nifty getaway vehicle.”

“See, this is why I enlisted an expert.”

He provided her his address, and after a quick search on her phone, she mentioned she was familiar with the area. It turned out he lived close to an old friend of hers, a Luna Lovegood, who was responsible for those quirky magazines about mythical creatures that Sirius always got a hoot out of and Hermione would turn her head disapprovingly from.

Helmet secure, Ginny hopped on and looked at him expectantly. He slipped on his helmet and sat behind her. He floundered, wondering where he should grip the seat.

“You better hold onto me.” Her voice was muffled in her helmet, but it sounded crystal clear to him. “Wouldn’t want the next headliner to be how I killed a man by not practicing safety.”

“Right — hardly a way to repay you.” He tentatively slid tantalizingly closer, wrapping his arms around her middle. God she was fit. “That, ah, safe enough?”

Ginny nodded jerkily. “Yep, that’s great.”

She lifted her left leg, kicked into gear, and soon they were roaring through the winding roads of London.

Harry loved to feel the wind whip around him and the familiar rumbling underneath him. It made him feel like he was flying. But damn Ginny wasn’t kidding when she liked it fast, and he found himself gripping her a little tighter than he had expected but enjoying every moment of it — the feel on her in his arms, the elevated rush of adrenaline due to her speed. Watching the buildings, streets, and vehicles go by in a blur of lights made the night feel magical.

All too soon, Ginny was pulling up in front of his home. He hastily pulled away, hoping that his graceless way of removing his helmet would disguise his blush. She made it seem so effortless when she pulled her helmet off and threw her head back, her hair cascading down her shoulders. They smiled at each other, not sure what to say, but he didn’t want the night to end. Harry couldn’t believe his luck, and maybe he shouldn’t push it, but when else was the universe going to wink in his direction?

“Would you like to come up?” He cringed. “I can make you a cup of tea, I mean — as a sincere thank you for being both my partner in crime and my savior.”

He braced himself for the rejection.

“Oh,” she said, sounding both surprised and breathless. “Yes. That sounds nice.”

Harry led her inside, nervously watching her glance around the cottage. “It belonged to my parents.”

“It’s lovely,” Ginny smiled, walking over to the mantle.

“It’s a good thing that Sirius isn’t home — he probably wouldn’t stop pestering us if he were.” He scrambled to tidy some of the papers and books on the coffee table.

“Is that him?” she asked, pointing to a photo of Sirius with a ten-year-old Harry in his arms. Harry was laughing really hard, his wire-frame glasses knocked askew, and Sirius’s attention was completely on Harry, a wide grin on his face and affection shining in his eyes. It was one of Harry’s favorite photos, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Ginny seeing him when he was a bespectacled, scrawny boy.

“Yes,” he said, as she continued to gaze at the photo thoughtfully. “Er, kitchen?”

She let him lead her away. “Your home is a lot cleaner than my parents’ place. Though I suppose that isn’t too difficult to achieve. I have six older brothers and all.”

“Sounds nice. It’s just been Sirius and me, sometimes a dog — he can never resist a stray — and occasionally my pseudo uncle when he needs a place to crash.”

She pulled the dark hoodie over her head, and his breath hitched when her jumper lifted to reveal a sliver of pale, freckled skin. Harry hastily set about heating up the kettle, trying to remember his train of thought.

“Can’t imagine what it would have been like with so many more people.”

“Rowdy and loud,” she said, her affection in her voice obvious. “Never a dull moment.”

“Was it hard? Being the only girl.” He rummaged in the cupboard, praying that Sirius hadn’t eaten the last of the biscuits.

“Sometimes, but it taught me to be…inventive.”

“Sneaky you mean?”

“When I had to be. They insisted for the longest time that I couldn’t play football with them, so I snuck out at night and practiced myself.”

“You certainly showed them,” Harry laughed, emerging victorious with a tin of biscuits he’d baked with Hermione a few days prior — hers had come out a bit rockish despite following the recipe exactly, but his were decent. “Did you always want to play professionally?”

“Yes.” She thanked him when he placed a steaming cup in front of her, offering sugar and milk. “What about you?”

Yes was on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he paused. “I love football. I started playing as a kid, first with kicking the ball around the yard with Sirius.”

“Were you any good?”

“Um, was the youngest starter in secondary. Was scouted for my uni’s team.”

She gave a low whistle of surprise. “A lot of promise, then.”

“Hardly compares to you,” he smiled.

“If you want, I can refer you to some of the best physical therapists. You can be back to where you were in less than a year.”

Harry stared at the steam from his cup as he nibbled on a chocolate biscuit. For some reason, the prospect didn’t seem to strike a chord.

Ginny tilted her head. “It’s just a thought.”

“Oh — um, thank you. That’s really generous,” he cringed at his word choice, “I just —”

“This thing with your ex will pass, Harry.”

“I know — I mean, it kind of already has.” He fell silent, not really sure exactly what he was trying to convey. “I was really upset earlier about the whole thing — Cho and my replacement going pro in my stead. But right now, I just feel….relief?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling foolish and confused, but Ginny sipped her tea and gave him time to sort himself out.

“I love football and always will, but don’t know if…if I was all that upset about the recruiters so much as — ” He faltered, not sure where he was going with this. She reached over and squeezed his arm encouragingly. “As disappointing Sirius.”

“Your godfather?” she asked softly.

Harry nodded jerkily. “Yes. He was best mates with my dad. Practically brothers.”

He went quiet again, lost in his thoughts.

“I don’t know Sirius, but the way he looks at you in those photos makes it hard for me to think anything you’d do could disappoint him, Harry,” she said, a fierce look on her face.

A lump formed in his throat, and he cleared it several times, feeling heat crawl up his neck.

“My dad was about to go pro when…” Harry swallowed hard, his voice thick. He reached over and took her hand in his, marveling at how small and smooth her skin was. “When he and my mum got in an accident. A drunk driver on Halloween.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he said and meant it. He was surprised considering he never talked about his parents, but with Ginny, it came so naturally. When she looked at him like that, he felt like he could tell her anything. “I suppose — I wanted to fulfill their dream — dad’s and Sirius’s.”

He stopped, taken aback by his admission. He glanced down at their joined hands as her thumb gently caressed his knuckle. Was that why he had been so upset lately? He and Cho had been on the outs even before his injury.

“Everyone always says how I look just like him. Except for my eyes. I’ve got my mum’s eyes.”

His heart pounded in his chest at the way her warm brown eyes stared up at his. “You’ve got the greenest eyes. They’re green as — ” She stopped, blushing.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Green as?”

“Er — I’m blaming it on the relentless practice making me barmy, but I first thought green as a freshly pickled toad.”

They both burst out laughing, the mood lightening immediately. Ginny withdrew her hand to cover her face, which glowed like the setting sun. His hand felt strangely bereft without hers.

“So what is your dream?” “Erm — I don’t know,” he admitted. He thought hard about his hobbies outside of football. “I guess…maybe becoming a cop or detective? Solve crimes, help people.” “So you’re not usually the type to egg someone’s house?” she teased. “Ha! No, not exactly, but it was worth it.” Getting to meet you. “Though don’t get me wrong, I’m not above breaking rules. Had a bit of a reputation back in the day.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “A troublemaker, are you?”

“Trouble usually finds me,” he grinned back.

They continued to talk late into the evening. Between all the banter, Harry found himself revealing a lot more of himself than he ever expected. Ginny, to his delight, seemed equally comfortable, even sharing a dark experience about a run-in with Tom Riddle, a wealthy and well-liked wealthy football team owner, which had Harry gripping his mug so tightly he nearly shattered it. But she carefully uncurled his fingers and her touch softened the edge of his anger. He never wanted to stop talking to her, getting to know her. Before they knew it, it was nearly three in the morning.

“It’s getting late,” she finally said, and he agreed reluctantly. They exchanged numbers and even took a photo together (would it be too creepy if he set it as his background?).

As he walked her outside, he wondered if it would be too strange or forward to offer his bed (he would obviously take the couch) or maybe call a cab so that she’d have to come back soon to pick up her motorcycle. He was jarred from his thoughts when he nearly walked into her.

“I had a wonderful night,” Harry said. “Best one in…I can’t even remember.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you think we can — do this again?”

“Have more exes who have done you dirty?”

He barked out a laugh. “Maybe not an ex, but I know a bully or two. Really, I’d love to see you again. You can even decide whether we commit another crime or not.”

Her lips quirked up. “Not sure that’ll help you become a cop, but yes, I’d really like that.”

They stared at each other, neither wanting to move away first. When the pressure in his chest grew unbearable, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began to turn and walk back towards his house.

“I guess I’d better… Goodnight, Ginny.”

Stupid berk, he fumed. So much for being brave.

“Harry?” she called out.

He turned around to see her running toward him, a hard, blazing look of determination in her face. She threw her arms around him as he opened his, automatically wrapping around her. And without thinking about his nerves, her fame, his crush that had blossomed into much, much more in only hours, he kissed her. There was nothing else, just Ginny, her lips sliding over his, her sweet-smelling hair in his hands, her body pressed against his. He never wanted it to end. After what felt like several sun-lit days, they broke apart.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “That was…”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was.”

They finally pulled away. He probably looked like a besotted fool with his mile-wide grin, but he couldn’t work himself up to care when Ginny was grinning up at him like that.

“So I’ll call you? Maybe — maybe we can get together tomorrow, er — I guess today?”

She bit down on her lower lip as her grin grew. She reached up and adjusted his skewed glasses. “Yeah, today.”

“A proper date,” Harry felt the need to say.

“I’ll let you woo me and everything,” Ginny chuckled.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

But instead of moving away, they leaned in and kissed again. They’d go their separate ways…in due time.

[imagine-loki]

The Slutty Webs One Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 8

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Pepper returned from the lobby to an edgy Tony. "Was Hannah down there? What took you so long to answer your phone?"

"No and I was talking to someone."

"You stalled to make new friends? I worried you were dragging said witch up here in a headlock."

"Wrong. Is Loki still consoling Brianna?"

"Yes."

Pepper dropped a mini bomb and Tony disconcertedly sighed. "He isn't going to like this." The couple appeared at the guest room door. "Hey, Little Warrior. Feeling any better?"

She nodded.

"Badass and I wondered if you'd stick around. Maybe Daddikins can conjure Mario Kart? I miss you kicking my tushy."

Virginia's nervous smile had Loki encouraging it and once Tony had Brianna distracted, they slipped out of sight. She conveyed returning to the Tea shop, claimed Hannah resembled an old friend and asked which direction she'd gone in. The cashier said she did a double take at something in the lobby, appeared as though seeing a ghost and dashed towards the hotel exit without her purchases.

Loki's face became a storm of tumultuous emotions and she startled when a snap of his fingers conjured a book.

"Should I have said nothing?"

He cynically chuckled, scanning the title pages. "Ever thought your God in heaven found amusement in bombarding your life with fuckery, like the Norn's do mine? The arm of his celestial robe hanging high while he mockingly inspires you with a goblet of mead? 'Rise up, Homes. I'm off for a shag with Mary.'"

"All Midgardians have."

"Have all dragged their only friends into Alice's fucking wonderland where the big bad wolf keeps hounding at the door? Excuse me, I'm intertwining fairy tales."

"Probably half. Are you okay?"

"Right as rain, girlfriend. Right, found it. I haven't used this spell on a child and need the right measurement of ingredients."

She nervously stumbled over a pair of small shoes. "A 'spell???'"

"To make Brianna sleep. Shhh. I must concentrate."

She watched, dazzled, as tiny bottles appeared mid air and part of their contents emptied into his cupped palm. Moving it in a circular motion, they combined like fluid sand, glowed a soft white, then faded into transparent flakes as the book and bottles vanished.

"Calmly return to the main room with me?"

They did just as Tony blundered a turn at Mario. "I'ma gonna givva you such a smacka, you cartoon pisano."

When Brianna laughed, Loki waved his hand before her face from behind. "Forgive me, Min Lille."

"D..dad…"

Tony caught her. "What's up with the magically induced coma?"

"She's better off." Said Loki, sharper than intended.

Stark situated Little Warrior while he paced, grinding a fist into his palm. There hadn't been time to process any definitive plans to apprehend Brianna's captors and discovering the fourth incited a rage only her reciprocated love had contained. Now, his nerves were stretched to their limits, forcing him to convey more than he wanted, risk finally reaching out for help and configure one. Fast.

"Scotch, Snowflake?"

He sighed heavily and stopped. "I must keep a clear head and so should you. The secrecy and lies, the hiding, everything I've done has been to protect Brianna and yourselves since the instant she graced my life. If I'm to continue, we need to trust each other completely. No matter how disturbing my information, you will make no inquiries, tell no one and from here forth, do 'exactly' as I say. Should you veer off course, we leave for real and you'll be fighting a dangerous battle alone. You may regardless if I can't contain Thor's rage over this."

"A battle with who?"

"This will hit home, Tony. Give me your word."

"It's yours, Pepper's too, right?" She nodded. "For insurance, she can text you a pic of me in a chastity belt. Hell, send it to Jimmy Kimmel. Are we good?"

"I'd rather you signed a wager to become a goat. How much longer is your suite booked for?"

"Another ten days."

"Virginia, pack for a week please? I need your help with Brianna at a safe house. Tony, contact your pilot. You're going home."

"Alex is in Aruba celebrating his girlfriend's breast implants. 'Why' Loki?"

"Fuck." He muttered. "Because I'm certain Fury's involved in Brianna's existence and you 'don't' want him up your shit when you aren't there. He was fucking Hannah and six and half years ago, introduced her and Jillian to Viriginia at his fiftieth birthday bash."

Tony slid both hands down his face. "I..shit..whoa. How do you know that and who's Jillian?"

Pepper frantically retraced her memory. "Jillian...was she the petite brunette with doe like eyes?"

"Congratulations." Loki replied. "You've also met Brianna's Mother. It's all in her diary."

"WHAT?!?" Said the couple, shocked.

"Save your questions! If Brianna's the reason Hannah bailed, by now the evil foursome knows she's escaped and you're aware she exists. Were I Fury, I'd be gathering my accomplices for interrogation, initiating a low key search for the four of us and putting eyes on the Tower 'and' Thor, where he'll find Astrid. Please, 'help me.'"

"Okay, okay. Can you teleport me back?" Asked Stark.

"No. Fury knows I have that ability. If S.H.I.E.L.D's watching and never see you enter…"

"What the fuck? You think they're involved too?"

"Oh my god." Said Pepper.

Loki tuned them out and conjured a bag of burner phones. "Book a seat on the next flight out in any class. Delete our past conversations and cease using your phones to contact me. If Brianna awakens, have her call me on one of these. I'll be back before dawn."

"You're leaving???"

"Yes. To relocate Astrid and warn Thor. Wish me luck he doesn't break New Mexico."

Loki vanished into a portal leaving the couple aghast.

"Well Butch, we're up to our eyeballs in another shit storm. I should've ignored the flu and gone with you that night."

She cracked a tiny smile. "Before or after you fell asleep next to the toilet?"

Tony nodded, observing Brianna in her slumber. "And dreamt Buzz Lightyear brought me our duvet."

"High fevers induce hallucinations. That was me in a white pants suit."

"You sure sounded like 'Tim The Toolman Taylor.'

He was doing it again. Comedically rambling off topic to cushion the blow of a truth that rubbed him wrong from every angle.

"Tony?" Said Pepper.

"Hm?"

"Promise no veering? I haven't trusted Nick since Steve found those weapons on the Helicarrier."

"None of us Avengers do either. I won't, he's too dangerous. With the ability to fuck us over worse than any accusations of harboring a missing child could. Virginia..this is bad. What more was in that diary?"

"It is, but we have to stay focused. A sleep deprived, frazzled Loki discovering we aren't ready, won't want to talk. I'll get our suitcases."

Tony followed. "Did you bring a warm coat? I'll bet he conjured that safehouse in the Siberian Tundra." ***** Loki first returned to their room to collect his and Brianna's things. Time was crucial, but before seeking Astrid, he needed to tune into her ring. Left on, it steadily recorded her and using a hologram, he rewound to the day he departed Asgard and quickly scanned through the mundane.

He watched her pained reaction to his note, heard hers and Frigga's spiteful words, witnessed their treatment of Thor, heard himself being defended, their following remorse and the lies conjured betwixt Mother and son. Although impressed by Frigga duplicating Astrid's ring, he wasn't in the mood for another presumed 'lecture on morality' and fast forwarded to them parting ways in Asgard.

Night after night, he saw Astrid entering Ingrid's bed chamber and once heard his Mother in law scolding a hidden Roddy from her doorway. "Doth's thou newest mistress prefer perfuming as well? Your stench giveth you away."

He'd have laughed if not for Astrid's tears, but when forwarding to the present, she wasn't sleeping at Thor's. His means of travel would remain portals and high on adrenaline, he arrived to gather her belongings and cringed at the sounds of lovemaking.

"That's it princess. Take your Kings tallywacker like a good girl."

'Norns.' Loki conjured more burner phones, blared the living room's television and Thor came running, cock at full mast. "Brilliant way to greet an intruder, dingus."

"Brother!" Thor exuberantly bellowed on approach.

Loki conjured a dagger. "Hug me naked and tallywacker gets beheaded. Where's Astrid?"

"At the Rosewood."

Loki frowned. "You let my wife, who hops realms on a fucking whim, stay at a hotel???"

Jane came rushing down the stairs in a Betty Boop robe and he arched a brow. "Hi, Loki. It's only for two nights and she offered to give us time alone."

Thor's smile faded. "I didn't hear anything in the guest bedroom. Did you bug our house?"

"Yes, brother. 'I', snagged a side job installing covert surveillance on Midgards superheroes. Spark another spliff and do cover your cock?"

Jane did with a decorative plate from the dining table. "Astrid's room number is 718."

"She won't be returning. Do not leave, answer the door, your calls, or open the blinds. I 'will be' returning, but briefly."

In a flash, he was gone and Jane looked up at Thor. "I can't call in this soon, my vacation just ended."

"Loki wasn't asking, Jane. Something's awry." ***** Astrid had risen early and after seeking ice, dropped the bucket upon discovering Loki in her room. Accustomed to wearing Midgardian attire, her blue jean leggings contoured her shape, highlighted by a white tank beneath a second of mesh knit. Her blond waves cascaded down her breasts and she looked so virginal without makeup, his loins ached.

"Hello, my lovely."

Unsure what Thor had conveyed, she hesitated approaching. "Hi. I would offer you a drink but..." She knelt to gather the cubes and hide a falling tear. "I hav..haven't any liquor."

Loki lovingly gathered her into his arms. "Astrid."

"Forgive me, Min kjærlighet." She sobbed. "I made you run when needing me most."

He kissed her lips and cheeks. "I ran for a multitude of reasons, but have left Brianna sleeping to come for you."

"You knew I was on Midgard?"

"Not until recently and you mustn't be angry with Thor for not conveying so. He stayed silent at my request, even to Jane and was oblivious to our location. You mean the world to me as does Brianna now too, but something's gone wrong and I fear you're both in danger. It would take too long to explain and there's so much I must before you meet."

"Then let's return to Asgard. Wouldn't we be safe there?"

"We can't yet."

She slowly slid from his embrace, confused. "Brianna's in danger, yet isn't with you or Thor. She's with Tony and Pepper isn't she?"

"Yes, my lovely, but you can't be angry with them either. They've been wonderful to her."

"I'm not, I'm sad again. Everyone knew about her before me. What does that say about 'us', Loki? Are we okay?"

He embraced her again. "Yes. Darling, Tony, Pepper and Thor knew of her before I did too and you knew before Jane."

"Really? Wait, Thor lied to myself and your Mother?"

"Astrid, please. He had to, they too might be in danger and Brianna will panic if I'm not there when she awakens. Come with me to a temporary location until everybody's situated?" Loki kissed her hands. "It means being shielded from Heimdall for a while. If not, Thor can..."

She hastily kissed him. "I'm not returning to Asgard without you."

Loki wanted to bed her until she wailed his name so loud, her voice cracked every window in the hotel. "Prepare thyself, my lovely. You're going underground."

While she checked out, Loki ventured to Alberta and created her a lesser version of their bedchambers in Asgard.

Astrid caressed the beds plush duvet of greens and gold. "You replicated everything."

He conjured her luggage. "I wanted you to feel at home."

She smiled. "I'll be okay, Loki. Go."

With a newfound determination, Loki returned to Thor. "I thank the Valhallas you've dressed."

"You've seen me naked before, brother."

Loki addressed Jane. "He was playing nude hide and seek in the backwoods with some maidens, late for another archery lesson. Our father sent me searching. Without appearing rude, may we please have a moment alone?"

She frowned at Thor. "I'll be in the garage inflating my bicycle tires."

Thor waited for the door to close. "You could've said we were teens. How have we been compromised?"

"Clever, brother."

"Are Brianna and Astrid safe?"

Loki nodded.

"Flying human and Virginia?"

"Not if Jane talks."

A loud growl from Thor soon had her running back inside. "Holy shit on a pogo stick!"

He was standing in the living room holding their heavy glass coffee table above his head with Loki in his face. "Throw that and it vanishes before landing."

"Then I'll break something else!"

"This is why I kept information from you! Think rationally, Thor. Your neighbors will post this all over social media. How will that benefit any of us?"

He gently placed it down. "Brother, he..a child?"

"I know, but please let me handle it my way?"

"She's your daughter. I respect that. What do you need from us?" Loki eyed Jane and Thor sighed. "Yes, you can trust her."

When he was done talking, she hurled on the carpet while Thor pondered murdering Fury.

Loki used magic to clean it up. "You have my instructions. No interfering."

"We understand, brother. Go." ***** After leaving the Savoy, Hannah had rushed to the nearest pharmacy and returned to her hotel, spitting sparks. "That lying bitch! Her little brat does have powers!" She checked out, checked into another across town and called her boyfriend. He answered from a plane on it's way to England.

"Hello, pretty lady. Did you enjoy your heart throbs play? Wish I could've come."

Hannah eyed the stolen silk tie Tom had used to bound her wrists the night before and deviously grinned. 'I don't. Hiddleston and I hooked up.' "Tom was amazing." 'With a dick that makes yours look microscopic.' "How was Mrs. Finkelsteins second facelift?"

"Useless, but she's rich. I bought you some new lingerie."

"Did you keep the receipt? I'm breaking up with you."

"Hannah, why? What will I tell my parents?"

"Life doesn't always work out as planned? Don't miss your connecting flight to Sweden. Bye."

She hung up, turned her ringer off and opened a box of black hair dye. "Now that I'm screwed, so are you 'Pepper Potts' and your billionaire boyfriend."

[let-me-write-shit]

Like We Used To: 28

A/N: The dramaaaaaaa!!

 *WARNING* discussions of abortion.

[Click Here For Previous Chapters]

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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:

The flight back home was painfully long and Elizabeth had no one sitting in her row to talk to. By the time she had landed back in England it was 9 AM on Monday, and she decided to spend the whole day by herself, relaxing. She knew that she should have gotten back to work and gotten as much done as possible so that she didn’t have to worry about completing everything before her and her friends flew to New York on Friday, but all the traveling was starting to catch up to her. Instead, she spent the day eating, watching movies, and napping.

The time difference between her and her boyfriend was easier to manage now that Harry was in New York. He seemed to have a good amount of free time right now, just having occasional meetings with his performance crew since his band wouldn’t be flying in until Wednesday, so they facetimed and texted a lot.

Tuesday she had planned to hang out with Kate, Mitch, and Sarah, so they four of them met up for a hike and some lunch. Harry had another meeting that morning, so they just texted each other their daily ‘Good morning, I love you’ texts and did their thing, Elizabeth putting her phone on silent to enjoy her time with her friends.

During their hike, the group continued discussing their plans for after Harry’s show in NYC, wanting to wander around the city, and discussed the headlines that were released from the Fashion Show after Harry and Elizabeth made their relationship public. The response seemed to be, for the most part, in favor of her relationship with Harry. And thankfully it hadn’t affected her work. 

After a couple hours of walking, they eventually decided they were hungry and decided to grab some lunch inside to get away from the crisp autumn air. They settled into a booth, collecting their menus and discussing their orders with each other while Elizabeth glanced outside. Most of the golden leaves had dropped from the trees, swirling low on the ground from the breeze. Families had walked hand-in-hand with their children who were bundled in warmer jackets and boots. Pumpkins and chrysanthemums line the walkway into the old stone building they sat in, and the smell of warm tea and hot cocoa mixed in the air as people drank them to warm up. She grinned, dreamily. This was her favorite time of year.

Their drink orders were brought out and Elizabeth lightly blew onto the surface of her English tea before taking a little sip when Mitch pulled out his phone and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Lizzy?” Mitch questioned, looking up at her, “have you checked your phone recently?”

“No, why?” she asked, confused, pulling her purse up and digging through it.

“I just got a text from Harry asking if I was still with you and to tell you to call him ASAP.”

Her friends looked worriedly at her as she pulled her phone out, realizing she had dozens of missed calls from Harry, Jeffrey, and Lisa, and a few unread texts. Without hesitation, she dialed Harry’s phone numbers, looking at her friends in wonder. Almost immediately Harry picked up.

“Lizzy? What’s going on?” He asked.

She hesitated, hearing the worry in his voice, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You didn’t see any of my texts?” He asked, “It’s all over the internet.”

“No, I didn’t see your texts. What’s all over the internet?” she hushed, not wanting anyone in the restaurant to overhear her.

Her friends watched, puzzled by the seriousness of her tone. What could possibly have happened in the past four hours to make Harry and his team go into a frenzy?

He spoke, his tone sounding more upset than it had a second ago, “Kyle went to the press. He released a bunch of pictures of the two of you and made a statement. He said that you two were engaged. He said you were pregnant with his child. He didn’t go into specifics, but he made it seem like you had gotten an abortion and that’s why your relationship ended. Is this true?”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped, heart rate speeding up. She could feel the color in her face flush and her friend’s noticed because they all sat up taller, leaning into her to make sure she was okay. Elizabeth nodded towards Kate to let her out of the booth and she slid out, ignoring the intense expressions of her friends as she quickly crept outside so no one could hear.

“Lizzy? Hello?” Harry echoed.

Elizabeth stuttered, “I-Harry...I didn’t….”

“So it is true?” Harry cut her off, disgust dripping with each syllable. 

“No, it’s….well. Yes, it’s partially true, but I…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Harry spat, “After our argument the other week. All that talk about ‘3 years of history with him but 12 with you. It’s no big deal. It’s over’. You were engaged to be married, Lizzy! You were pregnant with his child! How could you not tell me that?”

“Because I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, Harry. It isn’t that simple! I wasn’t-”

“And I had to find out through news outlets? Do you even know how shitty that makes me feel?”

“Babe, please just listen. I-”

“No, you know what. I need a minute,” Harry’s voice sounded numb, “I’ll call you later.”

Elizabeth sighed, stomach churning when the call ended. She gripped her phone tightly, letting her phone fall to her side, tears forming on her waterline as she looked up to the sky trying to refrain from crying. A soft hand touched her back and Kate rounded her friend, her eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” she hushed.

Elizabeth stood, looking her best friend in the face before she faltered, collapsing into her arms, tears pouring out. Kate wrapped her arms around Elizabeth, squeezing her tightly and letting her cry for a moment, gently stroking her back. Her sobs were shallow, trying to catch her breath. As she regained composure, Kate wordlessly asked what happened.

“Kyle went to the press. He told them everything.”

“Even-” Kate muttered, eyes widening in shock.

Elizabeth nodded, wiping her tears and runny nose, “Everything,” she repeated. “And apparently he’s trying to tell people I got an abortion.”

“No,” Kate breathed in disbelief. She kicked a rock on the ground, “What an absolute fucking prick! What did Harry have to say about it? He knows the truth, right?”

“I’ve never talked to him about it, Kate. I wasn’t ready. And now he’s pissed. He doesn’t even know the full story, but he’s furious that I didn’t tell him first. I mean, I understand, but I don’t know what this means for us now.”

“But he didn’t break up with you, did he?”

“No. Not yet at least.”

Kate nodded, giving her friends one more tight squeeze, “It’ll be ok. Just give him time to think. I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll have calmed down and be ready to talk. Mitch and Sarah will be flying out to New York tomorrow, maybe they’ll be able to get him to see things clearly. And on Friday we’ll be flying out and everything will be back to normal.”

Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath and shaking off her pain. This past year has been the most tumultuous of her entire life, so of course something like this would happen just as it starts going well for her.

“Come on, then. Should we explain to Mitch and Sarah what’s going on?” Kate motioned back towards the building. 

She could see their new friends glancing out at them through the window, looking utterly confused. Elizabeth agreed, holding hands with her best friend and trekking back into the restaurant. Their food had arrived while they were outside and she noticed that Mitch and Sarah didn’t touch their food yet, waiting for the other two to return. They slid back onto the booth bench and explained in full detail what was going on, watching their expressions range from bewildered, to shocked, sad, and furious. Mitch’s fist clenched tightly against the table, listening as Elizabeth finished, looking out at the window.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Sarah consoled, reaching a hand across the table to take hold of hers. “I’m so sorry.”

Mitch shook his head turning back to face her, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Harry will be ready to talk by the end of the day before you even go to bed. And Sarah and I land at 2 PM New York time, heading straight to rehearsals from the airport. We got your back.”

Having the support of her friends meant the world, especially right now, and she was sure that they were right. Harry just needed a few hours to digest everything before he was ready to talk to her. She didn’t blame him, it was a lot of info to take in and the stress of traveling and work on top of it didn’t help much. But as the day grew longer and the sun began to set, she felt herself starting to panic. She tried her best to take her mind off of it, frantically completing work and sorting through all of her emails. 

In attempts to reach out to Harry, she sent her boyfriend a couple quick texts, but didn’t want to bombard him with too many and annoy him even more. He never responded. By 2 AM, she realized that he probably wasn’t going to call her, and that she would wait until tomorrow late afternoon to reach out when she knew he’d be up.

However, when she woke up the following morning she was immediately drawn to the attention of several missed texts from Mitch and Sarah. Her messages were riddled with things like ‘I’m sure it’s not what it looks like’ and ‘We’ll talk to him, don’t worry.’ Instantly panicking, she went online to google Harry’s name. The first thing that popped up was a TMZ article that read ‘Harry Styles on a Romantic Night Out with Ex? We’re confused too’. She clicked on the link and pictures popped up showing Harry smiling and walking side by side with Camille, and another one with his hand on her back, leading her into his hotel. 

Elizabeth felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. How could he do this to her? Her one request was that he didn’t hang out with his ex without her there, and now he’s bringing her to his hotel? He cheated on her? After he knew, at least partially, what she had gone through with Kyle? Harry knew how hard it was for her to trust people again. He knew that’s the reason it took so long to start dating him in the first place. He pushed their relationship when she was perfectly fine just hooking up with him. He told her he loved her, for fucks sake! He didn’t even know the full story, but he got pissed off anyway and decided to take it out on her by cheating?

No. She deserved better than that.

KEEP READING

[buckleyydiaz]

Her.

Moreid, 2.3k words, on AO3 here

Warnings: Cheating, Discussion of past child sexual abuse, Discussion of sex (no actual sex) (let me know if there is anything you want me to add!

Spencer hadn’t meant for things to get this far. At first he hadn’t even realised what it was. A fellow scientist messaged him, wanted to talk to him. When she had asked him to hang out, he had said yes. In hindsight, he regretted that more than anything. He should have realised, should have said no.

But he went out, and when she kissed him, he didn’t push her away. Spencer didn’t even know why he didn’t. Even as she took things further. He never stopped, never thought. But it was too late now to turn back, to change what he had done.

He tried to keep it a secret, fully aware of how much it would hurt Derek, but the guilt was quickly too much. So sheepishly, he approached Derek, praying that he wouldn’t be met with anger, with a request to break up - even if that was without a doubt what he deserved.

His wildest imagination couldn’t have prepared him for what his partner would say. At first he just looked slightly up to meet Spencer’s eyes, broken. He sat down and cried. Derek had never looked so vulnerable, and Spencer wished more than ever before that he could go back in time, say no, do anything to save Derek this pain he now suffered.

Spencer was so quickly forgiven, he could barely believe it. 

“It’s okay, I swear, I love you. We can move past this.” 

“Derek, you don’t have to forgive me. I know I did the wrong thing, I don’t expect anything from you.”

Something in what he said seemed to further upset his partner.

“You will never do it again, right Prett… Spencer?”

“I will never do it again. Derek, I swear to you. I regret it, and would do anything to take it back.”

The tears on the older man’s face tore Spencer’s heart in two. What Derek said next seemed so painfully out of character, something so weak from a man so remarkably strong.

“I’m so sorry… I will try to be better, I will do everything I can, so that you don’t have to leave me again.”

Spencer nearly began to sob at that. It wasn’t up to Derek to change, he had done nothing wrong, but he had a feeling it would be a long road to get Derek to see it that way.

“Der, I swear, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who did the wrong thing. Not you.”

A switch seemed to flip somewhere deep inside Derek’s mind.

“Spencer, if I were a better boyfriend, you wouldn’t have had to go to… to her. I know I have my flaws, and I am trying my best to be good enough for you. If you need to though, you can go to her again, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you promise not to. I know you probably need something that I can’t give you. If you are going to see her though, can you tell me? If you tell me what I need to change though, I will try, I swear. Just ple-” he let out a choked sob, “please don’t leave me, Pretty Boy.”

Seeing the man who was normally such an alpha-male type sitting on their couch, tears streaming down his face was killing Spencer. As much as it killed him to leave Derek alone in his state, he knew he had to take a step back, give them both a chance to calm down and think this through.

“Hey Der, I’m going to go out for a walk. I’ll be back soon, and I’m not doing this to leave you, I just think we both need a chance to think this through. I love you so much.”

Derek nodded from the couch, “I love you too. Please come back soon?”

----

When Spencer left, Derek managed to get himself up from the couch. 

“Hey Clooney,” he called out to the dog, his voice rough from the tears he just couldn’t seem to stop.

Clooney barked in reply, running to follow just behind Derek’s feet, as he slowly made the way to his bedroom.

He lay down on the bed, thinking about what mistake he made that tipped the iceberg, that made Spencer realise that he alone could not be good enough. 

Maybe it was the long hours he had been putting in at work, to help lift the burden off of Hotch, who was much better off spending time with Jack than doing paperwork. It had cut into the time he had to spend with Spencer, but he still tried his best to spend as much with him as he could.

Maybe it was that he didn’t spend enough time with Spencer doing his geeky and nerdy things. He had tried his best to be involved, but sometimes he chose to go to the gym instead of going to a chess competition, or picked an action movie instead of a new sci-fi one that would be more Spencer’s thing.

Maybe it was because he was so stupid in comparison. Spencer had such a bright, intelligent mind, and he must have gotten bored with him never being able to keep up, always getting lost as soon as he began talking about some classic literature, or some complex scientific or mathematical concept. It would explain why he slept with a scientist.

Maybe it was that he still wasn’t fully comfortable with sex. He tried, and he did his best to please Spence, but he still didn’t feel comfortable bottoming, and only rarely was he okay with topping. Given Spencer had gone and slept with a girl, that could be it, he wanted to fuck Derek, and Derek wouldn’t let him. 

Even thinking about it made him uncomfortable. Thoughts of Buford overwhelmed him, and without Spencer by his side to help him, as he had every time the memories got too much for so many years now, he didn’t know what to do.

Derek got up from the bed, reaching into the closet to grab one of the jumpers from Spencer’s section, one that his partner had accidentally bought a few sizes too big years ago, one that smelt like his Pretty Boy from being worn frequently. He pulled it over his head, breathing in, feeling just a small bit calmer.

Derek climbed into their bed, letting Clooney jump up with him, despite being against the normal rules, just to help him feel not quite so alone. 

Derek swore to change himself, uphold his promise to Spencer and be a better boyfriend so he wouldn’t have to go and find sex with someone else, that would surely turn into romance eventually, because his partner was not the kind of person to go out and have meaningless sex in the long term.

Derek wasn’t going to lie, and say it didn’t hurt that everything had turned out the way it did, but the onus was on him, not on Spencer. So he was going to start leaving work earlier as much as he could, doing all of the things Spencer wanted to do, even if they sounded horrendously dull and boring to himself, and he would have sex. He would do it to please Spencer, because he would rather live with the memories of Buford haunting him even more, than live in a world where he wasn’t with Spencer.

------

It had been a few weeks since the horrible conversations had happened, within which Spencer had noted a significant change in Derek’s behaviour.

Despite Spencer’s constant reassurance that Derek was a great boyfriend, and that he loved him so much, he kept changing. In many ways, he had been being even kinder, more caring and considerate of Spencer’s needs than ever before. If it weren’t for two factors, Spencer would have thought the change was a good thing.

The first factor was obviously the day where everything came to light - Spencer cheating on him, and Derek thinking Spencer didn’t want him. Spencer knew that as much as it had hurt him to see his boyfriend looking so fragile as he swore to do better, and much as it had torn his heart in two to come home to see Derek lying on Spencer’s side of the bed, in his jumper, desperately clinging onto Clooney, dried tears staining his dark skin, he had come out of the whole ordeal unharmed. He still had his boyfriend, despite fucking up, seriously. Derek on the other hand was all types of not okay.

The second thing that alerted Spencer to just how wrong everything was were the nightmares that seemed to have multiplied since their discussion. Almost every night, Spencer had been woken up by kicking, screaming, or soft, broken pleas from his boyfriend, lost in bad memories in his tumultuous sleep. Spencer could easily guess what they were about, and was left having to, because when Spencer woke him up, every time Derek would refuse to discuss them, in a very stubborn way. At least his stubbornness hadn't completely changed.

He had enjoyed Derek leaving work earlier to go out on dates, or just so they could lounge around the house or play with Clooney. He was overjoyed when Derek actually tuned in to his rants about Russian literature and physics and all manner of things that he didn’t understand, and when he agreed to come and watch Spencer play a chess competition, rather than choosing to go and do something else. But he hated why he was doing it, that this plan he had to ‘earn’ Spencer’s love seemed to be costing Derek any peace from the haunting thoughts and memories inside his head.

It was a Friday evening when everything truly came to a halt. Derek had left earlier, bringing a pile of reports in his bag. They had gone out to a lovely Italian restaurant, enjoying the romantic atmosphere, and when they got home, the logical next step was for them to have sex.

They hadn’t had sex in any way since everything came out into the open, and Spencer was cautious given the nightmares that Derek had been having. But Derek was enthusiastic, so he hesitantly decided to go ahead and do it.

But once they were both on the bed, naked and touching each other, Derek said something that shocked him. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he panted.

Spencer immediately recoiled in shock, suddenly realising that his instincts that something was wrong, were right. He stayed silent for a moment, and Derek began to look uncomfortable, quickly gathering his clothes and redressing.

“I’m sorry… I thought that was what you wanted?”

Spencer once again felt horrible for what he had done. Of course that would be the conclusion that his insecure boyfriend would jump to. Knowing that what needed to happen next was discussion, Spencer quickly redressed as well.

“Der, you don’t need to do this for me,” he said, reaching out to hold the hand of his boyfriend, who was cowering on the other side of the bed, as far from Spencer as he could, looking ashamed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you wanted this? I worked out why you slept with her. Well, there are a few reasons. I don’t give you enough attention, and I never understand what you talk about or what you want to do.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, Derek too afraid to continue, and Spencer unwilling to interrupt his partner saying what he needed to tell him.

“Pretty Boy, I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault. If I had just gotten over myself and let you fuck me… You never would have had to find someone else to...”

As Derek’s voice trailed off, Spencer hated being right. He had gone and fucked a girl, so Derek would assume Spence wanted to fuck him, when in actual fact, it was just a stupid mistake, and despite his incredible mind and incredible memory, he couldn’t remember or figure out why he had made it.

Spencer let go of Derek’s hand for just a moment, and he flinched, sure that he was going to be left alone, again, that this would be the final breaking point. But just a moment later, Spencer had crossed the bed to sit next to him, grabbing him in his arms and holding him tight.

“Derek. I need you to know this. I can live without ever having sex with you. I can live without sex, or anything even close to it, if that is what would make your life the best. I didn’t have sex with her because I wanted to have sex with you, I did it in a total lapse in judgement, and I wish I could take it back. I love you so much, more than anything.”

Derek looked up from Spencer’s chest, where he had his head resting.

“I don’t want you to live without sex. I want to get there. I just can’t.”

He looked full of defeat, but Spencer was quick to reassure him.

“Well that's good too. I won’t give you any statistics for it, because I know you’d hate that,” they both let out half hearted laughs, “But I think you can get there, and I will be there with you every step of the way. But never feel any pressure from me to do that. You are fine just how you are.”

A slight smile took over Derek’s face. 

“I love you Pretty Boy,” he said before pausing, “You’re good at those emotional speeches.”

They both laughed, lying down, cuddled in each other’s arms, their relationship stronger than it had been for a while.

“I love you Derek, so incredibly much. Never forget that.”