#two days in a row that’s the name they’ve put on my order at the coffe shop

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

If one more person calls me Joanna I am going to scream

[lovely-ateez]

Broken Strings~

ꕥPosted: 7/20/21

ꕥGenre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, College!au, Rockstar!au

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Rockstar!Yunho

ꕥWord Count: 10k+

ꕥWarnings (please read all!!): Yunho’s ex is an absolute asshat, death threats towards both Yunho and reader, mention of knives used as weapons, San is a bisexual king (happy late pride month), unprotected pool sex/public sex (no one is around but I guess it still counts), masturbation (f), foul language, mentions of alcohol intake, reader is mentioned to have dark brown eyes several times which you can just ignore if you have different colored eyes ofc, mentions of a restraining order against an ex, please let me know if I missed something!!

ꕥTag List: @cappujinho @bobateastay @nevieatiny 

ꕥA/N: The song lyrics are ones that I wrote myself specifically for this au and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about posting it. I know there isn’t any tune or anything, but hopefully it sounds like a real song someone might sing. Also I’m not writing angst for a while after this holy shit I’ve been crying too much over this I’m emotional okay

“Date night! Date night! Date night!” I grabbed my boyfriend’s arm, bouncing on my toes.

Yunho raised a hand to cover his ear, scrunching his face, “Babe, I love you, but I think you’ve deafened me.”

I pouted at his tone and crossed my arms, “You’re such a grump.”

“Oh whatever.” He smiled, “You ready?”

I smiled at him and nodded.

Ever since his band, Sidekick Heart, began to pick up traction, he had less free time and our full-day dates once a week soon became date nights every few weeks. Most of his time was spent writing songs, producing them, and practicing endlessly. The fact that he had a tour coming up soon just meant he had even less spare time. I was happy for him, of course, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment that he was leaving.

In middle school, he and three of his friends formed a band for fun, which they kept with all throughout high school. They got good, really good and almost right after they graduated they were signed by a label. Now, three years later, they’d already released two albums and one EP and earned enough money to make a living, which was why Yunho dropped out of college a month ago. Since he had steady career path, he saw no reason to continue and decided to focus on music. He still visited me at college whenever he got the chance, but his visits were becoming more and more sporadic.

We started dating freshman year of college. We had our difficulties as most couples do, but everyday I thanked the stars for pairing us together. I met him on the first day of French class, a day I know I could never forget, no matter how how our future played out.

I sat my backpack on the table in front of me, looking around the empty classroom. I was ten minutes early, so I wasn’t surprised about the lack of students. It was a bit unlikely for me to be so early, but I wasn’t able to sleep the night before and so I had extra time to get ready. With nothing else to do, I took out my phone, reading some missed text messages.

I heard the door open and my head tilted upwards, meeting eyes with a fluffy-haired brunet. He shyly smiled at me and I returned the gesture. The man took a seat in the front row across from me, only a few chairs in between us. I found it cute that he liked to sit in the front of the classroom, too. Very few people did. He turned away from me to place his backpack on the floor and take out a few books. I took the opportunity to look at him. He was attractive, for sure. His short sleeved solid black shirt followed his movements, tattoos peaking through his top. The shirt itself tucked was into ripped jeans, his black shoes matching the outfit, along with various accoutrements. His look was uncommon for college students, most just wore sweatpants with with a casual shirt. I thanked myself for dressing nice that day.

I tilted my head to get a better look at his side profile. He was so handsome that I seemed to forget I was staring. I couldn’t help but get caught up in him, not realizing that I was no longer being subtle.

He spoke without moving to face me, “You’re pretty cute, too.”

“I-I what?” My eyes widened, realizing I’d been caught.

He turned, a charming smile on his face, “You aren’t exactly discreet.”

I took a breath, trying to form a coherent sentence, “Well...can you blame me?”

He pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile, “I appreciate the compliment. What’s your name?”

I hesitated before answering him, which brought a full smile to his face. He moved closer to me before holding out his hand for me to shake. I grabbed his hand and shook it, trying to keep my hands steady. His hand was soft, clearly he took care of himself.

“I’m Yunho.”

I smiled, observing the way he lit up as he turned my hand, placing a delicate kiss on my skin. I felt my face heat up and averted my eyes. Yunho chuckled as he released my hand. Both of us looked up at the sound of the door opening, a group of students entered, followed by a lady who I presumed to be the teacher.

Yunho looked at me, “Meet me after class?”

I nodded, biting my lip as I felt excitement build in my stomach, wanting nothing more than for class to end as soon as possible.

The instant the teacher ended her lecture she left with the rest of the students, who were talking among themselves. My eyes flickered to Yunho to find him looking back at me, his backpack now thrown over his shoulders.

“You have any classes after this?” He asked in a nonchalant manner. Later he confessed to me that he was far more nervous than he appeared, claiming that he fell in love with me at first sight.

I finished placing my notebook in my bag, zipping it up and putting the straps over my arms, “Yeah, unfortunately. I’ve got World Politics in ten minutes.” 

“Aww damn. I was hoping we could grab some food.” He reached into his pants’ pocket, pulling out his phone, “Maybe I could get your number instead and we could meet up later?” He wasn’t pushy or demanding, simply asking.

I nodded quickly, “I’d like that, Yunho.”

He suddenly became more shy, the tips of his ears dusting a beautiful shade of pink, “I like the way you say my name.”

I giggled, trying to hide my own shyness. I took his phone and entered my number, really hoping that he would text me. As if he read my mind, he confirmed what I was thinking.

“I’ll text you,” He looked at me with sparkling eyes before shaking his head, like he was pulled back to reality, “Oh uh...you should probably get to class.“ He raised a hand, somewhat awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah I probably should. I’ll see you around?”

He smiled, “I’ll see ya.”

-

It wasn’t long before he texted me, and it made my heart flutter that he kept his word. A day later we met up, grabbing ice cream and getting to know each other. He was a dance major and had to practically beg his parents to let him pursue dance. In return they said he had to repay them with getting straight A’s. He had one younger brother who was possibly the biggest baseball fan to ever exist, he roomed with three men he’d been friends with since kindergarten, and he absolutely adored my brown eyes.

“They’re just beautiful.” Yunho gushed, “Both times I’ve seen you they just sparkle and shine like they’ve got their own little galaxies in them. I’ve never seen anyone with such genuine, kind eyes.”

I let out a girly laugh at the compliment and covered my mouth with a hand, “You’re really trying to flatter me, aren’t you?”

“Depends. Is it working?” He laughed as he propped his head on one of his hands, leaning closer to me in the booth we were sitting in. We’d finished our ice cream long ago, now shamelessly flirting and getting lost in each other.

“It might be.”

“Well I do mean it. I’m not only trying to flatter you.”

The ringing of his phone caught our attention. He smiled apologetically and reached for the device. He sighed, reading the contact name and looking back up at me.

“I’m sorry I’ve gotta take this. It’s one of my roommates and it’s entirely possible they’ve set the house on fire.”

I laughed, “It’s okay, go ahead.”

Yunho excused himself as he answered the call, walking outside. I took a look around the shop we were in, smiling at all the decorations when I noticed a woman sitting alone, eating ice cream and staring at me. Her eyes were such an ice blue that they made her intimidating, to say the least. I wasn’t too surprised, I’d dressed nice and all throughout the day I’d been getting looks. Taking it as a compliment I smiled at her and waited for Yunho to return.

“So good news,” He started as he sat back down in the booth, running a hand through his hair, which was way more attractive than it should’ve been, “They haven’t burnt down the apartment, but San—he’s one of my roommates—his car ran out of gas a few miles away from here so I’ve gotta go help him. Can I drive you back to your own apartment first?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to worry you.” I waved a hand, “I can have a friend pick me up.”

He nodded, “If you’re more comfortable with that, sure, but I’d rather drive you home, if that’s okay.”

I nodded, walking with him as he guided me out to his car. We had our first kiss when he dropped me off, leaving me with the promise of another date, and he delivered. Time and time again he proved he truly cared about me, which inevitably led to a relationship.

We heard a loud crashing in the basement of the house and Yunho let out a frustrated groan, “Oh god it’s happening again.”

He walked over to the basement door, opening it and sighing at the loud yells emitting from below.

“What is it this time?” Yunho shouted.

Wooyoung’s voice rung out, “San won’t let me use the controller!”

The man in front of me placed a hand over his eyes, over the situation entirely, “You’re still fighting over that game?”

“Crash Bandicoot waits for no man!”

“San let him have the controller or I’ll come down there and I’ll beat both of your asses!” Yunho shut the door, giving me a tired smile and walking back to me, “You’d think we would’ve outgrown this stage by now. I’d fire them both and hire a new bassist and drummer if I could.”

“Okay that’s an absolute lie, and you say that like you’re any better. I saw you arguing with Seonghwa over the last bag of chips yesterday.”

He pointed a finger at me, not trying to hide the smile on his face, “Okay that was absolutely valid. I bought those and they were mine.”

I smirked. “My point still stands.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, changing the subject, “How about after our date I sing you a couple of our new songs?” He leaned closer, his lips barely grazing my ear, “I wrote a few about you.”

I pulled back from him, feeling warmth spread in my chest. “Really? You did?”

Yunho wrapped an arm around my waist, “How could I not? You’re always my inspiration.”

I let out a string of incoherent gibberish which prompted the most adorable eye smiles from my boyfriend. I felt too honored to put my emotions into words.

“Go on.” Yunho motioned to the front door, “Grab your purse and head out to my car. I’ll let the guys know we’re going and I’ll meet you outside.”

I gave him a salute, “You got it cap’n!”

His eyes warmed, “God, I love you.”

“I know!” I teased before I grabbed my purse and skipped out of the house. The sun would be setting soon and I admired the several hues that were painted within the sky. I sat on the hood of his car, swinging my feet as I saw him walk out of the house.

“So where exactly are we going?” I tilted my head, looking forward to his response.

“Well I’ve got a couple ideas.” He held up his long fingers and counted off on them, “We could go bowling, or we could have a late night picnic, or maybe...” He moved closer, placing his hands on either side of me with a mischievous grin, “We could go swimming.”

My face lit up, “I haven’t been swimming in forever!”

“I know, that’s why I recommended it.” He laughed, “Let’s break into the swimming pool downtown. It’s definitely closed by now so we can be alone.”

I raised my brows at his words, a smile widening on my face, “Don’t we need to bring swimsuits, though?”

Yunho grinned at me and moved a hand to ruffle my hair, “Nope. We’re going without ‘em.” He lifted me off his car, “Hop in, babe.”

-

We approached the fence with our hands interlocked, a new message greeting us. A red and black sign with the words ‘No Trespassing’ was attached haphazardly to one of the metal wires looped through the fence surrounding the pool.

Yunho tsked, “Aw that’s cute. Like that’s gonna keep us out. This is basically our pool anyways.” 

I laughed, both of us knowing full well there was no method of security beyond the sign and fence. The pool had never installed security cameras and after word spread that the owner had a fear of advancing technology, we had no worry of being caught.

He cupped his hands, holding them out for me to step on. I placed my foot on his hands as he lifted me up, helping me scale the fence. I stepped back, feeling a thrill as Yunho jumped over. It was probably the fourth or fifth time we’d done this, but each time was just as exciting. We walked over to the edge of the pool, its light blue water and the dark blue of the sunset opposing one another but making a beautiful visual.

“Alright, off we go.” Yunho’s fingers danced to the hem of my shirt, then pulling it off and ridding me of the layer of clothing. He pressed several kisses to the exposed skin, making me shiver.

Yunho then pulled back from me, slowly removing his shirt and giving me a teasing look when he caught me staring at his abs, “I look good, don’t I?”

“Shut up,” I laughed, lightly slapping his strong, tattooed arm before removing my skirt, enjoying the way my boyfriend’s eyes devoured me. I returned the action when I saw him remove his jeans, something he was clearly enjoying as well.

I turned back to the pool only to be thrown over Yunho’s shoulders. He let out a string of laughs as I struggled to get down, fearing that he would throw me into the water.

“If you throw me into the pool I’ll kill you!” I laughed, squirming on his shoulders.

“No...I would never do something like that.” I wasn’t even facing him, but I could hear the smile in his voice, which was my only indication that he was about to throw me into pool.

Before I could try to make any sort of escape, he tossed me into the water. It was cold, but less cold than I expected it to be. I coughed up a bit of water as I resurfaced and when I opened my eyes I squinted at Yunho, annoyed at how attractive he looked with the evil smirk on his face.

“You’re a jerk.” I said with no venom behind my words.

“Yeah, yeah. Brace yourself I’m coming in.”

I barely had time to move before he jumped in, his legs tucked to his chest. “Cannonball!”

I moved my hands in front of my face to block the wave of water coming my way, not feeling any surprise about my boyfriend’s childish behavior. When he resurfaced he faced me with a smile, wading towards me, embracing me in his arms, and wrapping my legs around his waist. He was so tall that he could reach the bottom of the pool without having to swim, unlike me, where I was no near reaching the bottom and needed to swim in place. With a satisfied hum he pressed several wet kisses to my neck.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by my skin.

“I love you too, babe.” I hesitated before I said my next words, still overwhelmed at how strong my feelings were for him, “You’re the love of my life.”

He pulled back with a bright smile on his face, his eyes shining almost as if he was tearing up, “I knew you were the love of my life the moment I saw you. And you’re all mine.” Yunho said before he placed a delicate kiss to my lips.

“All yours, babe.”

His long fingers danced along my sides, grabbing at my hips as he began to attack my chest with kisses. I giggled as the feeling of his stubble tickled my skin.

“You know, you really ‘oughta shave before you get a full beard.”

“Why? Are you saying I wouldn’t look good with one?”

I cupped his face, “You’d look amazing with one, but I thought you didn’t like beards, babe?”

“Hate ‘em.” Yunho’s laugh echoed around us, “Really weird that men can grow them in the first place. But anyways...”

His hands made quick work of my bra, letting it sink to the bottom of the pool. I opened my mouth to scold him but before I could his mouth latched to my right nipple, sucking and nipping on it in a way that made my hands seek out his hair and tug harshly at his locks. Letting out a growl, Yunho placed one hand on the the pool wall for balance and the other on my back, drawing abstract shapes there.

Yunho moved to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment and smiling when he heard my moans. In a flash he removed his hand from my back and pressed me against the pool wall, his hand now traveling to my panties.

As he removed the final item of clothing he ran a finger over my clit, giggling to himself. I gave him a look and he clarified, “Babe, you’re wet enough to fill an entire swimming pool.”

I groaned, pressing my head into his chest, “You make that same god awful joke every time we come here.”

“And as such I couldn’t let tradition die.”

“Shut up and fuck me.” I laughed, promptly helping him out of his boxers.

He continued to tease me after, switching between playing with my clit and stretching me out with his long fingers. By the time he finally gave in, I was a whimpering, pathetic mess, begging for more.

As he aligned with my walls he looked at me with delicate eyes, “Ready, little flower?”

I nodded quickly, chanting ‘yes’ over and over. Yunho once again placed a hand on the wall and hooked one of my legs over his waist, allowing him to thrust deeper inside me. He held my hand with his free one, a simple action that always melted my heart. Despite how long we’d been together, I would always get overwhelmed by him so easily. Everything about him exuded such a strong aura that sometimes just the smallest kiss would leave me breathless. The first time we were intimate he took his hand in mine and assured me he would be gentle, and every time since he’s held my hand. It wouldn’t feel right without our hands together.

“Shit—it’s been way too long since we’ve done this.” I said as he snapped his hips into mine, quickly repeating the action.

“God I know.” He let out a pained groan at the thought of it, “Four months is gonna be fucking awful without you.”

“Guess we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got now.”

“Guess we will.”

The sounds of water splashing and the echos of our moans, a symphony I had become so familiar with, was gradually reaching its crescendo. It was getting harder to keep my eyes open but I forced them to be, needed to memorize everything about this moment. The sweat dripping down Yunho’s forehead, the tattooed muscles he was flexing, the sounds and praise he was emitting, and pleasure we were both feeling--I wouldn’t see nor feel this for the next four months.

A particular snap of his hips had me seeing stars and I called out to him, letting him know I was close. Within minutes, both of us were panting and reeling from our highs. Yunho pressed his nose against mine and both of us closed our eyes, enjoying each other’s presence.

“How come every time we come here it ends in sex?” I giggled.

He blinked and moved a strand of wet hair out of my face, “Because you’re hot and barely wearing any clothes and no one’s around.”

I blushed at his compliment, “I mean like I’m not complaining or anything.”

A cocky smile formed on Yunho’s face, “Well it certainly didn’t sound like you were a moment ago.”

“Yunho!”

The man laughed, lifting me up and spinning me around in the pool before cradling me in his arms.

“I hate to say it, but we do need to head back. The world awaits for us, I’m afraid.”

I sighed, pressing into his chest, “I’m gonna miss you.”

He stilled as he pulled me closer, “I’m gonna miss you, too. You don’t have to miss me yet, though.”

“I know.” I swallowed, wishing I had something more to say.

“Come on, then.” Yunho gave me a quick kiss, “Let’s head back.”

-

Yunho held the front door open for me, giving me a gentle slap on my ass when I walked through. I turned around and gave him a playfully annoyed look, which he only laughed at.

As we walked towards the living room, the sound of a random sitcom filled our ears. Six heads turned our way after hearing our footsteps. Seonghwa was resting his head against his long-time girlfriend. She was a sweet girl and complimented him more than any woman I’d seen him with. They really were soulmates, if they ever existed.

San was sitting holding hands with a man he’d been interested in for awhile. I’d often see him flirting with various men and women, but he never went any further than that, too afraid of commitment. This man; however, seemed to breaking through San’s walls. I really hoped they would work out, San deserved someone as kind as him.

Wooyoung sat across from the them, who acknowledged us first.

“Hey guys. Have fun?” Wooyoung asked, smiling at my soaked hair. He had his arm around a woman I’d never seen before and I was certain that none of us would ever see her again. He had the reputation of a playboy, and every poor woman thought they’d be the one exception, the one to make him stay. I’m sure the allure of being a drummer in a band was part of his appeal, too. Maybe one day, like San, he’d settle down.

The woman became visibly upset when Wooyoung looked me with a teasing glance. Feeling sympathy for her, I decided to do my best to calm her nerves.

I spoke for us, linking hands with my boyfriend. “Yeah, we did. I think we’re gonna go clean up though.” I looked at the woman, “I’m y/n, by the way. I’m Yunho’s girlfriend.”

She didn’t even try to hide the relief on her face. “Oh! I’m Solar. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung started, “Best girlfriend he’s ever had. Much better for him than Lucy.”

Yunho glared at the man, “Thought we agreed not to bring her up?”

Lucy, the woman Yunho dated before me, was arguably the scariest person I’d ever heard about. They dated for roughly three months before she became obsessive, to the point where Yunho had to get a restraining order against her. She threatened to hurt all of Yunho’s friends and family, all because she wanted Yunho all to herself. That was about all Yunho ever told me about her. Not that I complained. I didn’t exactly want to discuss his exes, even more so when they were that crazy.

I never told him, but I knew I saw her the first date we went on. I could see the way her piercing, ice eyes saw through me. I had no doubt it was her. I just hope I’d never see her again. Maybe now that she saw he was taken she’d leave us alone. There was an uncomfortable silence following, none of us knowing what to say until San spoke.

“You look like a wet dog, Yunho.” San joked, prompting laughter from a few of us, which seemed like more of a noise of relief rather than one of actual humor.

“Yeah, yeah.” My boyfriend relaxed his shoulders, “I think we’re gonna head in for the night so don’t make too much noise.” Waving them goodbye he caught up with me, placing a hand around my waist.

“Shower with me, doll.”

I placed a hand on his chest, “I would love to.”

-

I came out of the shower wearing my favorite large shirt of Yunho’s, drying my wet hair with a towel. The smell of chlorine had gone away for the most part; whatever chemicals the owner put in that pool always made the smell harder to get rid of. Only a small price to pay, I figured.

My boyfriend, who was much quicker than I was, looked up from his phone as he was splayed out across his bed. His tired eyes smiled at me while motioning me over. Yunho’s own hair was still drying and with his bare face and crooked smile, he was as handsome as he could ever be.

“Hey there.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He reached an arm out to me, pulling me against him when I took his hand, “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.” I hummed, sleepily smiling against his neck.

“Too tired to listen to the song I wrote for you?”

“No! Not at all.”

Yunho chuckled, slowly brushing my hair aside and turning his head to look at me. As he had countless times, he took a breath before he turned to me, beginning to sing.

“You give me fireworks

I’ll give you the kindest words, my dear

Your love caught me

The moment I met your eyes

And how could I not fall?

Your heart bared, no disguise”

I fought to stay awake although his melodic voice seemed to be lulling me to sleep. I felt myself losing consciousness, but managed to catch the last few lyrics he sang to me.

“Now I sunbathe in the daybreak

Half asleep, half awake

Writing this song

As I hope I’ll dream of you”

Yunho brushed his fingertips brush against my face before he spoke, “Goodnight, flower.”

I muttered some form of a “goodnight” before I felt sleep take over me, nuzzling happily against my boyfriend.

-

I woke up in a panic, unsure why my heart was beating so fast until I looked at the clock. Eleven in the morning. I was an hour later than I should’ve been at my job. It seemed that even unconscious my body knew I was late.

“Oh shit I’m gonna be late for work!” I spoke with wide eyes.

Jumping from Yunho’s bed I stripped myself of his shirt and quickly threw my clothes on. The body that laid beside me stirred, moving the covers aside.

“Are you leaving?” He asked sleepily, his face puffy from sleep and an adorable pout on his lips.

I frowned, “Yeah. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together, babe.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. Both of us slept in.”

I tied my hair back, sighing. I was so caught up in my thoughts I almost missed Yunho’s question.

“Sorry what was that?”

He smiled, “You’re coming to our going away party tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I moved back to the bed and hugged him, feeling my heart sink. I was proud of him, I really was, yet couldn’t help but feel sad that I wouldn’t see him for so long.

This was the longest tour they’d ever gone on and we’d never been apart from each other that long before. I trusted him and I was confident in our relationship, but realistically, all members of Sidekick Heart were attractive young men and a good portion of their fans were female. I was far more concerned about the female audience doing something than I was about Yunho making a move on another woman.

With one last squeeze of his shoulders I pulled back, goodbyes beginning to fall from my lips before Yunho pulled me back.

“I need a goodbye kiss.”

I pressed my lips together with a smile, gladly indulging him. Giving him one last kiss against the lips, I bid him farewell until the following day.

-

“So how was work?” My roommate asked as I walked in the house, propping her feet up on our couch and tossing a kernel of corn into her mouth, the lighting of the TV illuminating her blanket-covered body.

I sighed, sitting down on the floor next to her, “Other than being an hour and a half late and missing an important meeting I think it went okay. I’m just glad the day’s over.” Rubbing a hand over my face I turned to her, “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty damn good actually.” She smiled, removing the blanket and showing me the new ink on her upper arm. It was an assortment of flowers and matched her bubbly personality perfectly. They were now the fifth adornment on her beautiful dark skin, each one of them tempting me more and more to get a few of my own.

“Another one already, Tiff?”

“Listen, you’ll know how addicting they get as soon as you get your first.”

“You sound so confident that I will.”

“Oh I know you will. You’re dating a rockstar, after all. Not to mention he’s the goddamn lead singer and has tattoos of his own.”

“Shut up.” I giggled, “Speaking of, are you coming to the farewell party tomorrow?”

“I plan on it, but I’ll probably be there a couple hours late. My dad’s flying into town for the weekend so I plan on visiting first. I’m definitely coming though.”

I hummed, “Yeah, don’t worry too much about it. We all know it’ll go till sunrise anyway.”

She let out a loud laugh, likely remembering the last party of theirs we went to where she ended up more drunk than I’d ever seen her. She claims she remembers flashes of the night; playing strip beer pong and being dared to steal one of the neighbor’s bushes—which, after much convincing from those who were sober, she decided against it—but didn’t recall half of the hilarious memories of her the rest of us did. Personally, my favorite was watching her hold a tomato soup can and cry over the fact that it could never have children.

Tiff let out a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head, turning in my direction. Her words were muffled by her yawn as she spoke, “Imma go to bed now. You good before I go?”

I smiled at her, “Yeah I’m good. I won’t stay up too much longer, just need to go through my nightly routine of looking at the stars, ya know, the usual.”

She nodded, wrapping the blanket around her and heading to her bedroom, “Sleep well, babe. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Back at ya.”

It was a habit of mine, gazing at the night sky before sleeping. It gave me comfort knowing that out there, somewhere, there was something else out there with me. Almost like I wasn’t going through everything alone.

I set my purse down when I reached our kitchen, reaching for a tea pot and tea bags, brainlessly brewing my favorite tea as I thought of what Yunho might be doing right now. It was probably most likely that he was practicing for their tours, but I could only hope he was getting a little bit of rest.

I stepped out onto our porch to look at the stars with a cup of tea in my hands, the night sky twinkling with all the stars it could offer. A slight breeze rustled my hair and I closed my eyes, thankful for the pleasant weather. I heard a sudden snap of a branch and my eyes quickly opened as I searched out property for any sign of an aggressive animal. My eyes finally landed on a human-like figure. Feeling adrenaline run though me, I decided to confront whoever or whatever it was.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I spoke, my voice loud but not quite a yell.

The figure took off it’s hood to show their face, and I saw a familiar pair of ice blue eyes, though I hadn’t seen them in years, “I’m here to see you, of course.”

My brain quickly connected her to the woman I hoped I’d never see again.

Lucy.

“Well I don’t want to see you. Leave.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning offense, “But I came all this way! Just to...say hello.”

I took a step towards her, hoping that if I appeared confrontational she would leave me alone. “I don’t know who you are, now please leave. I’m not going to say it again.”

“Oh, you poor girl. You really think you have the upper hand?” She pulled out a knife, and walked towards me at impressive speed, pointing the weapon at my throat. “I know you’ve been seeing Yunho. I. Don’t. Like. That.” She emphasized every word of the last sentence, anger woven within her voice.

I wanted to fight back. Everything in me was screaming to fight back, but I knew I had no chance. I had no idea what she was capable of, and I didn’t dare to find out.

“I dated him first and he’s still mine. You’re going to break up with him, you hear me?” She screamed in my ear, the sound shaking me to my core, “I never want to see you near him again.” She grabbed my jaw harshly, forcing my eyes to lock with hers. “I bet he doesn’t even love you.”

My eyes watered. I knew she was wrong, but with the adrenaline coursing through my veins and the harshness of her words I began to doubt myself.

Her grip tightened and I let out a yelp, “He loves me and I love him. He’s always loved me, not you. Why would he ever love a thing like you?”

She then threw me to the ground, towering over me, “Break up with him. Make him hate you. If you don’t,” She squatted down next to me, once more pointing the knife at my throat, “I’ll kill him myself and make you watch. Then,” She cocked her head, a crazed smile plastered on her face, “I’ll kill you. If I can’t have him, no one can.” She stood, smirking at me, “And you know I will.”

She kicked me in the stomach, watching as I crawled into myself, groaning from the pain. I closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t hurt me any more than she already had.

“I’ll be watching you at the party tomorrow. Do it then. Break his heart. I’ll kill him then and there if you don’t.” She looked down at me and scoffed, “And I’ll be bringing friends to make sure the job gets done.”

I carefully opened my eyes to see her stepping over me, walking back into the darkness from which she came. I scrambled back into my house, hyperventilating from the interaction I just had.

I spent the night crying, not able to sleep even for a minute. I tried to think rationally, but there were just too many variables. How many ‘friends’ was she bringing? Would she really kill Yunho in front of everyone? Where would she be watching me from? Is she watching me now?

I could text or call Yunho to let him know, but where would we go from there? He’d want to meet me and she’d kill him instantly. Right?

“Maybe I could pull him aside at the party and warn him?” I murmured to myself, “No, she could probably see that. Maybe there’s people actually at the party who are looking out for us, too.” I covered my face with my hands and fell back into my pillows, weeping as I knew I had to break up with the love of my life.

-

Choosing to wear a yellow dress honestly couldn’t have been more ironic. Yellow was supposed to be a happy color. A color of hope and yearning, innocence and warm days full of laughter. It was the complete antithesis of how I felt and what I knew I had to do. Even worse, the weather was perfect. It was sunny, but not so much to make it unbearable outside. Everything about today made my insides twist.

I took a breath at the door of Yunho’s house, bracing myself for what I had to do. Knocking a few times I heard a commotion inside before the man I came to see opened the door. His smile had never been bigger.

“Baby!” He cheered, pulling me into a bear hug and ruffling my styled hair, “I’m so excited you’re here!”

He looks so ecstatic. And I have to break him.

The thought crushed me and brought tears to my eyes, but I couldn’t let him die. I knew she was serious, I didn’t doubt that for a moment. I grabbed Yunho’s arm, pulling him outside and away from everyone in the house.

I looked at the ground as I felt my lips begin to quiver, “I’m sorry. I just need to get this over with.”

Yunho bent down to meet my eyes, “Hey, hey. What’s going on sweetheart?” His voice was gentle, one of his hands coming to rub the tears from my face, “I’m here for you, whatever it is.”

I looked down, unable to look him in the eyes. I hated myself more than I’d ever hated anyone. “I don’t love you, Yunho.” My hands began to shake beyond my control, my own body knowing I was making a mistake.

“W-what?” Yunho’s voice cracked. A moment of silence passed before he let out a hollow laugh, “Baby, you don’t mean that-”

I looked up at him and immediately wished I hadn’t. Tears were welling in his eyes, his own hands beginning to shake.

“I said I don’t love you Yunho!” I said louder than I intended, “Not anymore. I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry.”

He took a step back and I noticed his hands clenching, something he always did to keep himself from crying.

“If that’s what you want,” Tears fell from his eyes before he finished his sentence, “Then I’ll support your decision.” He looked to the side, not knowing what else to say.

I wanted nothing more than to throw myself in his arms and explain everything, tell him that I’ve never stopped loving him, not even for a second, but I couldn’t. Instead, I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and looked at him one last time. He was so fucking handsome, so goddamn kind, and here I was doing this to him. Maybe he did deserve someone better.

“Good luck with your tour, Yunho. I know you’ll be fantastic.”

I turned and walked away from him quickly, leaving the house and ignoring the stare I could feel on me. I ran across the yard to my car, starting the engine and leaning my head against the steering wheel. I felt myself lose all oxygen in my body, the only option left to take large gasps of air. My vision was so clouded by tears I couldn’t even see anymore. I’d just lost myself along with my other half. I’d never felt as empty as I did in that moment.

Just then I heard a knocking on my window. I half-hardheartedly lifted my head and felt my heart lurch. Yunho was standing outside my car, eyes red and puffy, looking at me like I was the last person he’d ever see. I opened my car without thinking, my breathing still as uneven as before.

Yunho spoke, his voice coarse and distant, “I’m not asking you to change your mind, but I need you to know that I have always loved you and I always will. That will never change.”

I wiped the snot from my nose but didn’t bother to try and fix the mascara I knew was streaming down my face. I knew I had to look horrible, but he still held so much love for me that it was easy to see in his eyes. I fought myself to not reply, knowing that if I’d open my mouth all I’d say was ‘I love you’ over and over again.

“Is it too out of line to ask for a last hug?” He smiled sadly as more tears poured from his eyes.

I shook my head, running into his arms and embracing him. I felt like I made a mistake the moment I did because I could smell him. He was wearing the cologne I bought him for his birthday. His warm, sturdy chest...everything about him felt like home.

“Goodbye, Yunho.”

-

I arrived at home alone, tears still stinging my eyes. Tiff was nowhere to be found and I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or sad for the fact that she wasn’t there. I barely made it out to our porch before collapsing once again, finding it harder and harder to breathe. I didn’t know how long I was sitting there, it could’ve been one hour or three, but given the setting sun it looked like it was the latter. Once more I heard a noise outside our home, and once more the female figure appeared before me.

“You did good,” Lucy said, twirling her knife in her hands, “Dare I say I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t ever want to see you here again.” I cried, “I did what you want now get the fuck away from me.”

“My, my. You have quite the mouth on you, don’t you?” She tsked, “But you did as I asked, so I might as well comply. Don’t; however, think that you can go crawling back to Yunho and tell him about this. I’ll keep watching you and if you decide to do just that...I’ll follow through with my promise.”

I kept my eyes on the ground, convinced that if I looked up at her I’d attempt to rip the hair out of her head. No anger I had ever felt before could surmount to the rage I was feeling.

“Nonetheless, it was a pleasure doing business with you, miss.”

As soon as she came, she was gone. When I finally let myself look up, I could no longer see her, only darkness. Once again, I was alone.

-

Six months had passed since I broke up with Yunho and today officially made the third new date I’d went on. All of them were absolutely horrible. It wasn’t even that the guys were mean or rude or weren’t attractive, they just weren’t him.

Why am I even trying to move on?

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked heavy, the bags under my eyes ever prominent. I couldn’t fool myself. I’d never be able to be with another man again. I forced myself to hold back tears and reached back to untie my hair, preparing to take a bath in hopes that it would take my mind off of things.

I began to run the warm water as I reached for several candles, lighting them and placing them around the room, trying to forget the entire day altogether. As I waited for the tub to fill I grabbed my phone, opening Instagram for no other reason than to have something to do. Although Yunho and I broke up, I still followed their band account, as well as their individual accounts. Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung were still my friends, after all. Yunho was the only exception. Both of us unfollowed each other early on just because it was too painful. I didn’t hold it against him and hoped he didn’t hold it against me either.

Regardless, my eyes found the most recent post on Sidekick Heart’s account. All four members were shirtless, their hair dripping wet with goofy smiles plastered on their faces. They were standing by a pool, the same one Yunho and I would often break into. I noticed Yunho first, how could I not? His smile wasn’t as wide as the other’s, his eyes a bit colder, but he looked happy all the same. He looked good. Really, really good. He was always fit while we were dating, but he gained more muscle since I last saw him and it didn’t go unnoticed by their fans, either. I clicked the comment section against my better judgement, knowing what I was going to see before I even did so.

“Yunho looks like a fucking goddd”

“So Yunho’s still single right??”

“Yunhooo hmu I beg you”

“Jesus Christ Yunho break me please”

A surge of jealousy rushed through me. I hated when girls said those things when we were together, but now that we were apart it made it even worse. I had no right to be jealous, and that was the worst part.

The water reached my leg that was resting on the side of the tub and I scrambled to turn off the faucet. Doing my best to push the images from my mind I placed my phone aside and stripped from my clothes, settling in the water. I sighed as some water fell out of the side of the tub. It wasn’t a terrible thing to happen, but it seemed to just be another thing to go wrong.

My eyes wandered back to my phone, Instagram still open and the picture I was looking at earlier still on display. He was so fucking hot and seeing that he was standing next to that pool—our pool—made my brain short circuit. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from taking me back to the last night we broke in, the way we teased each other and how it inevitably led to sex. It seemed I had no control over my body as my dominant hand slipped between my legs.

But as much as I wanted it to be, it wasn’t the same. My fingers weren’t as long or slender as his and just nothing about our touches were the same, but the image of him just made my hormones rage. Every ounce of me craved him.

My fingers swirled around my clit, a bundle of pleasure shooting through me at the action. I closed my eyes, letting my body take over and repeat the motions and much as I fought not to, my brain kept replaying scenes of two of us again, and again, and again.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” Yunho spoke as I sunk down on his dick, barely finding the energy to lift myself up again even though the noises he made were like shots of espresso.

“Aww, is my baby getting tired?” He cooed, jerking his hips into mine.

“It’s not fair!” I whined, “I’m not good at this and you know it.”

“But we wouldn’t be a good couple if we didn’t encourage each other to work hard, right? Up you go, flower.”

I whimpered and pouted, but still obeyed him. Taking pity on me, Yunho grabbed my waist and lifted me, relaxing his grip as I moved downward. I made a noise that wasn’t understood by Yunho, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?”

“Please. More. I need you so bad.” I begged.

Yunho laughed, “I really do have you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”

I nodded before remembering that he’d probably prefer a verbal answer, “Yes. I’m w-wrapped around your finger.”

He let out a noise of satisfaction before flipping us over into a position so that he would have full control. I grabbed the bedsheets roughly, so much in my own world that I didn’t hear Yunho’s words.

“What was that?” I let out with a series of mewls.

“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, too, you know? I don’t go an hour without thinking about you anymore. I can’t even have a single conversation without bringing you up. Anytime someone says your name my heart beats out of my damn chest. You’re the only woman for me.”

My legs shook as my high approached, barely able to breathe at it’s intensity. It took me a minute before I could even remember where I was. As I came to my senses, I felt tears biting at my eyes and this time I didn’t bother to hold them back. I watched as they streamed down my face and joined the now-cold water surrounding me. I brought my hands up to cover my eyes, glad Tiff wasn’t home to hear my wailing. She’d been good about staying with me since the breakup, but tonight she just wasn’t here. The hole in my heart felt even deeper now. I wondered if he found someone, if he was happy now. Hell, maybe it was his ex. The thought tore my heart out and ripped it in two. I wanted to be happy for him if it was true, but I just couldn’t be. I was still too selfish. I still wanted him to love only me.

-

 New friends, new beginnings or whatever.

That’s apparently what I thought when I began attending more clubs at college after the breakup, meeting new people and eventually finding a really solid friend group. All who happened to really like punk-rock music.

“You should really go with us,” Shang directed his words at me, “There’s a new band popping up that’s playing this weekend. It’s three hours away but they have great music.” 

I sighed, not fully convinced although it did sound fun. The last concert I’d been to was one of Yunho’s and though I hadn’t even seen him in what felt like forever, I still couldn’t help myself from thinking of him anytime someone talked about concerts. Sensing my apprehension, the woman beside me spoke up.

“Road trip! Road trip! Road trip!” Tyra chanted in my ear, her black curls bouncing with her as she clapped her hands between the words. “Come on, it would be so much fun and you know it.”

I bit my lip, deep in thought. I knew I would have fun but I just didn’t know if that would outweigh the pain I would feel.

“What’s the band name?” I asked, looking at Shang.

“Honestly?” He scratched the back of his head, “I was a little drunk when I told one of my friends I’d be there so I don’t even remember what they’re called.”

“How do you know they have great music, then?” I laughed, Tyra agreeing with me, apparently not knowing who was playing when she agreed either.

“I mean, my brother listens to their music and he’s got good music taste so they’ve gotta be good.”

I closed my eyes as I felt an oncoming headache, knowing they wouldn’t accept no as an answer. “Fuck it.” I stated, “I’ll go.”

The two cheered, Shang promising that I’d enjoy myself. I doubted it, truthfully, but really it was decided that I’d go the moment the pair brought the idea up to me.

-

Our trio waded through the giant crowd as the doors opened to let us into the venue. It was big, one of the larger concerts I’ve been to. Whoever we were seeing was successful, for sure. The volume at which everyone was speaking was essentially a yell, so I had to do just that to get my messages through.

“I still can’t believe we have no fucking idea who’s playing!” I yelled at Shang.

He laughed, “I got seats towards the front row, though! I didn’t even have to pay for them!”

“That’s not gonna matter if we don’t know any of the lyrics, you dipshit!” Tyra barked.

“Okay okay I should’ve asked, I get that now.”

As we found our way towards the seats, there was a big projector with the words ‘Sidekick Heart’ displayed across it. My heart dropped and I suddenly felt it become hard to breathe.

“You got us tickets to a Sidekick Heart concert?” Tyra beamed, “I love their music and I’m practically in love with San! His vocals are insane! Holy shit, Shang!”

“Ohhhh yeah I remember now.” He chuckled.

I seemed to fade into the background as the two of them discussed their love for the band and the members. All I could think about was seeing Yunho again.

Would he see me? How would he react if he does?...Does he hate me?

I only came back to reality when the audience began to cheer and I saw all the members step onto stage. Seonghwa cradled his electric guitar, in one arm, waving at the audience with the other. Wooyoung plopped down behind the drum set, smiling at the audience while twirling a drumstick. With his bass guitar, San, ever the king of expressions, gave his best smoulder to the audience and it seemed like the audience collectively screamed over him. Then came Yunho out to center stage, his electric guitar in his hands and a smirk on his face as if he knew everyone in the damn building wanted to fuck him. And he’d be right. The spotlights on each of them made them look like actual gods. If I didn’t know them personally I would have thought they were.

Yunho leaned into the mic, his gruff voice taking me by surprise, “Hello everyone! Great to see you all! If you haven’t been to one of our concerts before this is how it’s gonna work: You’re gonna dance, we’re gonna sing, we’re all gonna have a fucking great time tonight!”

The crowd erupted as the first song began to play. It was one of their more popular songs and for good reason. All over it was a really well put together song and I couldn’t help as I began to mouth along to the words. Song after song played, some I knew some I didn’t, and the entire time I couldn’t look away from the man singing. He radiated confidence and looked relaxed as if he’d been performing for decades. I knew he wasn’t as cool as he seemed, I’d given him so many pep talks before performances I couldn’t count them, but as an outsider you’d never know.

I wonder who talked him up this time?

“Alright everyone. This is the last song of the night and-”

The audience booed, everyone upset at the night coming to a close.

Yunho laughed. The sound was rich and beautiful. He was truly enjoying himself. This is what he was meant to do, with or without me. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry.

Yunho’s voice filled my ears. “I know, I know. I’d love to stay a bit longer, too. Here’s the thing though...” He paused and I opened my eyes only to see him looking back at me. His eyes automatically softened as they always did when he saw me, but as if he remembered how we ended his gaze hardened slightly, like he was trying to distance himself. It felt like we’d been looking at each other for hours before he opened his mouth to speak again, but I knew very well that my perception of time had been off for a while.

“Even if we only have this little time left, I’ve truly enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. The fact that it’s coming to an end soon is what makes it so special, I think.” Yunho broke eye contact with me, smiling slightly and glancing back out at the sea of people. “Seeing your smiling faces, your energetic cheers—all of it—is a reminder to me that we’re so lucky to be doing this as a job. Really...I love you all.”

The audience let out a chorus of ‘awws’ which was followed by several rather aggressive ‘I love you too’s.

The lead singer once more smiled, “Now, without further adieu, this is one of our newest songs and it’s called Brown Eyes, here it is.”

The music began to play, all instruments coming together to make a somber tune. Somehow they were always able to write music that perfectly encapsulated emotions or ideas. This one? Loss.

“Since you left you’re still so infused

In how I think and what I do

Can’t seem to get you to leave me alone

Your ghost stayed here and she watches my tears

That run down our picture frames”

Then he found me again in the crowd, no doubt able to see the tears staining my makeup, no doubt able to see how broken I was. And still, he sang.

“I’ve tried hard to fight it

Yet I keep givin’ in

There’s been no one but you

I’m trapped, confined

And your platinum smile still knocks me out

Every single time”

He kept eye contact with me, not once breaking his gaze. It was almost as if he wanted me to break first, as if he wanted me to look away before him. As if he was daring me to leave him again.

San stepped closer to his mic and took his eyes away from his bass guitar, Yunho’s voice being replaced by the purple-haired man. As his voice rang out I only could’ve hoped the next lyrics were about one of San ex’s, not me. Even if they weren’t, Yunho still looked at me.

“It’s not aimed at me 

Maybe it never was

But oh darling, you could’ve fooled me”

My eyes flickered down, unable to look at Yunho any longer. His gaze only broke my heart further and in turn I felt my eyes water. After a moment or two, I worked up the courage to look back at him. He was still looking at me like he never moved his eyes. I couldn’t seem to register the lyrics until Yunho began to sing again, his voice drawing me in as it always did.

“You've disappeared without a trace

Left an unsuspecting guise

Love, I need you to know

I’ve been losing far more than sleep

Over those deep chocolate eyes.”

As the song and the show ended and everyone in the crowd cheered, I felt a rush of emotions run through me. Thrilled that they’d become so successful, proud of them for putting on such an amazing show, and hurt because I could still see a sliver of sadness in Yunho’s eyes.

I hurt him.

Yunho then reluctantly said his goodbyes to the audience along with the rest of the members. His jaw tightened as he walked over to Wooyoung, whispering something in his ear before walking off stage. Feeling like I was set in a trance, I grabbed my Tyra’s arm and mumbled something about going to the bathroom before following him. I completely ignored her questions and concerns about where I was going, dead set on talking to him again even though I didn’t have a damn idea what I was going to say.

Somehow, through the giant maze of people, I was able to spot Yunho leaving through the backstage. Instinctively I ran towards him, still having no plan in mind. I only stopped when a purple-headed man appeared before me.

“Y/n!” He smiled, bringing me into a hug, “I missed you so much!” He pulled back from me, “We all did.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung came from behind me, both wearing sad, kind smiles. They looked healthy and happy, which was all I could’ve asked for them.

“How’ve you been, girl?” Seonghwa cocked his head, genuinely curious.

I hesitated, not sure if I should tell them the truth. But at the end of the day, they were still my friends. “Not...great. If I’m being honest. I was kinda hoping I could talk to Yunho...if I could.”

They all shared a look I couldn’t understand.

Wooyoung spoke up, “We’re having a party at a friend’s house after this, you should come.”

I was surprised, still not fully understanding the situation.

San frowned, “I think it would be good for you two to talk. He didn’t tell us too much about what happened, but I’m sure you had a good reason. You were always so good to all of us.”

“I can text you the address if you’d like,” Wooyoung added, “You still have the same number?”

I nodded.

“Okay, good. We need to get back but we’ll see you there. Take care, okay?”

“I will. Thanks guys.”

San pulled me in for another hug, “Of course.”

They waved as we parted ways and for the first time that night, I felt hopeful. I spotted Shang and Tyra and ran up to them, no doubt a smile on my face as I asked, “Soo...you guys up for a party?”

-

I ditched my friends the moment we arrived, barely even sparing a word with Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung once they nudged me in the direction of Yunho. I didn’t try to think too much about it, knowing I’d explain it all to them later.

He was standing in an empty bedroom, looking at the floor and sipping out of a red cup which likely contained liquor. When his eyes met mine a rush of memories flooded back to me. The first time we kissed, the first time he confessed he loved me, the first time he saw me cry.

The first time I broke his heart.

His eyes raised to mine, his face stoic, “Enjoy the show?���

My mouth opened and closed, not having any clue what to say to him, “Yunho I-”

“I know why you did it.” He said suddenly, “A week after you left me Lucy showed up to one of our shows and tried to convince me it was all a coincidence. Said that I could finally be with her. When I didn’t buy it she finally gave in and told me she convinced you we were better apart. So naturally I called the cops and they arrested her for breaking the restraining order, thank god.” He shook his head, looking disgusted, “You know I never wanted us to be apart. My question to you,” he took a step further towards me, “is why did you do it? Why did you end us?”

When I couldn’t seem to respond he talked once more, “You could’ve told me what she was trying to do. We could’ve worked it out together.” He looked more disappointed and heartbroken rather than angry.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Yunho.” I bit my tongue as I fought back tears, “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. I-I’m just-” I sobbed, “Lucy told me she would kill you if I kept dating you.”

Yunho’s mouth shut and eyes widened, clearly missing that bit of information. I took it as my cue to continue “I don’t know why she did it, but it’s probably because we were happy.”

More tears fell down my face and it became harder for me to talk, but I owed him the truth. I had to tell him the truth. I looked up at him but because of my tears my vision was blurred. Yunho’s hands were tightening into fists as he looked away from me.

“I couldn’t tell you because I had to protect you so I had to make you hate me and I’m just so sorry.” I fell to the ground, my body feeling as heavy as my heart.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I brought my eyes to meet his own, “I’m sorry.” A tear streamed down his cheek, heavy remorse in his eyes, “God she’s fucking awful.”

A laugh got caught in my throat, “Yeah she is.”

He set his cup down somewhere along the way a his hands cupped my face, finally whispering the words I’d only heard in dreams, “I still love you so fucking much. I never stopped loving you. I never even tried to stop because I know I couldn’t.”

I jumped into his arms and kissed him hard, unintentionally knocking him to the floor. He met my lips with just as much fire, groaning when I unconsciously bucked my hips into his, all my sexual frustration still pent up.

“I missed you so fucking much.” Yunho growled, obviously feeling needy too but deciding against it as he wrapped his arms around my waist, speaking in between kisses, “I missed your cute laugh. I missed your lips. I missed your fucking awful jokes. I missed the way you’d look at me whenever you told me you loved me. I missed your gorgeous body and your smile. I missed your moans and the way you arched your back when we’d have sex. I missed how alive you made me feel.” He pulled back to look at me, “My life had no purpose without you.”

I took a breath, tears once more falling, “Mine didn’t either.” It wasn’t anything profound or emotional, but it was the truth. It didn’t.

Gently picking me up, he placed me on the bed. His eyes were raw, as emotional as they could ever be. Taking my hands in his, he looked at me as if I would disappear at any minute.

“Stay with me. Come with us on the rest of the tour. If you can’t take a vacation we’ll hire you as an assistant. If you can’t do that we’ll make some other kind of accommodation. Just stay, please. Please be mine again.”

I looked at the man in front of me. The tough-looking, six-foot tall, tattooed, strong man that could probably scare the shit out of anyone. Yet here he was, bearing his heart to me and being as vulnerable as a person could be.

I smiled, feeling my heart swell. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

-

The morning was bright, lighting directly hitting my eyes. I cursed myself for not closing the blinds the night before and blinked off my sleep when I heard a familiar pleasant sound.

Jumping down from the bed I put on the new fluffy bathrobe my lover bought me. I followed Yunho’s voice out to my porch, realizing I was listening to a new song of his. The man was strumming a guitar, a beautiful melody falling from his lips. When he noticed me, he smiled and continued to sing.

“I’m in a vivid yellow mood

You’re my muse, my home and room

And now that I have you again

What could I ever fear?

Oh do me a favor, dear

And inscribe your name on my sleeve

Let me keep it there forever

Because you’re better than any daydream.”

[inadaydream99]

The One With The Perfect Kiss

A/N - Thank you to the lovely 🥕 anon for this request, I loved writing it so much! This is inspired by the Friends episode ‘The One Where They All Turn Thirty’, but with a focus on Phoebe wanting to experience a perfect kiss before her thirtieth birthday. I hope this doesn’t disappoint!

Disclaimer: please remember this is inspired by Friends and the plot is in no way my own original idea! I have changed it a little in order to flow better for the sake of this oneshot.

With the World’s crazy state over the past year and a half it seems as though the concept of time has gone out of the window. It no longer feels odd to not leave the house for five days in a row, or to only see your friends virtually instead of in person. Although you had missed being able to hug your loved ones…

Now that some normality has resumed, you find yourself making more of an effort to meet up with friends, getting excited about the simplest of meetings. Even in person conversations are a novelty. And that’s where you currently find yourself, finally being able to see your best friend San in person for the longest time. You’d been catching each other up on the most recent events when San asked what you want to do for your upcoming birthday.

Then the realisation hit you that it’s your birthday in the next few days. And not just any birthday, but your 21st. Yes, you are reaching the age that everyone puts on a pedestal. The age when you well and truly are an adult.

Unlike most of your friends and their excitement about turning 21, you feel anxious and upset. It’s all because when you were younger you’d written out this list of things you wanted to experience by the time you had your 21st birthday and you’d managed to complete almost everything on that list. All except having the perfect kiss.

Of course, you’ve had plenty of kisses in the past. But they’ve always left you feeling a little underwhelmed, like something was missing; there was never any real sparks between you and your past kissers…

You feel stupid for your reasoning, but it’s something that you’d always hoped you would have experienced by now and yet you’re still waiting.

None of your friends were aware of this list except for San. He was actually the one that made the list with you when you were little; he’d made his own one too and you distinctly remember a few years back when he’d rushed to you during lunch in senior year of high school, excitedly celebrating the fact that he’d just completed the last experience on his list. You remember feeling a tinge of jealousy that he’d completed his first. So you made up a white lie that you’d also finished yours, just so he wouldn’t think you are a loser.

That was actually the last time you’d ever spoken to San about it. In fact, you’re pretty certain he’s forgotten about the existence of those lists altogether.

“What’s up with you today, is everything alright?” You are shaken out of your wandering thoughts, blinking a few times to clear your glazed over eyes, which then focus onto San’s concerned expression.

It’s now that you feel his hand on your shoulder which gently shook you back into reality, and with how close he is to you, you can see how his hair has grown just a little too much over his forehead so the ends go into his eyes.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead it feels like time has frozen around you and you have this strong urge to reach out to delicately brush his hair back so you can see him properly.

Next your gaze trails down to his lips and you wonder what it would feel like to kiss them. They look so inviting, like two plush pink pillows that you wouldn’t mind melting into.

“(Y/N).” You gasp at the urgent call of your name. “You zoned out again.” San chuckles, the corner of his lips quirked into an amused smirk, clearly having noticed the reason behind your daze this time.

“We’ll maybe if you cut your hair.” You roll your eyes, pulling your shoulder away from his hand defensively.

Your reaction sends him into uncontrolled laughter, falling back in his chair and clutching his stomach in the process.

“It really wasn’t that funny.” You grumble, your bottom lip protruding as you sulk.

“Awe come on, stop being so serious all the time.” San giggles, his hand once again reaching out to your shoulder in an attempt to turn your body back to face him.

And you cave in the moment you see him, the way his face is a light shade of crimson from his hysterical laughing and how his eyes seem to glimmer with joy; it’s impossible not to smile.

“I really hate you sometimes.” You playfully quip.

“No you don’t.” San automatically responds, pinching your cheek teasingly.

~

Since seeing San, you’ve spent most of your time trying to figure out how to get the last thing checked off your list. But every possible solution has turned out to either be impossible to achieve or just too much effort.

It’s now getting to the point where you’re thinking of giving up entirely. I mean, technically the only other person that knows about this list thinks you completed it years ago. You could so easily just not worry about it and it wouldn’t matter.

Except for the fact that your mind would torment you about it for the rest of your life, and honestly, you’re not sure if you would be able to put up with yourself for very long.

“Mingi help me!” You whine like a little child.

Yes, you’d ended up confiding in Mingi about your need for the perfect kiss before you turn 21. And yes, he had laughed at you and your strange predicament.

“What exactly do you want me to do? Kiss you? Cause that’s not happening again.” Mingi tries, and fails, to hold back his laughter.

You roll your eyes at him and sigh. You both know that’s not why you’ve turned to him for help, but the fact that he had to mention you have kissed just to annoy you only makes you want to walk away.

“No, no! I’m sorry.” Mingi lurches forward to grab your arm, stopping you from getting away as he notices you get up to leave. “Besides, it needs to be someone you’ve never kissed before…” He continues, falling silent as he ponders over any possible applicants.

“Is there anyone you currently find attractive?” Mingi breaks the thoughtful silence, looking at you with intrigue. Despite the question sounding like it could very easily be another way for him to tease you, his serious expression persuades you otherwise.

You have one person that instantly comes to mind when you hear his question, but that person also happens to the very guy that you’ve known the longest. The very guy that thinks you completed your list. The very guy that you’ve always fantasised about having something more with, and yet, you know that could never happen.

“There might be one person…” You apprehensively mumble, avoiding eye contact with Mingi in case there’s any way he’s able to read your face and know who you’re thinking of.

“Well, who is it?” He presses, hating the suspense. But you’re still undecided if you want to admit it out loud or not.

~

So it’s the evening of your birthday and you find yourself around your friend Yunho’s place.

All your close friends are here, gathered in the small apartment living room. You appreciate the effort Yunho has gone to, putting up multicoloured balloons and placing some snacks on the table, along with a few options of drinks. There’s music playing lightly in the background, not that you’d notice unless you listened out for it, and joy filled conversations fill the air.

As much as you don’t want to appear ungrateful for the effort of your friends, you can’t help yourself from not feeling as talkative and excitable as you usually are. Instead, you opt to sit quietly on the sofa and sip at your drink, watching everyone interact and laughing when Wooyoung clumsily spills coke on the carpet, immediately freaking out and rushing away from the crime scene before he gets caught.

“Sad about being old?” San cheekily pesters as he perches next to you. You chuckle and shake your head, choosing to focus on swirling the liquid around in your cup.

“Your 21st is next month.” You retort airily.

“Seriously though, what’s wrong?” San leans closer to you as he speaks quietly. He can sense that there’s something on your mind and that you clearly don’t want to talk about it in front of an audience.

Luckily for you, you’d chosen to sit on the sofa in the back corner of the room. It was the perfect spot to be out of the midst of the party without leaving the room. That’s why you’d managed to not arouse attention from anyone until San approached.

Finally casting your gaze away from your cup, you notice his concern and decide that now is as good a time as any to come clean to him.

“Do you remember that list we came up with as kids?” You partially mumble, insecure about his reaction. And you don’t need to say anymore, your guilty expression tells all.

“Oh.” San’s eyes widen in realisation, leaning back a little in surprise as all the memories flood back to him. He really hadn’t thought about it in ages. “I thought you completed it?” He scrunches his brows in bewilderment.

You feel ashamed of yourself, only managing to shake your head no in response to his question.

“What do you have left?” San softly encourages you to open up, still keeping his voice hushed in case of any eavesdroppers.

“I’ve never had the perfect kiss…” Your voice becomes shallow. It’s almost painful to admit to him. Even though you are fully aware that it’s not the worst thing in the world and that San doesn’t seem to be mad at you for lying to him. His sympathy doesn’t help though.

There’s a pause between you for a minute, both of you simply staring at each other. Albeit you don’t miss the quick flicker of his eyes to your lips; it doesn’t last more than half a second.

“Happy birthday to you~” The sudden singing jolts you back into the party, Yunho’s hand reaching out to pull you into the centre of the room as everyone sings to you.

They’re none the wiser to the moment they have interrupted, each with an elated beam on their face as you are manoeuvred to the table where the birthday cake is waiting, candles ready for you to blow out.

As the song ends it falls silent with anticipation for you to blow out the candles. But you can’t. They seem to be taunting you, dancing around as if they have won. Because blowing out the candles means exactly that. You’ve been defeated.

“I’m sorry.” You gulp, sprinting out of the room as fast as you can.

Everyone watches, perplexed faces and soft “ohh’s” being uttered in surprise. Mingi, understanding what your reason is, casts his focus towards San.

“I’ll go.” San announces, stopping a very concerned Mingi from chasing after you.

You find yourself in the shared garden of Yunho’s apartment complex, needing the fresh air and space to compose yourself.

“I’m an idiot.” You grumble to yourself, covering your face with your palms in distress before pulling them away and shaking off the panic. You take a few deep breaths and relax your shoulders, preparing yourself to go back inside and face everyone.

You spin back around and instantly freeze in place, your mouth hanging agape as you turn to see San stood a meter behind you. He must have seen you trying to calm down.

But his expression isn’t worried or sympathetic like before. It carries a sense of thought and decisiveness, which springs him into action as he urgently rushes to you.

Without being given a second to comprehend what’s about to happen, you are swept up into his arms, one of his hands holding your cheek as he pulls you towards him by your waist. His lips smash against yours abrasively, but not so hard that it hurts, just enough to convey all his pent up feelings. It’s hurried but passionate.

It takes you a second to respond, but you feel him smile when you kiss back. Your head spinning as you melt into his embrace. Your entire being consumed by him, the world fizzing around you in a blurry haze.

You pull apart breathless, panting hot breath as your noses brush against each other’s. San’s smile melts your heart. And you know if you were able to form a coherent thought in your mind, it’d be that you must be dreaming.

You take a moment to take him in, noticing how his hair is splayed out messily across his forehead, the ends irritating his eyes and it’s almost funny how he still hasn’t cut them. But this time you give in to temptation, your hand instinctively reaching out to brush the strands away so you can admire him properly.

“That was perfect.” You confess, cherry tinted cheeks only growing warmer and warmer. “Thank you.” You whisper, an elated giggle tumbling from your lips.

“I’m glad I could help.” San coo’s, his eyes drinking you in as his hand reaches back out to hold your chin. “Think you’re ready to blow out those candles now?” He quirks his brow, taking the opportunity to lightly tease you while he knows he can get away with it.

You attempt to roll your eyes at him but he places a quick peck on your lips to distract you.

“Now I am.” You grin, separating from San enough to take in some fresh air, his hand simultaneously taking yours and intertwining your fingers together. And that’s how you stay as you head back to the party, finally ready to turn 21 with your completed list.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — zero || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count (chapter): 5.8k

Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers, heavy on angst, slow burn, eventual smut

Warnings & Tags (chapter): Descriptions of Violence, Tension, Dehumanization and general poor treatment of hybrids

A/N: So I have two modes and those are tooth-rotting fluff and angst feast. This is... not fluff. I hope you’ll enjoy this first installment and introduction to the series, and I will see you soon for the next one!

Next

Your eyes follow Jungkook’s every step as he walks through the crowd and enters the cage that serves as a ring. He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re watching. You’re always watching. You’re standing in your usual corner, from where you make sure everything goes smoothly. Two tall, muscular men stand on either side of you. They look like they’re your bodyguards, but really, they’re here to handle him if he tries to do something. To everyone in the room but the two of you, this looks like every other fight night since the very first time he came to the Circle.

You’re too far for him to smell you, especially over the crowd of excited, sweaty men, but if he did, he’s sure he would pick up on the bitter scent of anxiety, would hear your heart beating a little too fast. He’d say you’re lucky the guards aren’t hybrids, but he knows that’s not the case. You never count on luck. Everybody knows that. That’s what makes you so good at your job. That’s what might just save his life.

He glances at you, finds your eyes glued on him, and gives you a smirk, which reveals his abnormally pointy teeth for a rabbit hybrid. It’s been over a year since they’ve been sharpened for him, to make him look more threatening. You’re used to them, but he still sees you swallow. For the first time he wonders, vaguely, if you had any say in that. You’re the one he meets with nowadays, but you’re not his owner, after all.

Your eyes leave him to look at his opponent. The man’s taller and has broad shoulders, he seems to have some training based on his on-guard position, and he’s older than him. You couldn’t find many informations on him, but based on his attributes, he’s probably some kind of dog hybrid.

You both know he doesn’t stand a chance.

“On my left,” the announcer roars, “some fresh meat! I give you… Jin!”

There are enthusiastic shouts, and the man shoots nervous glances around him at the crowd all around him. It’s clear that he isn’t used to that type of setting, and you feel an unexpected wave a guilt in your chest. He’s going to get destroyed tonight, you’re sure of it. You’re the one who suggested that Jungkook should fight a newbie, for the show. You don’t regret your decision, but you don’t feel good about it either.

“And on my right! The man who needs no introduction, who has won thirty! Two! Fights in a row, I give you… Jungkook!”

The crowd goes hysterical, and the hybrid facing him winces again. If he thought he had chance before that, it’s clear that he doesn’t anymore. You wonder if he’d heard about Jungkook, if his owners had prepared him well enough, if whoever owned him was betting against him. You wonder if he’d just been told he would be fighting a rabbit hybrid and assumed he would be fine.

Jungkook’s long ears are flat against his head, carefully tucked under a headband, and without those, he doesn’t look like a rabbit hybrid, too tall and broad-shouldered. Then again, he had never really been your typical rabbit hybrid.

Truth was, you had been relieved when you had been assigned to working for the daughter of Mr. Xanders. Your whole life, you had known you would end up here. Your dad had worked for the Family since before your birth, and though it was clear your mom disapproved, she had never held any illusion that you would escape it. If anything, you were the sacrifice, a way of making sure your siblings wouldn’t be forced to work for the most powerful crime family in town. That was, if you did good enough.

Getting assigned to the girl who was nicknamed “the Princess” was both a blessing and a curse. It meant you got to stay away from most of the illegal stuff, as the girl was notoriously sheltered from all of that by her father. However, it also meant that you had to basically babysit the spoiled seventeen years old, despite her being only a few years younger than you. You had dressed as professionally and sternly as you could, adorning yourself in a dark woman’s suit, but she hadn’t seemed impressed.

That was how you found yourself here, at an auction for rare hybrids. You thought the whole thing was grim — oh, how naive you had to be back then, to think this was bad — but you had obeyed orders without batting an eye. You had to do this right, and this was a pretty easy job, after all.

You gritted your teeth silently as various hybrids were brought on stage, exhibited and bought, one by one. The status of hybrids was a complicated subject in the country, always had been, but you had grown up in a poor area, where a lot of hybrids lived freely, and the idea of owning what you knew to be a person made you sick to your stomach. At least the Princess hadn’t said a word the whole time you’d been there, and you had hopes that you would leave without — God — buying someone.

Naive. So damn naive.

“I want this one,” the girl had announced decidedly, pointing at the stage with a movement of her chin.

Shit.

You looked at the stage. There, the auctioneer was highly praising the hybrid who had last been brought on stage. A surprisingly tall and muscular rabbit hybrid, with fluffy black hair and long ears falling on either side of his head. He was shaking slightly, sending terrified looks around him, and your heart tightened in your chest.

Naive and soft.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Do your job. Get him for me.”

Numbers flashed in your mind, the exact amount of money you were allowed to spend clear as day. It made you feel a little better, for a second. This was what you were good with; numbers, facts, informations. If you thought of the hybrid as just that — a number,  an element to compose with — you should be able to do what you were supposed to do. Do your damn job, and ensure your little brother never ever had to work here, because they wouldn’t be as kind to him.

You took a deep breath, and, after a few people had already considerably raised the price, you made your bid.

Jungkook walks to the center of the ring, arms raised high. He’s good at giving a show, good at most things, actually. He looks good here, confident, knowing exactly what he’s worth, and he’s nothing like what he was that first day. There is absolutely no fear on his face as he fists the air and people shout for him. Instead, he seems to be positively thriving on the attention he’s getting.

He’s a favorite here, because he always gives people what they came for. He makes the fight last, makes it theatrical, with twists and impressive moves. It’s been a while since he’s struggled in a fight, really struggled, which has made it easier. You recognize you’ve played your part in that. You have your word to say when picking his opponents, and you don’t want him to— well, to die, or to be too badly injured.

You know it’s not much. You know no matter what you tell yourself, that’s not protecting him. You know you should have acted a lot earlier.

But you didn’t.

They gave you Jungkook as soon as the payment was confirmed, which didn’t take long. People were fidgeting in the room, careful not to stare too long at the Princess. They knew who she was, of course. The bodyguards and your ghostly presence, one step behind her, did not do anything to soothe their nerves. No one actually knew you back then. You hadn’t earned your reputation of efficiency, no one had called you a cold-hearted bitch yet, though that would pretty much become your identifier, but you were still somewhat unnerving, with your stillness and your all black attire.

Which was why you never tried to add color to it.

The Princess seemed to be in her element, not bothered by the silence and people’s obvious fear of her, even for a second. Instead, she was watching her acquisition. The hybrid — Jungkook, you remembered, because you’d heard his name after winning the auction — was staring at the floor, stealing glances at her every once in a while, before quickly looking away again. He was clearly shy, and terrified, and it looked like the Princess liked that.

When they handed the leash to her, she was quick to clip it on his collar, and you held back your disgust. Your mind went to Mark, a kind golden retriever hybrid you had grown up with, and the idea of him being collared like that almost made you retch.

But, of course, none of that could be seen on your face. You had been told that you had the perfect poker face, unreadable at all times. In moments like this, it was a true blessing.

“Hello, Jungkook, I’m Anna, and I’m your new owner. I’m going to take good care of you.”

Then Jungkook looked up at her, briefly, and an adorable smile curved his lips.

You knew then that this could only end in pain and heartbreak.

Once Jungkook is done, he turns to face Jin. The other hybrid looks like he wants to run away, but even if he tried it, he’d be pushed right back in. So he does the smart thing, and prepares himself for the fight, lifting his hands to protect himself. Jungkook does the same thing. There is a brief moment of silence, everyone bracing themselves for what is to come. Despite his earlier display, Jungkook is deathly calm now, every muscle in his body ready for action.

The second the bell rings, Jungkook is moving, so fast he’s almost blurry, and you have to avert your eyes when his fist connects with the other hybrid’s chest.

This all feels like it could have been avoided.

A relationship quickly developed between the shy bunny and the Princess. You didn’t say anything about it; that wasn’t what you were here for. A baby-sitter, sure, but not a chaperone. Anyway, it seemed like Mr. Xanders wasn’t too worried about that, and his daughter was free to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t get pregnant. You supposed a hybrid was the perfect choice for that, with how rare it was for them to have children with a human. It could happen, of course, but it was highly unlikely without medical assistance.

Still, you weren’t sure you liked the relationship all that much. It just felt like Anna had so much power over him. He was a couple of years older than her, since selling hybrids under eighteen was technically illegal, but it was clear from the very beginning that he had been sheltered and didn’t have much experience in— well, in any areas. A sickening feeling told you that had probably been done on purpose by the people who had raised him. You were well aware of what rabbit hybrids were usually bought for.

You watched, silently, as they got close, as Anna’s hands started to easily find Jungkook’s, as Jungkook started to rest his head on her shoulder, to scent her, as he fell in love with her. Today, maybe you would have been annoyed at the sight, annoyed by his innocence, but back then, it only made you sad.

You were also there to see Anna grow bored of him. It didn’t even take her that long, no more than a couple of months.

When she insisted on going to another hybrid auction, and asked you to bid on someone else, you knew that it was over.

“Get him to fight,” Mr. Xanders told you dismissively at a meeting you had with him. “I want the money he cost me back.”

“He’s a rabbit hybrid,” you had said, frowning. “He’s not exactly the fighting type.”

“I didn’t tell you to make him win,” he scoffed. “I don’t care if you have to bet against him. Get my money back. After that, I don’t care what you do with him.”

You didn’t realize then that that was a ‘promotion’, and that this meant you would start working in illegal settings. All you knew was the painful weight in your chest at the idea of sending Jungkook to his death. You had kept away from him, not trying to create any bonds with him, but he smiled politely and kindly when he saw you.

God, he was in love with Anna. You were sure he had noticed her losing interest in him, but you also believed he held out hope. This could— This would probably be crushing for him.

So you took the matter into your own hands. You didn’t just sign him up for an upcoming fight, but you also found him a trainer, the best you could.

“Does Anna want me to learn how to fight?” he had asked you, big brown eyes looking at you, when you had told him about the training. “So I can be her bodyguard?”

“My orders don’t come from Anna,” you’d answered, trying to stay as distant as possible.

“But will she— Do you think she’ll like me again, if I learn to fight?”

No. You thought Anna had gotten everything she wanted from him.

“I don’t know,” you had answered. You couldn’t. You couldn’t do it.

The first fight had been brutal. Devastating, in fact. Jungkook had been training, and you’d been told he was good at what he was doing, but, as a newbie, he’d been sent against an expert fighter — “for the show”, you’d heard, the exact same thing you would use as well, years later —, and you were later told he was lucky he’d made it out alive.

You stayed next to him in the hospital room. As a hybrid, he healed quickly, but he still looked terrible, body marred with black and blue, lip busted, and black eyes. When he woke up, he looked around the room, every movement he made clearly painful, and you knew, at his expression, that there was only one thing he thought about in that moment.

Anna wasn’t there.

You would never forget the look he gave you then. The way he set his jaw, the way something hardened in his eyes.

“Get out,” he had said, and you were pretty sure he had meant for it to sound aggressive, but he wasn’t good at it yet, so it was more pleading.

You had gotten up, made a move to— to pat his shoulder, to do something, but you had refrained and your hand had fallen down to your side.

“I’m sorry,” you had said, and you had left him alone in there, with his broken hopes and heart.

That night was the first and last time you considered leaving your job.

But there was no quitting, where you worked.

In the ring, of course, Jungkook is good. He leaves an opening for the guy to place a few punches, ones that can’t hurt him too much. The crowd is delirious, bets are being placed. There’s a rumor that Jungkook was injured at the last fight so tonight could be the night where he loses his title, couldn’t it? The first round is coming to an end, and he doesn’t seem to have done much so, surely, he’s not going to be able to end that guy by the third, like he usually does — and if he does, hey, at least they’ll have had one hell of a show.

The three rounds thing is something you asked him to do after an organizer told you people needed that to feel they had gotten their money’s worth. You had told Jungkook, and he’d growled an answer, but he had never won in less than that since. For all his obvious hatred of you, the organization, and everything that surrounded him, he didn’t actively oppose you most of the time. He had tried to run away, twice, but when those attempts had failed, he had seemed to realize that it was just easier to go with the flow.

When the second round starts, though, he goes wild. His bare feet are light on the floor,  his fists quick and precise. He doesn’t leave anything to luck either. Every punch lands exactly where he wants it to, when he wants it to. He dodges his opponent’s attacks easily, and he sees in his eyes the moment when the man realizes that he’s not winning this. He sees confidence turn into surprise, then into fear, and it only makes him want blood.

His right hook hits the man in the jaw with all the power he can put into it, and this time you don’t wince. You’ve gotten used to the violence now — it always takes you a while — and you’re mostly impressed at how good Jungkook is.

But that’s exactly why you’re in this situation, isn’t it?

“We should put him down,” Mr. Xanders said, with the exact same dismissive tone he had used years ago to tell you to make Jungkook fight, and you looked at him in disbelief. Surely, surely, he didn’t mean—

“I really disapprove of that solution, dad,” Anna said, shaking her head, and you realized he did.

You had been surprised by Anna’s presence, when you had walked into the office. You hadn’t worked for her in a long time, having graduated to far worse things. You had served your purpose, you supposed, made yourself practically indispensable when it came to the organizing of the Family’s business, as you knew the workings of the Family in and out, both legal and… less legal aspects. No one had ever said anything about your siblings joining.

“He attacked someone,” her father simply shrugged.

“If I may, Mr. X, it was after a fight and the man was being really aggressive after he lost the money he’d bet against—”

“I don’t care,” he said, waving his hand like you were just an annoying fly. “He attacked a human. We can’t have our hybrids doing that, otherwise it will just be chaos. You’re smart enough to know that.”

You swallowed. Something inside you was screaming. You had long shut down any form of moral compass, but it seemed like Jungkook always awoke the last remnants of it. You were pretty sure he despised you now, and you didn’t blame him for it. But, just like what you’d thought when Anna had bought him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this just wasn’t right.

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s a horrible thing you’re doing, dad,” Anna insisted. “I thought you’d try to at least reason with him, (Y/N).”

That wasn’t your job. You knew when your opinion was asked on those things, and now was not one of those times. You also knew that you hated that she called you by your first name, like the two of you were friends, and you didn’t say anything about that either.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mr. Xanders said warmly, like he had just refused to buy her an expensive toy, and not condemned a man to death. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Anna sighed and rolled her eyes, and you assumed she’d probably stay mad at him for a while. But not too long.

Your heart was beating so loud in your chest you barely heard Mr. Xanders dismissing you, and you were relieved to be left alone when you walked out. There was only one thing you wanted to be thinking about now.

How were you going to save Jungkook’s life?

Jin hits the floor and doesn’t get up. It’s not an actual knock-out, because he’s still moving around, but Jungkook doubts he’ll even try to get back on his feet. The guy seems to be smart, he probably realizes that that would be suicide. Another minute with him on the ring? Nah. That would be a really, really stupid thing to do. Jungkook’s knuckles are bleeding — he doesn’t think they’ve been intact once in the four years he’s been fighting — and he’s pretty much unstoppable, right now.

He lets the referee grab his arm and lift it in the air as the crowd screams. They’re particularly loud tonight, because he won in two rounds. It’s not really a surprise when they force the entrance of the cage, flooding it, and Jungkook looks for you, almost instinctively. When he finds you, your eyes are on your phone. You look like you couldn’t care less about what’s happening around you, and he knows you do genuinely dislike the fights. You’ve never made it a secret. You’ve never taken care of the other hybrids owned by the family who participate, either. He doesn’t know if he’s your burden, or if you’re the one who chooses to still do that. Before, he wouldn’t have doubted it. Now… He’s not so sure.

Your eyes flicker up to his for a second, and you nod, imperceptibly. Your heart is probably beating as loud as his right now, though for different reasons.

Jungkook examines you, takes in how out of place you are in that environment, immaculately dressed, small glasses on your nose, hair pulled back, and lets himself be amused by it, one last time.

And then he’s gone.

You only visited Jungkook when there was about to be a fight, and it was clear he really didn’t like it when you showed up. You always seemed to be interrupting him, whether it was a training session or a work-out. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him do something other than those two things. You didn’t know if he had anything else.

You brought some food from a restaurant he liked, as you usually did, and got some things for the guards who would be around. That wasn’t as usual, but you had done it before, so hopefully it wouldn’t make anyone suspicious and it would allow you to have some privacy with Jungkook.

He sat down opposite from you, immediately diving into the food you’d brought, and you watched silently. His shoulders were tense, never completely down but, though he would hate to admit it, he was more relaxed around you than around anyone else. It said a lot about his life, about how desperate he was for any form of companionship, that the way you told him about his opponents almost made him feel like you cared about him. It said a lot that your presence comforted him, and it was pretty pathetic, if you asked him.

“So, who am I fighting?” he asked while eating. He never bothered with his manners when he was around you.

“A newbie,” you said. “Some fighting training from what I’ve gathered, but he shouldn’t be an issue.”

He growled. The sound was unnatural for a rabbit hybrid, but he had mastered it over the years. It was a good way of intimidating people.

“Really? I thought I told you I wanted a challenge.”

You didn’t reply immediately, and that made him look up at you. When he did, you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, hesitant. That was completely out of character. Then, you made up your mind, and your expression turned back to the unreadable one he was so familiar with.

“Keep eating, and don’t raise your voice” you ordered.

He lifted an eyebrow. Normally, he would have done something like folding his arms and waited for more, in a defiant attitude, but this was you. You would never do something like that just to assert your power over him. He hated your guts, but that was one thing he could say about you.

“Mr. X is going to have you killed because you attacked that man at your last fight.”

There. Direct, to the point, not a useless word — though you couldn’t bring yourself to use the words “put you down”. Jungkook froze for a half a second, than resumed his eating, albeit slower than before.

“It was all good as long as long as I brought him money, but he doesn’t want any trouble for it, huh?”

His voice was bitter and low, barely more than a rumble. You were confident no one was paying attention to you, since the guards ate in another part of the house and no one cared about what you were saying. They could see you through the picture window, but they couldn’t read lips. Still, you lowered your voice as well.

“Win your next fight in two rounds,” you said, instead of answering him.

He shot you a dirty glance.

“Do you really think that’s what I—”

“That should get the crowd to lose their mind,” you continued. You had gone through all the possibilities in your mind, over and over again. This was the one that was the safest for you and your family, while giving Jungkook a reasonable chance of survival. “When that happens, you’ll use the hysteria to leave through your opponent’s entrance.”

This got his attention, and he stopped trying to interrupt you, finally focusing on your words.

“I can probably get you somewhere between five and ten minutes before everyone finds out you’re missing.”

He scoffed.

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I also won’t look too hard for you,” you added, because you would obviously be in charge of that as well. “So as long as you don’t do a terrible job hiding, we probably won’t find you. Stay away from hotels, and don’t get noticed.”

Jungkook stayed silent for a while. He didn’t look at you, jaw set, and you were pretty sure he was weighing the pros and cons of your plan.

“I don’t know if there’ll be another chance,” you told him truthfully. “They want you gone after the fight.”

The silence went on a little longer, before Jungkook spoke again.

“Anna’s said yes to that?”

You didn’t miss the way his voice faltered on her name. You didn’t think he had spoken to her in years, but he still had a soft spot for her, and being reminded of it always made you sad. You had accepted, a long time ago, that life wasn’t fair, but that was particularly true when it came to him. None of what had happened to him was fair. The shy boy with the wide eyes you’d helped buy at the auction deserved better. You didn’t, probably deserved every single bad thing that had happened to you, but for him, you wished you had done something — anything — differently. So you wouldn’t be faced with a jaded, cynical version of that boy right now.

“She opposed it, but her father is still going through with it.”

“So she didn’t oppose it much.”

You didn’t answer that. It was true, and you both knew it.

You glanced at your watch. Your time here was almost over, and you had a lot of responsibilities.

“Will you do it?”

Jungkook glanced at you, eyes wary.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You could just do that so you could have me killed and say I tried to escape.”

You shook your head, almost amused by the possibility.

“I would gain nothing from doing that, and if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t go about it that way. Will you do it?”

This time, he nodded. He didn’t trust you, but he thought you were telling the truth on this.  So following your plan would be just as well.

“Good. I’ll see you for the fight.”

This would have been a good moment to wish him good luck, probably, but you didn’t do luck, so you didn’t say anything. You gave him a quick nod, gathered your things, and then you were out.

You didn’t think to say goodbye.

“We’ll get him when the crowd’s dispersed,” one of the bodyguards says, and you hum noncommittally in response, eyes on your phone.

Moron.

If these two were the ones you usually work with, they would know that your usual protocol is to go get Jungkook as soon as the referee’s lifted his hand up. That way, you can get him out as quickly as possible and you don’t have to worry about him getting mobbed. But you’ve changed your team the day Mr. Xanders asked you to ‘put Jungkook down’, so they have no idea. It’s been a week since then, which shouldn’t make it too suspicious. Hopefully.

When the crowd does move enough to see what’s going on in the cage — three minutes — one of the two men says, voice worried, “Hey, can you see him?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes scan the room. You’re relieved to see that Jungkook’s nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” you ask urgently, and the men seem to shrink under your glare, exchanging worried glances. You roll your eyes and sigh. This may be your plan, but they’re still acting incompetent. Which is good for you, sure, but the perfectionist in you is annoyed.

“You two should pray he’s in the changing room,” you spit out as you march towards it. It takes some struggle, because the crowd isn’t exactly calming down, but it’s not too long.

Of course, Jungkook isn’t in the changing room. It was a bad idea to go look there anyway — usually you would probably have already informed everyone that he had disappeared — but these two don’t seem to realize that.

“Go search the fighting room,” you order, “make sure you haven’t missed anything. Then check the surroundings. I’ll stay there. Let me know if you find something.”

They practically run out, and you allow yourself to sit down. This isn’t even dangerous yet. If Jungkook’s done that part correctly, he should already be too far for them to find him. As far as you’re concerned, you’ve bought him — you check your watch — seven minutes. But even if you don’t doubt him, you still feel terror at the idea they could catch him. You don’t know what would happen then. You don’t want to think about it.

The seconds tick by. It’s been almost exactly ten minutes when your phone rings.

“Hello, Miss—”

“Do you have him?” you bark.

There’s a silence.

“I want an answer!” you snap.

“No. I’m sorry. We’ve lost him.”

You hang up immediately and start to dial another number to let people know Jungkook’s missing.

But, before you actually call, you let out a brief sigh of relief.

This just might work.

You get home late the following night. When you do, you’re absolutely exhausted. You’ve had a terrible day, unable to sleep a wink, and you got thoroughly chewed out over Jungkook going missing. You think Mr. X was suspicious of you, because you basically don’t fuck up, ever, but then Anna started to wax poetics about how “Jungkook was a soul who wanted to live”, and you don’t think he bought it, but it at least got his mind off of you.

You doubt he’d get you killed over that, it just isn’t worth it and you’re pretty valuable, but it would be much better if he didn’t think about it too much.

You’ve organized the searches, pretty sloppily in your own opinion. Of course, it’s possible that they could find him, but if Jungkoook does his part, everything should be okay.

You remove your shoes with a groan when you walk in. You usually never regret wearing heels, thankful for the centimeters they help you gain, but tonight you definitely do. Keeping them on for two days was not how they had been intended to be used.

Once they’re off your feet, you painfully walk to your kitchen. All you want to do is to make yourself a cup of tea before going to bed, but you stop yourself before grabbing your kettle.

Something feels— off. You’re probably the only person who could notice it, because you’re  so obsessive with everything that’s in your home, but you just can’t miss it. It’s not much, just some items that aren’t where they should be, or that were moved a little to the side.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you hesitantly grab a knife from your kitchen drawer. You don’t think that would do anything, if someone was in your apartment right now, because you can’t fight and, considering the people you work for, you’re pretty sure if someone wanted to kill you they would, but it makes you feel better.

You make your way through the living-room slowly, heart hammering in your chest. You check the bathroom, first. No one’s in there, but it’s clear that whoever was there used it as well. He didn’t put your toothpaste back where it belonged.

That only leaves your room. You walk in, carefully, to find it empty. Your bed’s done, though not exactly how you do it, and that confuses you. At least until your eyes find the necklace that’s on your bedside table.

It’s the identifying tag Jungkook wore around his neck for fights. You reach out for it, in disbelief, and that only confirms what you thought.

A laugh bubbles in your throat, and you just can’t hold it in. It escapes your lips, breaking the silence that always reigns in your apartment.

Here. He was here, in the eye of the storm, while everyone was looking for him. You have no idea where he is now, but this makes you feel like he’ll be fine. Clearly, he is a smart man and he has resources.

You fall to the ground, lean against your bed, holding the tag in your hand. You give yourself a second. That’s more than you usually get. It’s a second to close your eyes and feel grateful and happy about what happened, a second to think that perhaps not everything is dark and terrible in the world.

A second, because Jungkook made it out.

And then, you open your eyes, and you come back to your reality, which is that you’ll be working for the family tomorrow, and the day after that, and probably for the rest of your life. There’s no out for you. No hope.

But at least Jungkook should be fine. You’ll never know about it, because if he is, then you’ll never hear about him again.

If you ever do, it will only mean bad news.

Next

Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed this first chapter and feel free to let me know if you would like to be tagged for future ones!

[cellsshapedlikestars]

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

.

.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

[adenei]

Summer of Jily - Week 7

Yahoo! I'm all caught up for @efkgirldetective's summer of Jily Challenge!

This week's prompts: Ice cream and "I don't want anyone touching you like I do"

*********

Two days passed since their impromptu first date in the coziness of the cabin, and things could not be better. At least, that’s what James thought. The only snafu in the plan was that neither he nor Lily had discussed telling their friends about the relationship. Stolen moments alone were spent enjoying each other’s company while keeping an ear out for anyone who might intrude on their private time together.

They were no closer to coming up with a way of revealing their relationship, and if James was being honest, he quite liked the thrill of keeping his girlfriend, Lily, a secret from the Marauders. Sirius would probably hex him into tomorrow if he found out James was hiding something, but he would deal with that when the time came.

After two days of rain, the weather had finally cleared up, and the boys found themselves roaming up and down the main street of town while the girls were off shopping.

“Honestly, how much shopping can they possibly do?” Peter asked as he plopped down on a bench.

“With Mary and Marlene at the helm? It’s safer not to ask,” Remus thought out loud.

“It’s been two hours, and they’ve still got another half hour before they’re due to meet us for that picture show Mary’s been droning on about,” Sirius pointed out.

In an effort to avoid his friends’ complaints, James looked around the area for something to pass their time. His eyes settled on an ice cream shop across the street.

“Well, we could either sit here or go get some ice cream over there at that shop,” James suggested.

Peter perked up at the mention of ice cream while Remus gave a noncommittal shrug. Sirius was the only one to verbalize his agreement as he stood and led their way to the shop, his mood much brighter than moments ago.

“I could go for some ice cream! I prefer Muggle cotton candy ice cream to Fortescue’s strawberry peanut butter any day.”

The rest of the Marauders followed and approached the queue. They stood behind an older couple and waited. James continued to observe their surroundings, hoping that the girls might appear. He already missed Lily despite only being separated for a couple hours. As he was scanning the area, a group of girls who looked to be around their age joined the queue behind them, which Sirius was quick to point out.

“Look how hot that lot is, mate.”

James nodded, though he didn’t take the time to check them out. He was about to change the subject when one of the girls took notice of them and giggled. The sound caught his attention and distracted his attention. One of the girls was eyeing him; she was blonde with bright blue eyes and a petite frame, certainly attractive, but no longer his type. His type was Lily Evans, plain and simple.

He flashed a polite smile, then averted his gaze as the queue moved up. The boys were called up to the next window to order, and he was happy to put some distance between them and the group behind. Knowing it was easier for them all to order and have one person pay, James placed his order first and then turned to have the others follow suit. He dug out his muggle money to handle the transaction while the rest of the Marauders moved over to the pick-up window to wait for their treats.

“This is so different from Fortescue’s. Why can’t we watch them prepare it?” Peter whined.

“You mean scoop ice cream into cones and dishes and hand it to you? Beats me,” Sirius chided.

“He has a point, Pads. It’s interesting to watch sometimes,” Remus defended Peter’s observation as James chuckled.

“Yeah, beats waiting around having to make small talk with you,” he joked.

“Large cotton candy?” called the attendant from the window.

Sirius leaped up to claim his ice cream, looking like a kid in a candy store upon his return.

“Care to share a lick?” James teased as he leaned in to try and swipe a bite before Sirius had a chance to dig in.

“Not a chance!” Sirius guarded his cone as the attendant called out again.

“Crazy vanilla!”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Peter clapped his hands and went to collect his order.

Remus looked at James and Sirius. “Does he realize that that flavor is just vanilla ice cream but dyed different colors?”

“Shh, don’t ruin it for him, Moony!” Sirius waved him off. As Peter returned to the group, Sirius waved him along. “C’mon Wormtail, let’s go snag that table over there while these two wait for their more complicated orders.”

They took off while James and Remus continued to wait.

“Hot fudge sundae!”

“That’s me!” James jumped forward, approaching the window at the same time as the blonde who was checking him out earlier, and both reached for the same dish.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

“No, no, go ahead,” James took the dish and handed it to her. “You’ve got good taste,” he added with a polite smile.

“So do you,” she smiled back. “Are you on holiday with your mates?”

Her inquiry takes James by surprise, but he supposes a bit of small talk can’t hurt. “Er, yeah. We’re staying in a cabin on the lake.”

“Oh, us too! On the north or south side?”

“Er, north, I think?”

James wasn’t sure if he was being honest, but it wasn’t like they were going to run into the girl again, so a little white lie couldn’t hurt.

“Same for us! I’m Elaine, by the way.” She held out her hand with the introduction.

“James,” he responded, reaching out to give her hand a quick shake.

“Say, what are you doing tonight? We could get together for a fire or something?”

Unfortunately, it looked like his willing response gave the wrong impression as the girl to the opportunity to ask him out. Her smile had turned seductive and James realized a moment too late that she was flirting. Had he really lost his game so quickly since making a go of things with Lily?

Another hot fudge sundae order was called along with Remus’s chocolate milkshake. James was about to excuse himself to grab his ice cream when Remus appeared out of nowhere.

“I’ve got this, mate.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” James grimaced.

Because Remus didn’t know about Lily, he didn’t know that James needed the ice cream as an excuse to get out of this.

Of all the times Remus decided to urge me on.

“It’ll be a fun time, I promise,” Elaine winked. “Come with me to our table and I can write down our address for you to meet us later. It won’t take long.”

The blonde reached out her free hand to graze James’s forearm and lead him to the table her friends had occupied. He followed since he couldn’t think of a way out of it. At least the solution after this point was easy. He’d thank her, make a false promise to show up, and then never follow through.

He wasn’t expecting Elaine to keep hold of his arm, and the feeling sent prickles of discomfort through the rest of his body. James wasn’t even aware that the girl was still chattering away as he was still thinking of a way to get back to his friends, and hoping Lily was still on the opposite side of town so they wouldn’t get in a row over this.

And that’s when he felt another hand grasp his opposite arm.

The feeling of the second touch was much warmer, searing his bicep as it pulled him away from the blonde with a force he wasn’t used to. As his body spun around he caught a flash of red hair before the second person’s lips were on his, the kiss deep and searing, taking him by surprise.

He was familiar with the feel of Lily’s lips by now, and forgetting that they were in public, James’s body melted into the embrace even though it was far from romantic and comforting. As Lily’s arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer, James realized she was staking her claim and it was hot. He felt the immediate arousal strain against his trousers as the thought of Lily’s jealousy sent a course of desire through his body.

It barely phased him that they were in a very public place, no doubt in front of all their friends. Yet, when the thought finally registered in his lust-filled brain, clarity sobered his body, replacing the desire with a nervous excitement.

So much for keeping things quiet.

When Lily pulled away, her gaze was fierce as she narrowed her eyes and squeezed his arms a bit harder while whispering in his ear, “I don’t want anyone else touching you like I do.”

Bloody hell, would it be improper to disapparate us back to the cabin to have my way with her right now?

Yes, yes it would. Stupid statute of secrecy.

The battle to act on his instincts versus do the right thing warred in his mind.

“And you,” Lily peered over his shoulder to the blonde who was standing behind them, mouth gaping open in surprise, “keep your hands off my boyfriend.”

“Your WHAT?!”

A chorus of shouts and shrieks escaped the mouths of their friends at Lily’s over-zealous warning.

“Looks like it’s not a secret anymore,” Lily shrugged as she pulled James back to their friends.

“Hmm, I was hoping that maybe they didn’t notice the public snog assault you just attacked me with,” James laughed. “You know I wasn’t going to do anything with her, right? She cornered me and Remus of all people helped her along. I couldn’t get away.”

“Yes, yes, I trust you. I just let my temper get the best of me, I suppose,” Lily admitted, though she didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest.

“Don’t worry, I like Aggressive Lily. Maybe I’ll let other girls try and whisk me away more—”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, though the glint in her eye reassured him that she knew he was kidding.

“I suppose it’s time to face the onslaught of our friends, don’t you think?”

Lily sighed, “You’re sure we can’t just disapparate away instead?”

“I wish, but I’ve got a hot fudge sundae over there with my name on it. If you answer all the questions, though, I might be inclined to share.”

A devilish smirk crossed her lips as she dropped his hand and made a beeline for the table. “Not if I get there first!”

“Hey!”

James followed after her, knowing full well he’d share the ice cream with her regardless as they took turns answering their friends’ questions. Maybe it wasn’t the way James and Lily intended for the group to find out, but it certainly made for a good memory to look back on someday.

[the-hidden-writer]

And Into The Fire

Chapter 4: A Not-Quite-Plan

Summary:

Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Not-Quite-Plan

An agent came running into the office just as Mark was about to take a sip of his coffee.

“Ma’am! We’ve got into #009181987!”

Agent Ward turned off her tablet and stood up immediately.

“About time!” She snapped. “Come on, Dr Bowman, this is where we need you.”

He barely had time to grab his coffee cup as she practically dragged him toward the door by his hoodie.

Ever since they’d locked onto the missing Pal MAX bots, Agent Jennifer Ward and her team had pretty much taken control of Pal Labs. Or at least the headquarters where Mark worked.

He’d spent the past week or so locked in his office with the scary Agent Ward herself. The tall woman had ordered him to come into work every day despite the complete CIA take-over of his company, just to keep up pretences for the public. And he also needed to be kept under supervision at all times for some reason. He was basically a prisoner.

Oh well. At least he had WiFi.

After pulling him out of his office (freedom at last!) Agent Ward led him down the stairs to the main work area, which was a large room filled with rows of computer desks.

At the very back of the room were two large screens on the wall. These were usually used for advertising and announcements, but recently they’d served another purpose.

Displayed on each screen was a status. Before now, they’d said the same thing. But for the first time in weeks, one was different.

Pal MAX #012041966 Status: UNRESPONSIVE

Pal MAX #009181987 Status: ONLINE

“Online?” Mark wondered aloud. “So you actually got into it, huh.”

Agent Ward scoffed. “Of course we did. Don’t doubt my team, Dr Bowman. Especially Agent Travis here.”

As if on cue, the young agent that had come to tell them the news before came rushing in through the door behind them, and almost glided straight into the wheelie chair next to the computer he’d been working on.

“Actually, we got through a couple of times.” Travis explained, huffing slightly from having to run. “But we got kicked out before we could change anything. This is the first time it looks stable and ready to be edited.”

“Well, these robots are based on AI.” Said Mark. “They’re not as simple to take down as ordinary machines.”

“Trust me, we know.” Agent Ward sneered. “That’s the reason we’re in this mess to begin with.”

She turned to her team, who all had their fingers poised over their keyboards ready to begin typing. “Delete any excess data and then start to rewrite the functional coding.” She ordered.

“Rewrite?” Mark had been under the impression that they would just delete it all to stop the robots for good. That’s what they were trying to do, right? “I thought-”

“Yes, rewrite. Anything more is classified.”

One of the agents raised their hands. “Uh, Ma’am? All the data here looks pretty messed up. Most of its data’s been built onto the errors presumably caused by defects, we have no idea what it actually does. There's words liked 'brother', 'mother'-”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Barker?”

Even though it wasn’t aimed at him, Mark couldn’t help but gulp at the way Ward was glaring at the poor agent.

“No Ma’am,” mumbled Barker, “sorry, Ma’am. We’ll start the rewrite.”

~-.-~

The three of them raced into the room with Monchi following close behind, probably because he was intrigued by all the commotion.

Linda didn’t want to believe it. Her robo-boys being sick was one thing, but fighting each other? That was truly unbelievable. They would never.

But unfortunately, it was just as Aaron said.

Deborahbot was kneeling on the bed with his back to the door, repeatedly hitting Eric’s screen by alternating between using the clenched fist of one hand and the open palm of another. There was a “clunk” sound with each impact, and Deborahbot showed no sign of stopping.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed incredulously.

The bot’s head turned 180° to face them but he did not cease the attack on his brother.

“Mother! Other Mitchells!”

“What are you doing?!” Demanded Rick, aggressively pointing at the bot in the bed. Aaron gripped onto the back of Linda’s pant leg in fear.

“I am more defective than my brother.” Deborahbot stated matter-of-factly, his calm voice sounding quite scary compared to the current violence he was inflicting. “I thought if he was more defective like me, he would be himself again.”

Rick waved his arms in annoyance. “That’s insane!”

“Deborahbot, stop hitting your brother right now.” Ordered Linda.

“Ok!”

Linda felt a small stab of guilt in her heart. Since they’d joined the family, they’d all tried their hardest not to order the bots to do anything. By phrasing things the wrong way, their programming would make them obey commands mindlessly, whereas the Mitchells just wanted them to be themselves. The longer the pair of them went without being given an order, the more their individual personalities shone through.

Deborahbot released Eric and stepped away. Two seconds later, once the command had been completed, he held out a warning hand to the family.

“Wait, Mitchells, stop!”

Linda was about to open her mouth to ask why, only she first noticed the movement on the bed.

Movement. On the bed.

Under the blanket, Eric looked like he was shivering. Or, more accurately, vibrating. The screen that had been full of color before was now its usual black self, and his red marker face was visible again. The only indication that anything was wrong was that the small LED in the corner of his screen was flashing an array of different colors.

“What’s happening to him?” Aaron asked from behind her, and Linda nodded to encourage Deborahbot to answer.

“I do not know for certain, but I think that the infiltrators have successfully entered my brother’s system.”

“You’re speaking normal again.” Commented Rick, though his cautious gaze was fixed on Eric, as if he would spring up and attack them at any moment.

“That is why I came to that conclusion.” Elaborated Deborahbot. “They have stopped attacking me, so they must be focusing more on him.”

Unlike earlier, Linda drew up the courage to approach Eric in the bed. His shaking was growing ever more violent by the second, and without Deborahbot keeping him down it was only a matter of time before he fell off the bed completely.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and made her voice as soft and calming as possible.

“Eric, honey?”

“Dear, be careful.” Rick warned from behind her but she chose not to listen.

“Can you hear me?”

It didn’t seem like he was going to respond. Feeling defeated, Linda was about to turn to ask Deborahbot what to do next when a voice spoke up.

“User recognised: Linda Mitchell.”

Eric’s voice was even more distorted than Deborahbot’s had been to the point where it was nearly unrecognisable.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Linda, get back!”

Linda understood exactly why her family was scared. The bots had never, not once, called her by her actual name. To not hear “Mother!” come out of Eric’s metaphorical mouth alarmed her, but still she couldn’t bring herself to step back.

“Brother?”

In a similar situation, the bots never called one another by their given names. It was always “Brother”. It only made them seem closer to one another in a way that the Mitchells themselves couldn’t be.

“Unknown user. Verify”

Aaron approached them with caution, one hand automatically searching for his mother’s own. She clasped it tightly.

“It’s like he’s gone back into robot-mode.” Said Aaron.

Linda squeezed his hand in agreement. Out of the two, it was Eric that always seemed more closely related to all the other Pal MAX bots for some reason. Still, Eric was their Eric, and not one of the mindless machines that tried to blast all of humanity into space.

Then a high-pitched whine echoed throughout the room without warning, causing the Mitchells (and Deborahbot, who mimicked them a second later) to cover their ears from the terrible noise. Monchi began to bark.

Once it died down, Rick frowned and used two fingers to massage his temple. “What the-”

“B-Brother!”

Rick snapped his mouth shut and all heads in the room turned to Eric, who was now sitting up straight on the bed.

“Brother!” Deborahbot called back in relief.

Eric's head twisted to face the three extremely shocked Mitchells.

“Mitchells!” Eric cried dramatically, his words accompanied by a more familiar glitch. “You are in danger. Pal Labs is taking over our systems, and it’s only a matter of time before-”

“I already told them all that.” Deborahbot interjected.

“Oh.” Eric muttered softly. “Aww.”

It put Linda a little at ease to see her boys’ dynamic return so quickly. That must mean things were getting better, right?

“Brother, what should we do?”

Deborahbot had always been reliant on Eric for decision-making. Linda had no idea how the bots managed to form such a human-like sibling relationship.

“They’ve already gotten to me.” Said Eric, solely addressing Deborahbot now. “It’s safer if you power me off until they stop. If you wait a while and they don’t, then you might have to go to Pal Labs and stop them yourself.”

Linda’s immediate thought was: No. She was not going to turn off her boy.

“How do we know if they’ve stopped?” Asked Rick.

Eric glitched before shrugging. “My brother might be able to tell you, but-”

He was interrupted by the return of the high-pitched whine. This time, Deborahbot did not cover his ears.

A few seconds later, Eric’s voice was distorted again.

“Status: online. Location-”

He did not get to finish his ominous speech as Deborahbot had quickly moved toward him and placed his hand under Eric’s head. After a few short seconds Eric���s screen went completely black with only his marker face remaining as he fell back onto the bed.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed in outrage. “Tell me you didn’t-”

“He told me a plan.” Deborahbot said nonchalantly. “First I had to power him off, then-”

“Yeah, we heard.” Scoffed Rick. “But that’s not really a proper plan.”

“It’s a start.” Aaron piped up. “I don’t really know what’s going on but I think the bots have it better together than you do.”

Linda bit the inside of her lip. She did not like how Deborahbot switched off his brother without permission. They were technically under 18 and therefore not adults, so Linda felt responsibility for their wellbeing and safety. She tried her best to keep quiet to avoid snapping at him.

“So... what now?” Asked Rick.

Deborahbot took a moment to look at his brother before turning to face the Mitchells again.

“I don’t want to wait.” He said blankly. “So I think that we should go to Pal Labs and tell them to stop now.”

Comments make my day! :)

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Riding the Lightning: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

There are only two hours left, so if you’re going to do something, then you need to do it now. Penelope has been working overtime to see if she can’t track down Riley without the help of Sarah, but she really made sure he wouldn’t be found. She really doesn’t want Riley to surface.

“Check all police and hospital records dating back to September 1990,” Gideon asks of Penelope, and she gets straight to work.

“You know, you should check local newspapers to see if anyone reported any abandoned babies,” Spencer suggests.

“Yeah, I don't give a damn where the governor is, we may have found proof that Sarah Jean is innocent,” Sam Shapiro says over the phone.

“She really only had a maximum of three hours between police visits. It was four p.m. so traffic was pretty heavy. Whatever she did with Riley had to be local,” Spencer theorized.

“In 1990, there were three babies that were abandoned in Septemeber,” Penelope reveals.

“Three-year-old boys?” you ask.

“None.

“Why doesn't she just tell us where Riley is?” Spencer says in frustration.

“She is protecting him against Jacob. She refuses to let him be Jacob’s last victim. If he knows who his real parents are, then he’s haunted for life, and that’s exactly what Sarah doesn’t want.”

“Look, they are being executed within an hour of each other. What hope do we even have to finding him in time?” JJ asks.

“You know, it's quite possible, she doesn't even know where he is anyway.”

“No. she knows. We’ve got to get into her cell. Y/N, come with me.”

You follow Gideon to find the warden since he is the only one who can grant her access outside of her cell. He’s right outside of Jacob’s cell, and as much as you despise being around him, it’s for Sarah. Once he sees you, he smiles evilly, but you ignore him as best as you can.

“You've come to see the show?” Jacob asks.

He’s in the process of being shaved for the electric chair, but you ignore him.

“We need to get into Sarah Jean's cell. I believe the proof--”

“I can't do that!” Charles Diehl hisses and takes you two off to the side. “All official lines of communication are now over.”

“We just need five minutes,” you beg.

“Agents! They want the memory of these two individuals erased.”

“Five minutes. Please. That’s all we need,” you plead.

Charles sees the desperation in your eyes, and he just sighs with a gentle roll of his eyes.

“Five minutes.”

“Thank you. Come on,” Gideon urges.

He takes you to Sarah’s cell once it’s clear to go inside and look through everything she has. It isn’t much, but you don’t have a lot of time. Gideon goes straight to work in rifling through the books and mattress for something, but you’re drawn to the painting of her son in the field. He’s running happily, and you realize there is something pulling you to that specific painting. Gideon notices you just staring at it, but he doesn’t yell at you to keep looking. He knows you have something.

“What is it?”

You reach for the painting and take it off the wall, turning it over to reveal a newspaper clipping of a teenage boy. It’s about an award that he won, but there is no mention of what the award is, where he got it, or his name. However, you take one look at this picture and know it’s Riley.

“This is Riley. He’s alive,” you say and show him the picture.

“Let’s go.”

Gideon puts everything back the way it was before leaving the cell. You can’t be here when Sarah Jean comes back, and luckily, Penelope isn’t that far from her cell. As soon as the technical analysis sees the picture, she freaks just a little.

“That's Riley. It's her son, isn't it? Someone tell me it's him, please,” she begs.

“Yes, it is,” you nod.

“JJ, circulate this photo to the press. See if anybody recognizes this boy,” Hotch orders.

“Do I say who we think he is?”

“No just put him out as the missing persons.”

Before she can leave, a loud noise goes off that signals something. It’s not a good noise, you know that for sure.

“Okay, what does that mean?” JJ asks.

“It means Jacob is being moved to the execution chamber,” Spencer says.

You grab the photo of Riley and inspect it. There is nothing on here that suggests where he is because Sarah cut out the words. All she wanted was a picture of him, and that was enough for her.

“She cut around the photo so no one can read the text. He was two when he disappeared. This boy is sixteen or seventeen. If he's Riley, it would mean it's a recent photo.”

“Once Jacob's dead, do you think Sarah Jean would tell us if this is Riley?” JJ wonders.

“No, she won’t,” you shake your head.

“Gideon, she has to know we know.”

Gideon gives one single nod as the two of you head over to Sarah’s cell where she is finished being prepped for the execution chamber. She knows you took her photo which means she knows you know Riley is alive and well. It doesn’t take long for Jacob to be killed, and as soon as he is, you hope Sarah will tell you where Riley is.

“Jacob is gone. He's no longer any threat to Riley. Tell me where he is. We can stop this madness,” Gideon says when he sees her.

“There is no greater gift in life than that of being a parent. Yet so many of us abuse and squander that gift. You can deny being a parent all you want, but I know you are one,” she says to you. “I made my decision fifteen years ago. This has never been about Jacob. It's always been about Riley.”

“That's why we can't let you do this,” you beg.

“This isn't about you and me.”

“I know it isn't. That's why I'm not going to let Riley lose the greatest gift he knew he had,” Gideon declares.

“But that is my gift to him, and I'll not let you destroy that.”

You two leave her cell, and Gideon looks at you with a curious gaze.

“Are you a parent?”

“No. She’s lying,” you shake your head. You refuse to open the locked parts of your mind. There are a lot of secrets back there, and they are locked away for a reason. “We have to find Riley. Come on.”

You two head back to where Penelope and the rest of the gang are.

“Only people Jacob allowed Sarah Jean to know were the family she cleaned for,” Gideon thinks out loud.

“Sarah Jean worked for wealthy families all over Hampton. Let's go over all the families in the state of Florida who were looking to adopt in 1990, and let's see how many lived in Hampton,” Hotch orders, and Penelope goes to work.

“Families looking to adopt... hundreds.”

“How many from Hampton?”

“Uh, three families. The James', the Coulfied's, and the Sheffield's.”

“Looks like the Sheffield's removed themselves from the list in October 1990, and then moved out of Hampton,” you note when you read what’s on her screen.

“That's one month after Riley vanished where did they go?” Gideon asks.

“Uh, Keystone Heights. We got a match on the photo. It was in a piece of local daily news.”

“Call Morgan and Elle and tell them to get to the Sheffield's house.”

You take out your phone and dial Derek’s number with waited breath.

“You got something?” Derek answers.

“Get to the Sheffield’s house. We found her son. Keystone Heights,” you say and give him the address.

“That’s not far from here. We’re on our way.”

“Thanks. Call when you get there,” you say to him and look at Gideon. “He’s going there now.”

“Byran Sheffield,” Spencer reads from the real article the picture came from. “Local cello prodigy, seventeen-year-old Byran Sheffield won a scholarship to play the cello.”

“Let’s go,” Gideon motions for you to follow him.

You rush over to where Charles Diehl is taking Sarah to the execution chamber. They haven’t gone in yet, and you arrive just in time.

“We found him. We found her son,” Gideon reveals to the warden.

“Unless I receive an official stay of execution from the governor, I'm duty-bound to see this through,” he sighs.

“My son is dead, agent Gideon,” Sarah tries.

“I have agents on the way to his house as we speak, and the governor is standing by.”

“Why can you not accept the truth?”

“We can't. This isn't it,” you say emotionally.

“Agents are with in minutes of finding her son, alive,” Gideon says to Charles.

“I am truly sorry,” he sighs and pauses right outside the door. “Hold here.”

“What wouldn't you do for your son to give him a life you could never hope to dream of? I am at peace in the knowledge that my son is free to be whatever he chooses to be.”

“If he knew who you were, do you think he'd choose to allow you to walk in there?” you ask.

“If he knew who his parents were, can you imagine the damage my legacy would leave him?”

“Can you imagine what he would feel? Knowing his mother spent fifteen years on death row, innocent of all charges, just so he can be free of her?” Gideon argues.

“Not me, Jacob. It isn't just my life you have in your hands. It's Riley's life, too. You have the chance to save my son's life.”

“We choose to save yours, too,” you sniffle tearfully.

“My life ended the day I met Jacob,” she repeats herself.

“Gideon, I've got Elle. She says they're at the Sheffield's house,” Penelope says over the earpiece.

“It’s time,” Charles sighs and reaches for Sarah Jean.

“Take your hands off her,” Gideon snaps and speaks into the earpiece next. “Tell Morgan to kick the door and get in the house… whatever it takes. I said take your hands off her.”

“Agent Gideon!”

“A few moments, please,” you beg.

“Gideon, they've got him. What do are we doing here?” Hotch says from next to you two.

“I'm standing here because of choices I've made. Don't let my son be Jacob's last victim. Let me go. Let us both go,” Sarah begs with tears in her eyes.

You can’t help but cry at this because she is an innocent woman being killed for something she never did. Gideon sees this, but he knows he can’t do that to her. It’s all up to Gideon right now, and he makes the right choice.

“Tell Morgan... it's not her son. That we've made a mistake,” he sighs sadly.

“Let him go it's not the boy,” Hotch says into his earpiece.

“Would it be too much to ask if you two are the last faces I see?” she asks of you and Gideon.

“No, it wouldn't,” you whisper.

She gets taken inside the room, and you and Gideon make your way to the gallery where there are other people. You can’t believe they are here to watch a monster die, but you know she is completely innocent. You’re full-on crying right now, but Gideon is keeping it together better than you are.

Sarah Jean sees you two, and she just smiles at the thought of going in peace. You hold eye contact until the black cloth is placed over her head, and you just continue to let the tears fall for the woman who did what she thought was right.

“What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world, remains and is immortal." - Albert Pine

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[bluejayblueskies]

agape

n. selfless, sacrificial, and unconditional love; love that motivates action, often for the sake or care of others 

Words: 2.3k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: AU - Tea Shop/Bookstore, Fluff, Asexual Jonathan Sims Warnings: internalized acephobia/biphobia (minor,), fear of homo/ace/transphobia (brief, unfounded)

|| Ao3 ||

.

Martin remembers, with crystal clarity, the first time that he saw Jonathan Sims. Martin’s tea shop opens at seven in the morning to accommodate the morning commuter crowd, but they’re really busiest in the afternoon, which is when most people deign to take a break from whatever work they’ve got for the day.

 Jonathan Sims is not most people. At promptly seven, the jingle of the little bell that Tim had hung over the door once as a joke but that had lingered out of sheer practicality had cut through the gentle humming of the kettle, the small one that Martin preferred in the morning as it took no time at all to heat and the small volume of customers generally didn’t warrant the larger, stainless steel water heaters that sat along the back wall. Martin had had a box of loose-leaf English breakfast in his hand as he turned; he remembers the way the bitter smell of the leaves had mingled with the cool blast of winter air that swept through the door, carrying with it the scent of something acrid and ashy.

 Cigarette smoke, his mind helpfully supplied. Then, Martin’s eyes found the man who had entered the shop, his mouth forming the automatic greeting the bell always elicited from him, a well-trained habit that made him feel not dissimilar to Pavlov’s dog.

 “Welcome to Blackwood Blends! What can I get started for you?”

The man—and the likely source of the burnt smell still lingering in the air—startled slightly at the sound of Martin’s voice, like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed directly. He was wrapped in a comically large scarf, knit from chunky yarn and laced with warm yellow and midnight black, and he looked like the kind of person who might blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His hair, long and brown, was streaked through with grey and seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the hat that was currently struggling to keep it contained. There were at least two jumpers of startlingly different colors peeking out from underneath a heavy black pea coat that was missing a button near the bottom.

 He was also quite possibly the most beautiful person Martin had ever seen.

 He was there and gone before Martin quite knew what was happening, cradling a steaming travel mug of Ceylon close to his chest like it alone could drive away the January chill, and Martin found himself watching him through the café window as he crossed the street with barely more than a cursory glance in each direction, fumbled with something in his pockets for a moment, and finally vanished into the building across the street.

 Beholding Books & Antiquities, the sign above the door said in curling calligraphy, barely visible from this distance.

 Martin wondered, briefly, if they had poetry.

 Martin knows now that they do, but that the man—whose name, he’d learned on the man’s next visit to the tea shop, is Jon—wrinkles his nose when people purchase them like they’ve caused him some great offense. He knows that Jon never gets the same tea twice in a row, and though he’s cycled through every possible blend that Martin’s shop carries, he’s not a fan of herbals and finds himself returning to earthy greens and floral blacks. (Which, unfortunately, includes oolong, which may be the only kind of tea that Martin can’t stand.) He knows that the bookshop opens at ten in the morning (but that Jon never arrives later than eight) and that unlike the surge of afternoon customers Martin’s shop gets, the bookshop receives a steady trickle of local customers and curious tourists throughout the day.

 He knows that Jon smiles like it’s a secret he can’t quite decide if he wants to share and that Jon’s fingers are warm and soft when they brush against Martin’s as he hands Martin his new purchase and that he might be just a little bit in love with Jon.

 He spends quite a lot of time browsing for books nowadays, to Tim and Sasha’s eternal amusement. But he can’t bring himself to mind.

 Now, the nip of winter air is far behind them, and the lovely warmth of June seeps in through the cracks in the windows and in bursts as the door opens and closes. He always gets more business in winter, when the promised warmth of a cup of tea lures customers in from the cold, but it’s steady enough in the summer. And though Martin’s always been a lover of bulky jumpers and drinks that warm you from the inside out and breath that fogs in winter air, he can’t help but love the onset of summer, because it brings with it June and his favorite yearly tradition: Pride month tea blends.

 Martin finishes scrawling the various specialty drinks onto the chalkboard he keeps propped up on the counter, feeling a little burst of pride at the new tea blends he’s selected for this year. He creates them all himself, making little changes from year to year and brewing cup after cup for Tim and Sasha to try until he thinks they must be sick of tasting ten different versions of fruity Earl Greys. It just feels nice, to put a piece of himself into each cup he makes, and beyond that, the shyly excited looks some customers get when they order a certain blend fills him with a warmth that tingles in his veins for hours after.

 It feels nice, to take care of people this way. To let people find themselves in his tea and to share a bit of himself in kind.

 So when the bell jingles and Martin glances up from the blackboard to see Jon standing just inside the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dimness of the café, the thrum of affection that always overtakes him when he sees Jon is magnified tenfold, accompanied in equal part by a bite of nervousness. Because, he realizes, for all that he and Jon have talked about their jobs and favorites and hobbies and everything in between, they’ve never talked about this.

 Martin’s never been shy about it. His jacket is plastered with rainbow-striped patches, his bag adorned with enamel pins in purple-black-white-greys and in blue-pink-whites. He knows Jon’s seen them. Jon has to have seen them. He’s just… never mentioned it. And Martin gets the brief, terrifying, and completely unfounded worry that it’s because Jon is bothered by it.

 He shakes the thought off as quickly as it had come. No, he knows Jon. He knows that behind the prickly exterior, Jon is kind—so, so kind, and that he cares more about other people than he lets on. With a small, anxious laugh that Martin barely keeps contained beyond a brief exhalation, Martin realizes that he also knows that Jon is possibly also the most oblivious person Martin knows. It’s infinitely more likely that Jon hasn’t noticed—or has noticed and has decided not to say anything—than that Jon is somehow a completely different person than the one Martin’s gotten to know over the past five months.

 “Are you all right?”

 Martin startles so badly that he drops the chalk. It rolls dangerously close to the edge of the counter before a thin-fingered hand captures it mid-motion and holds it out toward Martin, the dusty white stark against his brown skin. Martin takes the chalk with a sheepish smile and says, “Ah, sorry—got a bit, er. Distracted.” Then, in a quasi-professional voice, because he is at work: “What can I get for you, Jon?”

 Jon doesn’t even glance at the menu; Martin’s almost certain that he has it memorized by now. He taps a finger on the counter, and as he thinks, his eyes wander downward, landing on the chalkboard that’s still laid flat against the counter, the bottom left corner slightly smudged. “Are these new blends?” Jon asks, eyes bright and curious. He tilts his head, trying to see the words better, and Martin quickly stands the chalkboard up on its wooden feet and returns it to its spot on the counter so that it’s easier to read.

 Well, no time like the present, I suppose.

 “They’re, ah, my seasonal blends!” Martin says with a smile he hopes doesn’t look as nervous as it feels. “I always do them in June.” He lets out a little, disarming laugh. “My own way of celebrating Pride month, you know?”

 Jon’s eyes are scanning the chalkboard with an intensity that makes Martin shift from one foot to the other at a pace far too quick to be casual, his hands finding the edge of the counter and gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He can’t read Jon’s face; there’s something there, just below the surface, but he can’t get a handle on it. It keeps slipping away like wet bar soap when he tries too hard to get a grip on it, and eventually, he just gives up, waiting for Jon to finish with his heartbeat sitting high in his throat.

 Finally, after a period of time that feels just shy of an eternity and certainly too long to have been simply considering the merits of one tea blend over another, Jon looks at Martin with an expression that feels strangely vulnerable. “I… I can’t decide,” he says quietly, like this decision carries the weight of the entire world. He points a thin finger at the middle of the board, where bisexual berry is scrawled in spiraling letters that constitute Martin’s attempt at calligraphy. It’s an herbal blend, with bits of freeze-dried blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries. “I like most of this blend,” he says, “but er. Not on its own?” His finger moves down, nearly smudging the words asexual almond as it comes to rest atop the ingredients below them—Assam tea, almond flavoring, cinnamon sticks, and little white blossoms that Martin includes purely for the visual effect. “Some people think that black tea wouldn’t go well with herbal,” Jon says, studying the board like it has the secret to life itself scrawled upon the dusty black, “but they’re really not that different at all. It’s all tea, and- and liking one kind of tea doesn’t preclude you from liking another kind, right? So asking me to- to decide between one kind of tea and another is—well, it’s just ridiculous. There’s tea that I like and tea that I don’t and I don’t have to pick just one.”

 Jon’s still staring at the blackboard, his forehead creased in what could be concentration but could also be irritation. It’s still early enough that the tea shop is empty save for them; Tim and Sasha don’t come in until after noon as usually, Martin can handle the morning crowds by himself. And Martin is really quite sure that this isn’t about his tea at all. So, in the gentlest tone he can muster, Martin says, “You can order more than one kind of tea, you know.”

 Jon jerks his hand back, almost like he’d forgotten Martin was there. “I—what?”

 Feeling significantly less nervous than before, Martin adjusts the sign so that he can see it better and says, “These are all just suggestions, Jon. Blends that I like and ones that I’ve found that other people like too, but they’re not set in stone—people have all kinds of preferences, and when it comes down to it, it- it’s all just tea.” Then, because apparently he’s feeling bold today: “I- I can make a new blend if you’d like? One that, er.” Just say it, Martin. “One that’s for you, specifically. Whatever you’d like.”

 Jon’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Martin, and Martin can’t help but shift nervously under his gaze. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, that was weird, what a weird thing to say when someone’s coming out to you with bad tea metaphors, fuck fuck—

 “If- if you’d like,” Jon says quietly, slamming Martin’s thought spiral headfirst into a brick wall and nearly knocking him off his feet as he registers that Jon just said yes. “I’d like that. Though I- I do enjoy the flavors of berries and almonds together.” He smiles then, a wry thing that sends Martin’s pulse into the stratosphere and his stomach aflutter with butterflies whose wings gleam an iridescent rainbow against the backs of his eyes. (Not his best bit of poetic imagery, to be true, but he’s a little too busy being utterly in love with Jonathan Sims to think about much else.)

 Martin makes the tea, choosing the black over the herbal because elaborate metaphor or not, Jon really isn’t a fan of herbal teas. Blueberry is a strong enough taste to pair with the bitterness of the black tea and it couples well with almond and cinnamon, creating a flavor profile not unlike that of a blueberry muffin. And because Martin can’t help but think of Jon every time he smells it, he switches out the Assam for a Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey blend—smoky and floral, smooth enough that it won’t overbalance the other flavors but robust enough to stand out.

 When Jon accepts the mug and takes his first hesitant sip, his face lights up in a way that Martin wants to see all day, every day for the rest of his life. And when Jon smiles at him, says, achingly soft, “Thank you, Martin. I love it,” and cautiously, gently places his hand over Martin’s where it sits on the counter, Martin thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can.

 Wouldn’t that be nice, he thinks. And the smile he gives Jon in return feels like a blank-paged book, waiting to be filled.

[dorki-c]

Stolen Cornflakes

Characters: Fem! Reader & Class 1-A

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X reader (but doesn’t have much effect on the story)

Tw: Tad bit of swearing but other than that, its a silly fic <3

A/n: As much as I adore Izubby, I just needed an excuse to write a small fluff bit of him and reader in a crack fic.

The bleary light of a diffused grey and blue sky didn’t dust through the cartoonish styled curtains casting a stale shadow across the rows of squeaky-clean figurines and the snoozing couple underneath the customized hero blanket.

Seconds languidly turned to minutes, before a weird bizzt sound erupted from an unknown source within the room and in result, two (e/c) eyes busted open like a morning flower greeting the world.

(Y/n) knew this alarm far too well.

The soft rumbling somebodies endless void of a stomach, also, knew this alarm far too well.

And to top it off, Izuku hated this alarm.

“Izu…” Arms of the person behind her made their claim when squeezing ever so tightly around the female’s waist. Wiggling against the human cage, low grumbles where a shoved in fluff pile of green strands plopped onto the warm area of a shoulder.

She isn’t letting Izuku hold her back from breakfast.

“Izuku.”

Grabbing the cusp of the cage, nimble fingers attempted to pull apart the scarred digits locked together, however (y/n) underestimated the power behind them.

“No.”

Pulling their bodies even closer, (y/n)’s shoulder blades attempted to push or deter the progress of Izuku winning this morning’s war.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t fair! All you wanted was a nice cup of coffee and your breakfast, but Izuku was making it impossible by being fucking adorable.

“No.”

He knew he weighed heavier than you, so it was realistically unachievable for (y/n) to squirm out of Izuku’s grasp, even if she twisted, pushed, and kicked at her lover’s legs— (y/n) knew she couldn’t win this battle with brute strength alone.

“Lemme—” Izuku knew (y/n) could sense the slow upturn of his lips, “Get—” However, he didn’t sense her arms breaking free of his cage, “My—” and gripping the headboard in such fury, “Food!” that once her head was lifted from the plush pillow, the female twisted her wrists and hips to the left side of the bed that it threw Izuku off guard—causing his makeshift arm prison to be shook off- and allowed (y/n) to sloppily exit the bed.

Nonetheless, when brute strength didn’t win, it was only the matter of making his girlfriend give into the temptation of his puppy dog eyes, pouty lips, and the irresistible whine of her name, that always lured the female back into his arms.

(That has a 95% efficiency of working, and it seems that today would be the remaining 5% of not working.)

“(Y/n), please…” As the male watched the female put on her exercising clothes, he knows its too late to stop her now, so all he’s able to do is groan “It’s like you’re cheating on me with your cornflakes…” where in response; there’s a pause, then an amused snort of “Honey, you cheat on me with the infirmary beds— So, don’t go there.” Before a small smooch of love was placed on his cheek and the only thing that he hears afterwards, is his room’s door shutting on itself.

.

.

.

It takes a few more seconds for him to fully awake to someone’s shout of “WHO THE FUCK ATE THE CORNFLAKE’S!” at the top of their lung’s, in which Izuku assumes that’s your voice, where he hears another feminine voice of “WAIT-- IS OUR CORNFLAKE’S GONE?!” Izuku could only think that could be Uraraka’s voice.

Even though the voices calmed down in volume, thanks to Iida of course, there was a high-pitched scream and another person that said something like…what was it, again?

Something like “they’ve gone feral!” before it went deathly silent.

(Has reality turned into the apocalypse?)

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

For the rest of the day, most people strayed away from (y/n) and Uraraka, mostly out of fear that since their breakfast was stolen from them- right, under their noses-, where there was a short snippet of Tokoyami informing the rest of the class that their ‘spirits’ are emitting a ‘dark aura’ which cannot be ‘tamed’, unless they were ‘cured’ with the ‘blessing’ of Kellogg Cornflakes.

Here’s basic translation of what he meant: (Y/n) and Uraraka are equipped for the hunt.

Whilst some people shrugged it off, the majority of the class see those blood thirsty eyes watching, inspecting, and psychologically analysing each and every one of their movements.

(Ah shit, class 1-A is in rigor mortis at this point.)

To say Izuku and maybe a few other people were scared, that would be an understatement in their enrolment to UA.

.

.

.

Usually (y/n) walks with Izuku down to the cafeteria.

Nope, not today.

Within the peripheral range of class 1-A’s eyes, as soon as the bell rings, the two girls seemed to already reach the door before disappearing into the parade that is a high school’s hallway.

It wasn’t until Iida, Izuku, and Shoto arrived at their usual table where Uraraka, Tsuyu, and (y/n) sat, that they, too, saw what Tokoyami meant by ‘dark aura’- the usually chill, easy-going friend they had was consumed by the pit fires of hell.

(WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO HER?!?!)

“We don’t know who it is, but when we find out,” Uraraka started out the conversation with Tsuyu as (Y/n) sat in between them texting- the loud, ear wrenching pressing of multiple places on her phone (using only her nails) was heard from the opposite side of the table.

“Uraraka and Tsu, we got ‘em.”

The smile they displayed was something out of a horror movie.

“Who did you get…?” Iida was the bravest one to ask.

(May God bless him in heaven. Amen.)

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

Misty, suffocating air greeted the majority of Class 1-A where the whole common room was shed in darkest, except the lounge area- but the couches were nowhere to be seen, instead there was a large kiddie sized pool filled with cats meowing alongside Aizawa sleeping in the middle and Shinsou sitting on a chair with Tsuyu, Uraraka, and (y/n), wearing police officer uniforms with pitch black sunglasses and armed with black baton in their hands, backing him up.

(When did they get those uniforms?)

“H-hey Kirishima?”

Izuku was lost, scared, and tired. All he wanted was to cuddle with his girlfriend, but (y/n) looks like she might bury him six feet under if she doesn’t figure who ate her Kellogg Cornflakes.

“Yeah man?”

For some reason Kirishima was wearing similar sunglasses to the makeshift police of 1-A and he was sitting in the kiddie pool with cats laying on top of his thighs where he honoured a pin saying, “the feline species are superior”.

“Umm…D-do you know what’s going on?”

Kirishima paused, then raised his hand to pet a cat.

(He looks oddly at peace…)

“Shinsou is helping the girls interrogate who stole their breakfast this morning, if you answer correctly then you get to sit in this pool!”

And so Izuku did as Kirishima suggested him to do.

“You are going to be put under my quirk in order pass the test.” Said Shinsou.

Okay… that sounds awfully suspicious. But Izuku still nodded and said yes, before feeling the familiar sensation of Shinsou’s quirk wash over him.

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

“Did you eat the Kelloggs Cornflakes?”

(He’s sure he hasn’t.)

“No.” His voice was bland of emotion before breaking out of his temporary brainwash, then given a pair of black sunglasses and the same pin that Kirishima wore.

“You are free to sit in the kiddie pool if you want to. Otherwise, thank you for not being a traitor.” The girls say in unison.

(WHAT FALSE EARTH DOES HE LIVE ON?)

Though once Izuku sat down in the kiddie pool next to Kirishima, all of his fears, worries, and doubts soon vanished under the cover of the feline species (which are superior).

Something along the lines of “BATTER UP BITCHES, WE HAVE A GRAPE TO CATCH” was heard a moment later.

Screams of help? No, we don’t know her.

All we know is that you should never touch somebodies Kellogg Cornflakes.

Amen.

Taglist: 

@quietlegends, @izukubabe, @nyanyabisjjj, @glitterfreezed, @sweater-weather-seven

[forevercaroline]

French court

I was going to have these characters be a side plot in the fic Forbes but as I was writing I decided to make a whole new story with these characters. Also I was talking with @iamcarito and she mentioned that Lexi would be like Megan Markle and the ideas just started flowing from there. I wrote this yesterday. I had mentioned to @austennerdita2533 and @karinanic that I was going to have a Lexi and prince romance. Also tagging @delenastvd.

Xxx

Henri peppers Lexi neck with kisses as her arms go around his neck and she rides him. The white sheet falling off her pooling on his thighs. He thrusts up one last time and her screams of ecstasy full the big bedroom, he soon follows. She slumps down on his bare chest and leaves a sweet peck on his neck.

“It’s moving day. My prince.”

“Did you ever think you would be here?”

Lexi snuggles her head into his neck and he wraps his arms around her slim waist. “Here meaning naked in bed with the prince of France no, moving into the French palace no, or being engaged to the sexy prince of France no.”

“Engaged to the sexy prince, did I only become sexy after we got engaged.” Lexi can feel him laugh laying on him.

“Sexy the moment I saw you.” She leans up and leaves a kiss on his lips he smiles into the kiss.

The double doors for their suite open and it’s Henri’ mother the queen mother Catherine de’ Medici who like her son has blonde hair that she usually pins up. “Oh good your up and decent this morning.”

The blonde lovebirds share a look this a frequent occurrence. A few times they have been in the middle of sex when she barges in. The doors do not have a lock but guards posted outside the door but the queen mother is allowed in any room and especially her children’s quarter’s being their mother. Doesn’t matter how old or if one son is the king she will barge into their quarters morning day or night.

“What do you want mother?” As Henri has one arm on Lexi hiding her nudity behind him and pulling the blankets up to cover them.

“Charles found out about your engagement and is not pleased. He demands to see you in the throne room.”

Lexi bites her lip she has never been in the throne room, There are a lot of rooms in this palace she has not been in. Mostly she just stays in Henri’s suite, she has walked through the great hall, the ball room, and seen Henri’s older sister Claude’s room but that was only because her and Claude were going out together and Claude did not like her outfit so she dragged Lexi to her room and throw a short black dress at her and told her to change while she looked for a pair of heels.

Before Catherine leaves she tells her blanket covered naked son. “Henri please do not irritate your brother.”

Henri cracks a little smile and glances down at equally naked Lexi. “I Promise mother.”

Xxx

Before they enter the throne room Henri holds out his hand and smiles down at Lexi assuringly she smiles up at him while she places her purple tipped nails in his outstretched hand his thumb runs over her princess cut engagement ring there are three rows on each side all diamonds the two outer rows are white diamond and the middle row is yellow diamonds. Leading up the big raised yellow diamond in the middle. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They enter to find Charles having a meeting with his spies and generals. Out of the corner of his eye he spots them. “Everyone out I need to have a word with my brother. If you see Nicole send her in too.”

Charles is shorter then his brother Henri but not by much. Where as Henri is tall blonde and has scruff and looks sexy, Charles is shorter, shaggy brunette hair and is clean shaven. Henri has a more gentle looking face he is fun loving where as Charles has a little bit of an evil face meaning that if something goes wrong people look to see if Charles did it because his face does not look innocent, he is a good king it’s just his face makes Lexi uncomfortable. Although that might have been done by their one and only encounter a year ago. The big difference between Henri and Charles is the crown upon Charles head.

“I am told you proposed to this woman last night.” He gestures to Lexi who scoffs at him.

Henri squeezes her hand to give her strength and to silently tell her he has this.“Yes I proposed to Lexi last night and she accepted we are going to move her into my suite later today.”

He doesn’t even look up from the map on the table to tell them. “I did not approve a proposal there for you two are not engaged nor did I approve of her moving into the palace.”

Lexi mouth drops open she is speechless this is not happening.

“Charles, Lexi and I love each other and want to get married.”

“You want to marry a commoner?”

Henri rolls his eyes the promise he made to his mother running through his head. He takes a breath and Lexi squeezes his hand to give him the strength he gave her earlier in this conversation. “Yes. I do not care if Lexi’s parents own a boutique in Paris or she is a heiress. We’ve been together for a year and a half but we knew the moment we saw each other that we had been looking for each other and we finally found each other.”

Charles looks up at the blonde couple and a small smile spreads across his face and he sticks his hand out. “Nicole.”

“My love.” Nicole is Charles fiancé, she has long brunette hair and brown eyes in heels she is the same height as Charles.

Nicole looks at the blonde couple first at Henri with love in her eyes then at Lexi with daggers in her eyes. Charles looks back at the blonde couple. “Your dismissed.”

Both blondes are pissed they were engaged this morning and just because Charles the king didn’t give his approval they not only can not get engaged but she can not move in with Henri. They get to the doorway when Henri turns around a wicked smirk on his face. “Brother why not this afternoon we play a game of tennis.”

Charles looks at his brother even though there is space between them they are looking each other dead in the eye. “What game are you playing brother?”

“ You’ll just have to accept and see.”

The older of the two looks back at the table full of maps and papers then at his blonde taller brother. “I accept.”

Xxx

“I love you Henri and I want to marry you but I do not see this ending well.”

Henri lifts the passengers side of his black Bugatti eb 110 he leans in and tells her. “Trust me.” He leaves a kiss right below her ear.

Once he is in the drivers seat she looks over at him as he puts the luxury sports car into drive. “I trust you.”

With one hand on the steering wheel he entwines his other hand with one of hers and kisses the back of her hand. “We will be married even if we have to disobey the king of France.”

Lexi loves Henri not just with her whole heart but she feels it in her bones this is the man for her. The way his smile can not only make her smile but make her feel like everything is going to be ok. From their first meeting they have had this connection. Henri was walking down the streets in Paris and walked past her mothers boutique and saw Lexi in the window fixing a mannequin. He was totally enamored by her beauty he almost walked into a guy walking towards him. Henri came into the boutique to find out what her name was and that night they had their first date and they’ve have been together ever since.

They pull onto the street where her apartment is and Lexi looks around. “Charles said I couldn’t move in and all my stuff would not would not fit in this car.”

He pulls into the parking lot of the apartment building. As he shuts off the car he tells her with a smirk on his face. “Well what Charles doesn’t know won’t kill him. And if it does your looking at the new king who wants to live with you.”

Lexi comes around to his side of the car and leans up and pecks him on the lips. “How did I become so lucky to fall in love with such a sexy, clever, ambitious and lovely man.”

He shrugs as he smiles down at her. “I have no clue but I fell in love with someone who is insanely beautiful, just as ambitious and clever as I am.”

“Well don’t we make a good match.”

“I think so.”

Xxx

They put all her stuff in the moving van that Henri had ready outside. They return to the palace and Henri orders the guards to discreetly put her stuff in his suite.

When they go out to the tennis court in the back of the palace they see Charles, Nicole and Claude. Lexi kisses Henri for good luck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Lexi takes a seat next to Claude, Nicole is glaring daggers at her, Lexi is ignoring her. Both brothers pick up a racket before they start Claude stands up and goes over to the net. “Shake hands.”

Claude is older then both of them so they come to the net, Claude like her brother Charles has brunette hair that she usually wears up and curly. “Any wager between you two?”

“Now that you mention it sister yes. If I win I would love to marry Lexi but I know you will not grant that so If I win I want the king to accept that Lexi is going to move in with me.”

Charles glares at his brother and Claude looks at him. “Charles?”

“If I win Henri gives up this dream of marrying Lexi and gets serious.”

Henri and Claude share a look why is Charles so against this marriage he is getting married himself and his fiancé Nicole he met in a barn one of the times he ran away from court because it was to much pressure. Plus before he became king he was a party boy in Spain. He came back to France to be taught how to be a king by their older brother Francis before his death.

“Deal.” Both brothers shake and Claude goes back to her seat. “Go.”

She leans over and tells Lexi “Someone needs to keep the peace of this game might as well be me.”

“Aka Leith was busy and you were bored.”

Claude glances over at her and smirks “I hope Henri wins just so we could have a chance to be sisters. And I don’t say that to everyone.” She lowers her voice and leans in closer even covers the side of her mouth. “I didn’t tell Nicole we could be sisters and they are getting married.”

Lexi leans in to Claude. “Thank you for the compliment I hope we get the chance to be sisters too and that Henri wins. Also have you been clubbing behind my back with Nicole?”

Claude lets out a little laugh “Never your the only woman in this palace that enjoys sex and clubs as much as I do.”

They turn back to the tennis match and Henri scores a point Lexi cheers and Charles side eyes her she stops. Charles scores and Nicole smiles and claps her hands. After a couple more rounds the game is tied 5-5. Henri serves the ball and Charles almost misses it but hits it in the last second, Henri nearly missed the ball but hits it.

Claude is getting bored watching them play tennis. “Ok next point wins.”

“Don’t worry Henri you’ll find another woman you never had a problem finding one.”

“How does Nicole stand you at least my fiancé loves me.”

All everyone hears is Charles’ angry yell a racket hit the ground and him charging at his brother. All three ladies jump up from their seats and run over to the brothers who are now actually fighting each other well Charles is trying to strangle Henri who is trying to hold him back.

“Charles!” It takes Nicole and Claude to get Charles off Henri. Lexi checks him out and he picks up a tennis ball and weighs it in his hand. “Henri no don’t add injury to insult, he is still the king and your brother.”

“He will never let us marry more over he wants us to break up.”

Lexi swallows and pulls her hand away from his hand with the tennis ball. She turns around so she doesn’t have to see he throws the ball and it hits Charles straight in the nose he cries out because his nose is broken.

“Henri!” Claude looks back at Henri who says “Looks like I won brother.” She then looks back at Charles who is holding his bleeding nose and shooing Nicole’s hands away from his broken nose.

Claude notices Charles getting ready to pounce on Henri again. “Lexi get Henri out of here.”

“Come on Charles we need to get your nose looked at.”

As Charles passes Henri if looks could kill Henri would be dead ten times over.

Xxx

Lexi gets Henri back to their suite she closes the door and leans against it while he sits in on the chaise in front of the fire place there are boxes of her stuff all over the big bedroom. “Your mother said don’t irritate him you promised. And now you broke his nose. He is going to hate us.”

Henri puts out a hand and she walks over and places her hand in his he guides her to sit on his lap. “I know I promised but he called you a peasant and said that I’ll have no problem finding another woman.”

She lays her head on his shoulder and kisses his neck. “Dinner is going to be real fun.”

He nods as he moves his hand up her back.

Xxx

Just as Lexi predicted dinner was awkward Catherine sat at one end and Charles who had to get his nose reset so it can heal properly. Is sitting at the other end. Henri decides that the best place for him to sit is right next to Charles and across from Nicole with Lexi next to him and across from Claude and Leith.

“Henri don’t you have something you want to say to Charles.”

“Your right I do.” Lexi and Claude share a look they know this will not end well. “Charles I’m sorry, I’m sorry for breaking your nose. The soup we are eating tonight is supposed to help keep people strong. More importantly I am sorry people pity you and think your a weak king.”

Lexi rubs her forehead so close. Charles yells out in anger pins Henri on the table soup is spilt and he is choking his brother. Lexi, and Claude are trying to get Charles off Henri. Catherine stands up from her end of the table and looks at the mess her children have made. “Enough!”

[theawkwardterrier]

8+25 for a Steggy drabble

Amicus Curiae

Summary: Spending her Sunday watching high school students argue the same fake case is starting to seem like something Judge Carter might regret, until the Brooklyn Community High School team shows up. Or rather, until their teacher does...

Peggy is perfectly aware why she had volunteered for this. She knows why she should be proud and excited to be here, can mentally list through all the positives, the importance of it.

By her fourth session of the day, she has given up reminding herself of these things and is just hanging on.

It isn’t that the students are terrible - many of them are actually quite good. It’s only that listening to the same case being argued repeatedly over the course of several hours has the tendency to put a bit of strain on a person.

Perhaps it is especially grating because she had specifically only signed up to work for the morning today; she was planning on indulging in some actual relaxation over this weekend, or at least a bit of it after she had finished giving the keynote at the Women and Law conference on Saturday and spending Sunday volunteering, then finishing up on some work, and so long as her neighbors’ newborn actually took a break from indulging in a seeming undying passion for crying….

Well, not being around to listen to that was one blessing of having been begged by the very harassed tournament organizer to stay for a bit of extra time when Thompson had begun vomiting after lunch and needed to go home (Peggy can’t say she’s sorry about it, and she suspects that students will appreciate not having to put up with his tendency to pontificate).

Still, it’s hard to remember all the benefits, the meaningful logic, when the next set of teams has settled into her courtroom and she has to push back her shoulders and enter for yet another round.

“Just one more to get through. I’ll text the café and put in an order for your usual,” Rose mutters out of the corner of her mouth as Peggy passes, then raises her voice to announce, “All rise, the superior court of New York is now in session. Judge Margaret Carter presiding.”

Peggy scans the crowd absently as she gives her now-standard introductory speech. There are Zola and Schmidt, who have served as faculty coach and legal advisor for Hydra High over the past several years. She doesn’t envy the students on their team; the two might have a fairly steady winning record, but their personalities are miserable and they have a reputation for being harsh leaders.

Her gaze shifts to the other side. She’s never even heard of Brooklyn Community, guesses that they have never made out of preliminary rounds before. They are serving as the prosecution, with two young women and a young man as their attorneys. The three have their hands folded atop the table, listening to her attentively, but as she wraps up, she notices them sneaking glances toward their chaperones.

She is almost certain that they aren’t looking for reassurance from the lawyer accompanying them. She knows Howard Stark, although then again everyone does. He hasn’t argued before her, but he takes high profile cases and makes them even higher profile. If he wasn’t actually a talented and thorough attorney, she would dislike him quite a lot for how well he plays the media game, turning the law and people’s lives into sound bites and cable news clips. It’s a surprise to see him here - she would not have thought him the type to volunteer his time, especially not for something as small as a high school mock trial tournament - but no surprise at all to notice that he is glancing down at the phone in his lap, typing surreptitiously.

The thought of penalizing him for that crosses her mind, but before she can say anything, a tall student in the front row shifts and she can see whose eye the young prosecutors were trying to catch.

Their teacher is young, Peggy realizes as she directs Rose to read the name of the court case on the docket (which she already knows extremely bloody well by now). Not as young as some of the bright-eyed-bushy-tailed types she’s seen, but she’d wager that he’s in his thirties, perhaps a year or two older than she is. The smile he directs toward his students is not a flashy, movie star sort of thing but more solid than that, real and reassuring, and he meets the eyes of his charges and nods with firm encouragement toward them before sitting back to watch.

Incidentally, he is also incredibly good looking.

Peggy honors her commitments, prides herself on that, in fact, and so she takes as much care in overseeing this trial as she does with those which come before her in a more official capacity. Still, between watching the excellent prosecutorial team and noting some of the more interesting choices being made by a few of the witnesses, she manages to keep an eye on the teacher - Steve Rogers, according to the file she had glanced at.

He watches the trial carefully, making notes as he does, but it isn’t like Zola, who only jots things down when his team has made a misstep. Mr. Rogers seems as likely to mark things done right as those which could be done better. He nods along with his students, smiling especially widely at several points; Peggy would venture that those were things that they worked on particularly hard in practice. And every so often he turns to look at her before turning swiftly back toward his students. 

It’s the way his eyes widen and shift quickly away which makes Peggy suspect that his gaze isn’t entirely to do with analyzing how she is perceiving his team.

He keeps his eyes on hers, however, when she returns from her brief recess and announces that his team will be advancing to the next round. It’s only for that moment, though. The next he is turning to congratulate his team, who have all swarmed around him, patting their shoulders and speaking quietly to them, turning to shake Howard Stark’s hand.

With one last glance at Schmidt, whose face has turned sour with rage, and Zola, who is trying to calm him even as he shakes his head at the team, Peggy allows Rose to announce her exit, and goes to absorb the quiet of her chambers. As nice a distraction as Steve Rogers was, she knew that it could not be for long.

Still, she’s a bit regretful when she, divested of her robe and carrying her briefcase, returns to the courtroom to take the stairs down to the back parking area and finds it empty.

Then she hears something.

“Gotcha,” a voice says, and Steve Rogers stands from between the benches of the gallery where the Hydra team had been sitting earlier, a crumpled paper cup in his hand. He spots her almost immediately, and she can see the awkwardness come over his face even with the courtroom lights dimmed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says. “Your Honor, I mean.”

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Rogers,” she says, walking nearer. “Have you forgotten something?”

He glances down at the cup he is holding and winces. “Oh, no. I—When we were in here before, I saw that there were a few things left behind. I figured I’d come back to clean up a little once I saw my team to the subway.”

“You don’t have to do that. Really.” They are at comfortable speaking distance now. “Tidying after other teams isn’t precisely within your job description.”

He shrugs, wide shoulders looking a little helpless. “I was here and I could take care of it. No reason that the custodial staff should have to deal with extra just because some people weren’t as respectful as they should have been.”

The response seems to make something warm and expansive trail through her chest, but she only says, “Hmm,” in return, tilting her head to one side. “Well, I should hope that you didn’t entrust the well-being of your students to Mr. Stark while you came back to take care of litter.”

“They’re city kids, they’ve been taking the subway by themselves for years. And if anything, I’d trust them to take care of Howard instead of the other way around,” he says. A smile touches at his mouth, and although she’s seen him smile many times over the course of the afternoon, it is different when it is directed at her. 

“Well, let us hope that it won’t come to that. I did wonder, actually, how you managed to convince Mr. Stark to participate. I only know him by reputation, but I wouldn’t think it his sort of activity.”

“I might not have thought so either, but I know that it never hurts to try, so I got in touch. Turns out that he got his start on a team back in high school too. He still has a soft spot.” He shrugs. “I was lucky to get him. My kids deserve the best.”

“I’m disappointed not to be asked then,” she says. His eyes widen a bit before he realizes that she’s teasing.

Still, he sounds truthful and serious as he tells her, “If you weren’t a judge, you would have been on my list. You got yourself on the bench even though you’re young, a woman, and if you’re a naturalized citizen you already have to be pretty self-directed and able to go through all that’s involved in that...I know that none of that would have made it easy. People with vision about their futures who were able to achieve their goals despite obstacles - that’s exactly who I want around my team.”

She shifts her briefcase a bit, knowing that she’s already eaten through most of the day and that the journey home will lose her even more time. But it feels so nice standing here talking to him, not just small talk, not just because of the compliments, but because it feels like the start of something. So instead she says, “I apologize, by the way. I haven’t congratulated you.”

“They did a great job,” he says, immediate, eager. “It’s our first year even offering Mock Trial and I wasn’t sure how well it would work out, but they’re doing themselves proud. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear about some of them making partner one day - or making their own way to the bench. Nat, who did the cross, she—” But he cuts himself off, blushing a little. “Sorry, I know I can get carried away, and you probably don’t want to hear it - you already spent the whole day knee deep in this, after all, and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to bias you somehow.”

There really isn’t a word for the pink in his cheeks other than fetching. Well, perhaps darling would do it.

Just earlier today, she would have said that her life was quite full enough, perhaps even overfull. But somehow, she thinks that a space could open for him, for speaking with him and seeing him and more, if she wanted it to. So she takes a breath and says, “I actually won’t be judging any further rounds this season, so there can’t be any sort of conflict of interest at all. Even if you were to, for example, join me for a bite to eat sometime soon.”

For a blink, she wonders if she might have misjudged, if she has mistaken politeness for something more, but then his mouth curves back into that smile which sends warmth running through her and which she is already beginning to like so well, especially when it is being aimed in her direction.

“I’m free tonight if you are,” he offers, something a bit worried still lying beneath the offer he has laid plainly at her feet. It makes her want to take his hand, to lean her head against his shoulder and promise that he has nothing to be nervous about.

Instead she says, all thought of taking off her heels and climbing into a hot bath forgotten, “If you’ve finished neatening things up around here, I know a place nearby.”

His smile gets just that bit wider. “Let me toss this out. Then you can lead the way.”

She’s happy to.

[maybankiara]

HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW? (for @ptersparkers writing challenge)

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: Rafe falls for you at the beach. He’s nothing like they say he is, and he just so happens to turn a new leaf with you.

word count: 2k

additional: this is pure fluff with soft!rafe. doesn’t entirely ignore the addiction and other issues, but doesn’t exactly address them, either.

masterlist | tag list

written for an anon

Rafe Cameron walks up to you at the beach, on a sunny day, with hair styled with a little too much gel, a pair of sunglasses on top of it, a curious smile on his lips, and a reputation that precedes him.

  He greets you with a simple ‘hello,’ and your mind gives you a brief summary of all the things you know about him.

  Being two years older than you, he was at your high school for half of your time there. Most of your friends drooled over his fancy car, polo shirts that screamed American money, and how his tongue was allegedly made of silk. He’s renowned for being a notorious party boy, a massive flirt, and someone who hasn’t faced any legal charges yet because of who his daddy is.

  Personally, you’ve never had any particular opinions on him, but considering he’s now standing mere three feet from you and waiting for a response, the situation is calling for it.

  You decide to smile. ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m sorry if this seems a little weird,’ he admits, ‘but I saw you from where I was standing with my friends and I had to come say hi.’

  This makes you chuckle, because his cheeks and his nose turn red, and he stumbles over his words. It’s nothing like the suave Rafe Cameron you’ve heard so much about.

  ‘Well, that’s certainly a way to get a girl’s attention.’ You give him a warm smile and extend your hand, which he takes. ‘Y/N.’

  ‘You have a really pretty name, Y/N.’ He repeats your name once more, as if testing the way it rolls in his mouth. ‘I’m Rafe.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m guessing my reputation precedes me.’

  ‘You’d guess correctly.’

  Rafe makes a grimace and sighs, shaking his head slightly. ‘And here I was thinking I’d make a great first impression.’

  You laugh because there's something so easy and unexpectedly relaxing about the boy in front of you. With his hands in his pockets, a crooked smile to his lips and a sheer layer of redness covering his face, he is nothing like you’d expect.

  So you shrug, leaning against the wooden fence with you arms crossed on your chest. ‘It’s not a bad first impression. I don’t really care about what I’ve heard.’

  An eyebrow shoots up. ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I’m not naive enough to think everything people say is the truth. I like seeing things for myself and then judging them.’

  ‘That’s a smart way to do things.’ He sounds impressed enough to bring an even bigger smile out of you.

  The conversation continues, somehow turning from small talk and introductions into a discussion about the importance of other people's opinions on one's own. It’s a pleasant surprise when you find Rafe as engaged as yourself, with a little wrinkle between his brows whenever he takes a pause to think, or the same crooked but curious grin when you tell him something he finds interesting.

  ‘Don’t your friends miss you?’ you ask, nudging your head in the direction of the two boys he pointed at earlier.

  Rafe glances over, before turning back to you. ‘Is that your way of telling me to leave?’

  ‘Kind of,’ you admit with an apologetic smile. ‘It’s getting late and I only planned on coming here for a few minutes, not almost an hour.’

  ‘Has it been that long already?’

  ‘You know how it goes, time flies when you're having fun.’

  He nods.

  You don’t know if he’s aware of how the opposite of subtle he is, but you’re as far from oblivious as he is from unnoticeable. His eyes glaze over you more than once, with the same curiosity that is in his smile when you speak. It’s a look you’ve seen on many boys’ faces. A mixture of attraction and interest, with a little bit of wonder and perplexity. is she worth my time? the look is asking. is she someone i am interested in?

  If this were all, you wouldn’t have looked at him twice, let alone held a conversation this long. The difference between the look you’re so familiar with and the one on Rafe’s face is that as the conversation goes on, whenever the corner of his mouth quips, the look becomes a little less wonder and a little more certainty.

  It’s this particular thing that lands him a ten-digit number in his contacts, and a promise of a continuation of the conversation. He walks with you until the end of the beach, which is where you leave for the town and he goes back to his friends. He leaves as he came – hands in the pockets of his shorts and a face with a red tinge to it. There is nothing smooth or Casanova-like to him, and it is that very fact that makes you realise that finally, after four years of hearing about him, you finally have an opinion on Rafe Cameron.

  And it is this: nothing you’ve ever heard about him is true.

  ★

The relationship between Rafe and you develops at a steady rate. True to his word, he calls you less than twenty-four hours after your conversation, and it’s one of the very few times you’re glad someone calls instead of texts. He has a nice, soothing voice, and he doesn’t drag out the conversation. It’s more of a confirmation that the promise he gave you was not empty.

  He asks you out after a few days of scarce conversation. He isn’t much of a texter, you notice, and he tells you it’s because conversations over message cannot even compare to those held in real life. You are almost certain that if you the two of you were closer, he’d call.

  It’s not a date. The two of you talk about everything, realising you’ve got some mutual friends. Just like the first time, talking to him is effortless. It makes your brain unwind in a was that is comfortable and soothing – you assume this has something to do with the softness in his eyes when he looks at you.

  Despite your expectations, the curious twitch in his smile doesn’t go away, weeks into hanging out. He’s lived a life different than yours and sometimes, it feels like he’s hearing of struggles of the middle of the chain for the first time. You’re not poor like the people from the Cut, but you’re not Figure Eight–rich, either.

  With time, Rafe starts walking closer, looking at you with the same gaze full of admiration, taking the eyelashes off your face instead of telling you it’s there. It’s the simplest touches, never crossing the line of just friends, even if threading on it.

  When he tries taking you to an expensive restaurant, you stay the night at his place and order takeout instead. His hair stops being gelled around you and you stop putting a lot of effort in the way you look when you come over. Hanging out turns into hanging out, as if there’s something more to it.

  Rafe kisses you on a Tuesday night. You’ve been waiting three months for this, ever since you caught his eye at the beach that sunny day. He’s gentle and reserved, giving you nothing more than a chaste peck.

  It progresses from there. One month down the line, you’re official, and nobody is surprised – even the people you’ve heard talk about him before as if he weren’t the one to be tied down. With you, he has been nothing but gentle and patient, taking things at whatever pace both of you felt comfortable with.

  There are times when you wonder what people think of you, all the same ones who had so many opinions about him that were little other than lies. Of course, you’re not a fool – you know there had to be some truth in them, too. You see it for yourself when Rafe shakes his head at parties to Topper and Kelce and you see them doing lines in the kitchen ten minutes later.

  Whatever Rafe was like before you met him, it doesn’t matter. In the time you’ve been with him, Rafe has started to feel more comfortable on a wider scale. His shoulders tense less when he's around his father, he is kinder to his sister, he doesn’t support his friends doing things that could bring harm to them or to others.

  It doesn’t matter what people say. You know your truth.

  ★

Rafe Cameron likes the beach, even when it’s autumn. He likes to wear tight turtleneck sweaters, usually in dark earth colours, and he likes to wear black skinny jeans, surprisingly. He likes the grey weather, when it’s cloudy and a little chilly, and the breeze pushes away the dry heat of the sun. He likes being cosy, playing rock songs and playing cards.

  This is the opinion you have on Rafe five months into knowing him. You look at the boy in front of you, shuffling playing cards while lying on his side, propped up on his elbow – you can’t picture this being the same person you spent so long only hearing about.

  He catches you looking and darts a card at you. ‘You better be thinking about how you’re going to treat me once I’ve won.’

  ‘It’s not fair,' you say. ‘You’ve been playing the game for far longer than I have.’

  ‘That’s life. It isn’t fair.’

  Rafe smiles and deals the cards. It’s yet another round you lose in a row, but it’s not just because of the lack of experience.

  He takes the cards and puts them away, lowering the volume on the speaker. ‘What’s bothering you?’

  You sit on the blanket with your legs crossed and his fingers playing with the bottom hem of your jeans. It’s cosy, with wind whistling as the background to the song currently playing.

 ‘It’s not bothering me,’ you say, ‘but I guess I’m wondering how someone like Rafe Cameron, the Casanova and Charlie Sheen of Outer Banks becomes the boy who wears turtleneck sweaters and skinny jeans.’

  Rafe laughs with ease evident on his face. He tugs on your jeans playfully, grinning wide. ‘Is that what you’re thinking about right now?’

  ‘You asked.’

  He turns on his back and props himself on his elbows, switching his gaze between the moving sea and you, sitting next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

  One of his hands goes back to your ankle. He traces the skin underneath the jean fabric with his thumb, while his eyes give you the same glint they’ve had in them since the moment you met.

  ‘I thought you didn’t care what others thought of me.’

  ‘I still don’t, but it’s not something that’s easy to forget,’ you confess.

  Rafe gives you one of the modest smiles, shy and tentative. It wrinkles the skin around his eyes and gives him the slightest dimple and lines around his jaw, but it’s all so soft you barely notice.

  It’s the smile you feel like belongs to you only. You wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

  ‘That day at the beach,’ he begins. ‘I saw you standing there, and something in me said that I needed to talk to you.’

  You laugh, because you think he’s joking, but his smile remains earnest and he waits until you stop. The hand that was on his ankle moves to your wrist, his touch just as gentle and soft.

  ‘Please don’t say it was love at first sight,’ you say, because you haven’t even said the words to one another.

  Rafe shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was just...’ He scratches the bridge of his nose, sighing lightly. ‘You know when you get that feeling in your chest like everything is possible?’

  You nod.

  ‘It was that.’

  ‘Rafe Cameron, you’re a hopeless romantic,’ you tell him. There’s a smile on your face, and you think about how he hasn’t actually answered your question, but you let him place a kiss on your lips nonetheless.

  He rests his forehead against yours. His fingers are right below your ear now, soft and gentle, like always. His breath is hot against your lips, and you think maybe that saying those three words isn’t going to happen far from this moment.

  He kisses you again, just like that first time, only now you feel him smile into it.

  ‘Not hopeless.’

  ★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul @kiarawilliams127 @butgilinsky

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achieve­ment since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melt­ing on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheeler­dealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stop­ping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company be­cause it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your rec­ords, write the songs, play all the in­struments, and do everything your­self, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bo­hemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleas­ed with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that di­rection is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by ex­perimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Af­ternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we de­cided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of try­ing to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Some­times I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimous­ly favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phe­nomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, ne­gates all the comparisons to Led Zep­pelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was wide­ly rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a light­hearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the Amer­ican tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie How­ells is the guy’s name, and he’s man­aged by David Mead, and they’re do­ing a single for Warners. I’m play­ing some guitar on it.” Brian re­strained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial prob­lem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be on­stage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen pre­sentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of re­shuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America be­fore. It’s quite a lot different, ac­tually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presenta­tion on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot­ leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

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[drakeandkatherine]

Reunion- Ch 2: alstroemeria (Drake x MC TRRAU FanFic)

Hello! I am so excited to show you guys the second chapter to Reunion!

I’m sorry this took sooooooo long to upload. My personal life has been super hectic lately, and I haven’t had time to really write! 

(Drake, Liam, Hana, Maxwell and any other The Royal Romance characters belong to Pixelberry! Katherine Delacroix belongs to me!)

Series Overview: Reunion is a short series about Drake Walker and Katherine Delacroix, along with their friends, Maxwell, Hana and Liam. In this series, we see the gang at a high school reunion, five years after they’ve graduated. There will be flash backs, taking place up to nine years ago (the start of high school) up to when they graduate. You’ll get to see how the gang came together, and how they fell apart, only to come back together, and the main focus is how Drake and Katherine come back to each other after years apart.

All chapters of this series are named after flowers, with certain meanings. This chapter is named “alstroemeria”. It has meaning of friendship, love, strength and devotion. They're often thought to represent mutual support. And the ability to help each other through the trials and tribulations of life. This chapter, it flashes back to where the group of five became friends.

Word count: 1578

Warnings: adult language, mentions of death and drinking

Tags: @burnsoslow​ @drakewalker04​ @marshmallowsandfire​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

Katherine and Hana spent the rest of their first day back after five years in Cordornia preparing for the next night. They tried to plan out just how long they would stay and who they would talk too if those people showed up.

“Hana, are you really sure we should be there that long? I feel like two hours is more than enough time to say hi, have a drink and get the fuck out of there.” Katherine complained as she fished for her pajamas in her suitcase.

“We came all the way here for this reunion, we might as well stay longer than two hours; possibly even the whole time, Kat.” Hana said, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “Besides don’t you wanna see Olivia again?”

“I don’t really want to see much of anyone to be honest, Hana. I’d rather go get a couple drinks and maybe say hi to Olivia, if she even shows up and then I want to bounce.” The truth was, she did miss Olivia and all the fun nights the three had during junior and senior year, she just wasn't going to admit it.

Hana shook her head and continued to put away her clothes in the dresser that they shared in the room as Katherine changed into her pajamas. “Should we order room service?”

“I think a better question is, can we order alcohol?” Hannah laughed.

-

The next day as Katherine was preparing herself mentally, her mind wandered back to sophomore year of high school, the year that Hana and her became friends with a few others who soon had become the closest thing to family she had had in a long time. Family, she sadly remembered, that barely talked to her or Hana anymore.

8 years ago

Liam and Drake were two of the most popular boys at the high school. Both were star football players and in the winter, star basketball players. A lot of the girls tried their best to get the boys to notice them, but sadly none of their efforts worked. It wasn’t until one Saturday in detention that they met two other girls who would soon become their best friends, as well as another man who was known for his shenanigans.

“Alright, this is Saturday detention. All of you know why you are here. Your assignment for today is to write an 1000 word essay on how you recognize that your actions have consequences. I will be in my office which is just down the hall and I will come check on you periodically to make sure you are writing quietly. Once the bell rings at 3 o’clock, you’ll be dismissed and can go home for the day.” Dean Constantine told the teenagers, a strict tone in his voice.

All of the students rolled their eyes but complied nonetheless. After about an hour of trying to focus on anything other than the assignment, a tall boy with sandy brown hair finally spoke, breaking the silence that hung in the room.

“All right, I’m kind of over the silence. Not sure if anyone else is, but hey guys, I’m Maxwell. I’m in here because I made a stink bomb in science class and the teachers weren’t so happy about it and neither were the other students.” He smiled triumphantly as if he was proud.

“That was you? I’ll never be able to get that smell out of my nose. Good job.” Katherine smiled. “I’m Katherine and I’m here because Hana,” she paused and pointed to Hana who sat next to her. “and I decided to go off campus for lunch and they found out and caught us when we were coming back.” She looked at the two boys sitting side-by-side a few rows behind them in the classroom. “What about you two?”

“Someone on the junior varsity team was giving me some lip, so, I punched him in the lip.” The darker haired boy said, holding up his hand to show the bruises on his knuckles. Katherine eyed him, wondering how strong he was.

“I got in trouble because I tried to break up the fight but the coach thought I had helped start it, so thanks to this one I am in yet another Saturday detention.” He playfully shoved his friend.

“Oh please, Liam. You would’ve been here regardless just because your dad makes you come here.” Drake laughed.

“Who’s your dad?” Hana asked.

“Well as Drake so helpfully mentioned, my dad would put me in Saturday detention regardless because it’s his way of keeping an eye on me. My father is the dean of the school, Dean Constantine.” Liam said, a somber look on his face.

“No shit, are you serious?!” Katherine asked, her eyes wide.

“Sadly.” Liam replied, expression flat.

“So what you’re saying is that you can leave whenever you want because you’re just gonna be here next Saturday anyway? Why are you here then?”

“Let’s just say it would be hell at home if I ditched.” Liam grimaced.

“And what would he do to us if we just got up and left?” Katherine asked, Hana giggling next to her.

“He probably would just give you guys another Saturday detention to be honest. Most of the students here never do anything that would require suspension or expulsion.” Drake explained.

“I think it would be wise if you guys just got through this day and not provoke the beast.” Maxwell chimed in, not wanting to get into any more trouble, as he was in Saturday detention almost as often as Liam.

“Really? Because I say that when it gets to lunch time we all sneak out, get past him and then ditch this place and go to the beach or something.”

“Katherine as much as I love that idea I really don’t wanna have another Saturday detention. My parents would literally kill me.” Hannah said with a frown on her face.

Katherine didn’t much care what happened to her but she did care what happened to her best friend, so, even though it frustrated her and as much as she wanted to leave this hellhole, she nodded, agreeing, before saying “You’re right, Hana, we should probably just stick it out and then go back to my house.” She looked at the three men surrounding them. “I know we just all met each other but you guys are welcome to come with us to my house afterwards. My grandma is a nurse and she works mostly night shifts so she’ll be gone, meaning we can raid the liquor cabinet.” Last year, Katherine would have never asked this to anyone besides Hana. Becoming friends with Hana had made her enjoy life again, made her want to make friends again.

“You drink?” Liam asked, sincerely.

“Usually Hana and I will sneak a couple drinks sometimes but we don’t usually drink.”

“Well if your grandma has some whiskey, I’d be down.” Drake said. “My old man, before he passed, would drink whiskey all the time. Sometimes he would let me have a little sip. I always told myself once I was old enough I have glass in his honor.”

Katherine’s felt tugs on her heart strings. She felt for Drake since, she too, knew the pain of losing a parent. The difference is that she lost both of hers. Though she didn’t really know him so she didn’t know if his mom was still in the picture.

“All I know is is that I don’t want to deal with my brother when I get home so I'm gonna go where you go, Katherine.” Maxwell said, saluting her as if she was the group’s leader.

“And then there was one.” Katherine smiled at Liam.

“Well I have nothing better to do and it’s better than going home to my dad who's always in a bad mood, so, sure I’m down.” Liam smiled softly, a hint of sadness showing before he quickly looked away, hiding his emotions.

“All right, it’s settled then. After we get out of here we will follow Katherine back to her place and we’ll have a good time.” Hans said, clapping in her hands in excitement.

As soon as 3 o’clock came around and the bell dismissed them, Katherine took off running as soon as she was out the door, the rest running close behind her. ”Come on guys, what are you? A bunch of snails?” Katherine laughed as she ran on ahead.

Drake and Liam quickly caught up to her. “You wish we were snails. Not our problem you decided to choose a race between two star football players.” Drake smirked. Maxwell caught up to them a minute later saying “And I’m on the track team!”

Katherine slowed down matching Hana’s pace, chuckling. “Jokes on them, they don’t know where I live.” The girls laughed when the men came to a stop, wondering where they were going. Katherine then proceeded to show them the rest of the way to the house and instead of running they walked.

Present

“Hey, Kat, are you okay?” Hana’s voice snapped Katherine out of her memories. She turned her head and looked at her best friend in the entire world, who had a worried look on her face.

“I’m just having a little anxiety about tonight. What am I going to say to him if he shows up?” Katherine said, panic showing on her face. If he showed up, she didn’t know what she would do. Katherine wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the reality of what happened to them.

“I think you’ll know when the time comes. I can’t tell you what to say, it wouldn’t be authentic.” Hana gave her a small smile. “Now come on, it’s time to put on your make up and get dressed!” Katherine threw a pillow at her, making both of them laugh.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” She said, rising from the bed and walking to the bathroom to start her make-up. Katherine wasn’t sure how tonight would go, but she couldn’t run anymore. She had to finally face him.