#whatever the hell this is for the tenth time this week (it’s tuesday) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junhuiste · 4 years ago

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twice twice baby (preview)

pairing: jake x gn reader x sunghoon

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, slight angst, college!au, hockey player!jake, ice skater!sunghoon, sports med assistant!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, cursing, slightly suggestive scenes

a/n: this is just a preview of the bigger piece i plan to publish much later, so it pretty much only has jake, sorry hoonists! also gonna address it here while we’re at it, but i wanna apologize to everyone who sent requests in! i have them all plotted, most drafted and written, but i didn’t realize when i moved back home how busy i would be with work, summer classes, and looking for an apartment! i will have them published before the end of summer though! this piece is coming out before only because i wrote it well before finals week lol

taglist: please let me know if you wanna be part of the taglist!

Being in a parallelogram (or was it a dodecagon? A triangle? whatever) with the two notorious ‘Ice Hotties’ at your college, Jake Sim, the captain of the hockey team, and Park Sunghoon, the world class figure skater, is easy. Geometry isn’t that complicated...right?

As you entered into the arena, a cold blast of air struck, prompting you to jump slightly in your tracks, cursing that it was men’s hockey season and not basketball anymore. Albeit arms shivering, knees wobbling, and barely being able to make any strides at all, you weren’t distraught and to some extent trembling because of the ice rink or the ice packs inside the pouch seemingly glued to your waist, or hell, even the unnecessary air conditioner giving its all. Really, did they need to keep that fucking thing on when it was already polar-arctic-adjacent inside the arena? Probably to keep the rink from oozing into water and having Atlantis actually come to fruition...whatever, fuck the cold!

“Y/N, let’s get on it. We’re a bit late.” The head athletic trainer indicated, speed-walking a little too quickly for your liking, but what were you to do when your chest was heaving upon arrival at the ice center? Suck it up? Collapse and crawl into a ball?

Nodding, even though she was practically scurrying and leaving your curtailing ass in the dust, you heightened your pace despite the fact that your legs were about to give out at any second. Weren’t cold spaces supposed to make a solid more rigid, not turn your legs to jelly?

The both of you finally reached the area where the players were situated to greet the head and assistant hockey coaches.

“This is Y/N,” your trainer (whom insisted you just skip the formalities and call her Mina) motioned to you, slightly yet noticeably panting, “a first year, but they’ve done men’s basketball, women’s soccer and some gymnastics last semester. They know their stuff!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” The head coach reaches out to grip your hand firmly.

“Pleasure to meet y—“ once more today you jump, this time not shaken by the frozen tundra or by the vehemently boisterous buzzer, though it was much more thundering than the buzzer at the basketball court for some reason, but by the announcers cheering, “first year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim!”

And the crowd? They didn’t just go wild, no, they were literally cacophonous, the ground beneath and the arena stands rumbling, practically rivaling the San Andreas fault. Craning your neck to look around the oval shaped space and just how many students from your school, clad in university regalia, were present to see guys battle it out with plastic sticks on frozen water, even that, the entire scene wasn’t what had your heart nearly palpitating out of your chest.

First year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim. Now that was enough to warrant a blood pressure monitor...and possibly a defibrillator.

Almost giving yourself whiplash from turning around too quickly, it was hard not to gape at the boy coasting across the ice, waving at the all too excited crowd. And even through his helmet and from across the rink, you could make out his dark, glimmering irises, like how the sun’s edges would peak through from behind during an eclipse. It was kind of charmingly sickening actually, that someone could be as radiant as he was, under all the bulky gear, even despite the temperature. It wasn’t convenient actually that it had to be men’s hockey this time, that you, as the athletic trainer’s sports medicine intern had to attend the games for. Yeah, it was for credits. Sure, it was for intern experience...but what was the point if you only expected to make a fool out of yourself trying to tend to Jake and his teammates’ possible injuries?  It wasn’t fair, actually, that you were hopelessly in like with Jake Sim and that he didn’t even know your name when you were in the same physics class. To be fair though, it was a class of about 400, an infamous weeder course that crushed the poor souls of innocent underclassmen, so to have him direct any sort of attention your way, even a mere glimpse, would be laughable. That was what happened when you sat in the back, though.

Of course it just had to be Jake Sim that completely bewitched you, and he didn’t have to twirl any fingers or fixate any potions to have you just so damn spellbound. All he had to do was show up to freshman orientation with that stupid inviting grin of his, and that dumb glint in his eye that no one else seemed to possess. No, of course he just had to show up and be almost too cordial to everyone in your orientation group, even though all the other students, including you, could not give a single damn about the campus tour. And yes, of course, he just had to have the masses absolutely enamored with him, both upper and underclassmen alike.

Consider all of that, with Jake’s insane schedule, not that you knew anything specific, just that he had games on Tuesdays and Thursdays, coupled with daily practices, but you were only privy to that information because Mina always gave you the athletic teams’ agendas for the month. So yes, trying to garner any attention from Jake was like floating right smack in the middle of the Pacific, sending some sort of signal through a marine radio, and getting no response back. Not a hint that anyone was coming. No helicopters whirring above, no boats sent out ashore. What would he want to do with the first-aid kid, the person that sat in the back, the person that was paying attention to something else at the moment, and not the fact that they had to observe players carefully for potential injuries?

Well, sorry to Jake’s teammates and Mina, but you just couldn’t pry your eyes off of number three. How he skated in such an agile manner while simultaneously defending assertively was certainly an image now seared into your mind. The way he commanded the court was just so—“You paying attention? Are you okay today?” Mina snapped you out of your nonsensical trance.

“Yeah, yeah of course! Always on my toes like you said...” your eyes told a different story, and deceived you at that.

“And there’s number three, Sim, with the first goal!”

Jake skated backwards to high five his teammates and to prepare to defend, and it was definitely a sight to see him so animated, feeling right where he should be in his domain.

“Ah, I see. Number three is it? I heard he’s a beast on the ice,” Mina nudged and winked slyly at you, “anyway, pay attention ‘cause if your little ice boy gets hurt you know we gotta move quickly.”

It was already enough to have your friends taunt you about your silly adolescent infatuation with Jake, now to have your mentor in on it too? Mina was right though, you were here to wrap ankles and tend to bruised hips, not ogle at the team captain.

“Gotcha. On my toes!” you winked back at her, semi-ready to do your job. If you could predict injuries before they even happened during the basketball and soccer games you should be more than capable of caring for the hockey players. Whipping your head around to finally and legitimately focus on the members, you really wished you hadn’t.

There he was, number three, adept and dodging the defensive players, with the puck sliding in tandem with his stick. Then, it happened all too quickly, in a tenth of a second, too much for everyone spectating to comprehend.

BAM.

Suddenly, Jake was on his back after he and the opposing player too combatively collided into each other. You blinked once and now he was supine on ice, clutching a leg to his chest. His teammates and the referees hastily surrounded him, but you could not watch anymore, you had to do what you were here for.

Running past both the coaches, lamenting what the hells and go go go! at Mina, you dashed to the edge of the rink, about to enter and slip on the ice, but stopped yourself, because you didn’t have skates on. Fuck. Mina and you always ran to the scene of the injury, and you’d only dealt with hardwood floors and grass fields, but never ice. There was no reason for you to just stand around though, as Jake was being lifted by the referees. As much as you wanted to glue your eyes to the catastrophe, you sprinted to the locker room to fetch the cooler.

“Everyone, move!” You shouted at the towering players standing in your way. Setting the cooler on the floor, you directed some of them to assemble a few of the chairs they were sitting on for a makeshift cot for Jake to rest his leg on. Nervously yet rapidly, you dug into your backpack for a splint, pre-wrap, and medical tape.

When you stood back up, Jake and the referees were at the rink’s entrance, with Mina extending her arms to steady him once he transitioned from ice to linoleum. And through all this he maintained the same tender-hearted curve on his face, beaming at Mina and thanking the referees.

One of Jake’s coaches and Mina propped Jake around their shoulders as he hopped on one foot to your nearby station. Assisting them in getting Jake to sit down, you were shaking slightly out of feverishness and hormones, even though it was the perfect temperature for snowfall, but forming a resistance to doing that was almost impossible.

Christ, you weren’t like this when Taehyun tore his ligament last semester at the basketball semi-finals, or when Yuna sprained her toe out on the field, yet it was due to that certain someone that you just could not find it within you to operate as you usually did. It was imperative that you got out of your own head; Jake was merely another athlete you had to tend to and someone you, quite frankly, had to get over, like now.

Once Jake was seated with his right leg propped up on the opposite chair, he took his helmet off and handed it to his coach standing guard next to him.

“Mina, you guys got this?” The coach hesitantly asked your trainer.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about, Coach Kim! We’ve seen worse than this; we’re good, right Y/N?”

You gave Coach Kim a measly thumbs up and he rushed to get back to the rest of the team to continue with the game, deliberating who would substitute in now that their best player was on the sidelines.

While Mina undid Jake’s skates and kneepads, you assessed him before you could get started, asking him what kind of pain he had in his leg, how much it hurt on a scale of 1-10, and if he could wiggle his toes.

Sharp and kind of aching, I think. 8.5-ish, actually maybe just 8. Toes wiggling.

“Um, okay. Good that your toes are still intact, which means you’re gonna be okay, but is there any other part of your body that hurts?” You tried not to sound like a complete buffoon, trying to enunciate your words properly like you did with several other injured athletes; Jake shouldn’t have been any different. He was, though.

“Yeah, I feel like there’s a bruise on the right side of my body somewhere,” he said, motioning to his abdomen.

“Okay...I’m gonna take your shoulder pads off and you have to take your jersey off so we can ice it, is that cool with you?” Your brain was bouncing off the walls at the mention of “take” and “off”. Come on, this wasn’t fucking NASA, although it might as well have been, as he was a universe and a half to you (in a melodramatic way of sorts).

“Yeah, yeah—for sure. Thanks.” Jake flashed an acknowledging smile, to which your cheeks heated up at. There was an injured boy in front of you—no time for shits and giggles and teenage elation.

As you aided Jake in removing his shoulder pads and jersey, he winced a bit, while trying to hide it at the same time.   “Are you good? I’ll get some ice on that soon, I promise.” You gradually eased into your ‘medic’ mode, trying to expel as much of your nerves as humanly possible.

“Yeah I’m okay, just hurts a bit. Thanks again,” he could not stop giving you that demure yet brazen demeanor, and to be around a smiling Jake meant a tense you, regardless if your subconscious plan to initiate Nerves Exodus was kind of working.

When Mina stood up, all finished with undoing his skates and knee pads, she asked Jake to repeat what he stated about his pain earlier to you back to her. Before walking to where the coaches and other players were, she chaffed at you, with a mischievous lilt to her words, “you can handle it from here right? The star player’s in your hands.”

Audibly, you ‘mhmmed’ her, and when you were out of Jake’s sight, rolled your eyes, making sure she noticed that. You were glad though, that Mina was your trainer and not some old, stern fart like she had when she interned in your same position; it made for much more “effective” mentoring and communication, especially because she left you alone with the athletes, so you were able to think of what to do next for yourself, and if there were ever any mistakes—which there were none of to date—she would help you work through them.

Holy shit, Mina left. It was just you and Jake.

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen imagine #jake imagines #sunghoon imagines #jake scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon #jake

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 6 years ago

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Anniversaire (Klaus x Reader)

Anniversaire (noun; French) /a.ni.vɛʁ.sɛʁ/

Someone’s date of birth. (ex: Happy birthday!)

A date that celebrates a meaningful event. (ex: It was their tenth anniversary.)

Synopsis: Post TUA No Apocalypse!AU in which Y/N is Klaus’ childhood best friend. Even when he lived far away from the Academy, he always took time out of his doubtlessly busy schedule to celebrate her birthday. It’s their tradition.

Word count: 11,3k (May I suggest you settle somewhere comfortable?)

A/N: As always, there’s some slight physical description for the third person reader, because it was written with an OC in mind. Either ignore or enjoy.

MASTERLIST

“My birthday party,” she grumbled and reaffirmed her grip on his arm. “Birthday, my ass! This rather looks like your party,” she accused a very much inebriated Klaus slouched against her.

She wasn't frail but Klaus was tall and not exactly a lightweight either. The walk was a slow and tedious one for (Y/N), who had to drag along her friend's heavy, useless carcass out the back door of a clandestine underground club. Trust Klaus to know the existence of this place.

Klaus' half conscious mind tried to force his feet to move and help (Y/N) in her endeavor, but they weren't very synchronized, if at all, with her steps. He mumbled something against her shoulder and (Y/N) acknowledged him with a hum but did not answer. What was there to answer to an incoherent mumble anyway?

He could feel the alcohol course in his veins and still felt hot all over from the stifling, humid air of the club where he had dragged his best friend for her birthday. After twenty-two years of knowing each other, he was starting to run short of ideas. It was easier making shenanigans when they were kids, they could get away with a lot more than now. Hell, he was lucky (Y/N) was always up for whatever foolish, crazy plans he came up with; she never shot him down for being too childish or silly.

He suspected she sometimes only agreed to make him happy; Klaus didn't have a lot of people in his life who put his happiness before their own, especially on their birthday. His (Y/N) was something else.

(Y/N) wasn't really into big celebrations but they usually did something with just the two of them. Stuffed their faces with Agnes' donuts, booby-trapped Diego's entire bedroom, tried to sneak into the sacra-saint office of his now dead father, or – now that they were adults - just sat at a bar and pretended nothing else existed for one evening. Not his powers, not other people around them, not all of this constant noise.

They had met in rather unusual circumstances as children, and were quite inseparable since then. Klaus, of course, did not stay at the mansion much longer than he needed to, especially not with his abusive father looming over his shoulder all the time. (Y/N) did not enjoy watching him turn to drugs to drown out the white noise and to escape his reality, nor did she like hearing he had skipped town from one day to the next.

She would have liked a goodbye.

But he always came back and that's all that mattered. Of course there were the occasional surprise visits whenever he was close-by and felt like saying hell, but more importantly, he came back for a very specific occasion. For her birthday, every year for the last ten years, he had shown up at her doorstep bright and early, somewhat sober, and told her to get ready, chop-chop, because he had planned the whole day for them. It usually turned into a long week-end - whether or not her birthday was on a week day did not matter at all to him - and (Y/N) learned to take sick leave for a couple days after the first two years.

How long would it take for her boss to figure out that she was “sick” every year at the same date? Time will tell.

This year's celebrating wasn't particularly inspired as he had only meant to bring her to a club and dance the night away. At the beginning, she had indulged him, because his father's death anniversary – and the family reunion that goes with it - had taken place only a week before and he had struggled to push through without turning back to drugs, so his mind must have been elsewhere. However, (Y/N) could not keep up with his drinking, and she soon realized she might have to be the one who stuck to water in order to make sure the other one would go home safely.

There was no doubt in her mind that Klaus had been in worse predicaments than simply being drunk at a club and unable to go home – she knew for a fact that he had slept in back alleys before and wasn't afraid to do it again. During Sir Reginald Hargreeves' lifetime, any place was better than the damn academy. Then again, (Y/N) wasn't as adventurous as Klaus, and a soft mattress was a must to end the night.

When she reached the corner of the street, (Y/N) was sweaty and felt damp all over. They both smelled like the bottom of a tequila bottle, but she hoped someone would still let them climb into their car. She hailed a cab, with Klaus still leaning on her like the passed out idiot he was, and the man in the driver's seat shot them a nasty look, but she smiled kindly and he reluctantly nodded.

Thank the fuck. She wouldn't have been able to haul his ass all the way back to the academy and she did not want to try sleeping in a trashcan. The ride was silent except for Klaus' barely audible mumbling in her ear and snuggling against her like she was his favorite pillow.

“Happy 28th birthday to me,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes when he began to snore loudly, his hair tickling her cheek.

Ben sat riding shotgun, smiling to himself while he watched them in the rear view mirror. She couldn't see or hear him, though she was aware of him following Klaus around pretty much all the time.

“Happy birthday (Y/N),” he said, and disappeared. He wasn't needed tonight, Klaus was taken care of.

Why was that house so damn big? There had only been the ten of them who lived here, so what were all 42 bedrooms for? Why did she have to drag Klaus' limp body through an unnecessarily big house? And why on earth was his room all the way to the back? He was just lucky she could navigate through the many corridors and didn't get lost thrice before finally seeing the door to his bedroom.

“You are so damn heavy, you know that?” she asked him, if only to make conversation for herself.

Unexpectedly, he answered, “Hey! I can hear you! 'm not fat.”

“Must be the weight of your idiocy then.” She shook her head and kicked open the door, nearly losing balance and falling over, Klaus and all. She could have blamed it on her short stature, but elected to blame Klaus' tall figure instead. “And for heaven's sake stop leaning on me you jerk, or I'll drop you right there.”

He did somewhat relieve her of some of his weight but she was still navigating them both through the mess on his floor. Why did he have to live in this garbage?

“I don't feel so well,” he admitted, his head hanging on her shoulder.

“That's what you get for charming almost everyone in this club into buying you a drink,” she huffed with a laugh.

She couldn't remember how the topic first came up but she bet Klaus that he wouldn't be able to seduce a really hot girl into paying for his drink. He wasn't one to back out of a challenge, especially if a free drink was on the line, and he did get the drink, much to (Y/N)'s bafflement. He didn't stop there though, and serial-flirted with every single soul who dared come near him until he was too drunk to even dance anymore.

So this was really all his fault if you thought about it, because (Y/N) only challenged him to win one free drink, not ten.

“But I feel really awful,” he insisted, nudging her a little to make her pay attention.

“I bet you do. Also, eww, your breath smell like death, man!” She scrunched up her nose and waved her hand before her face to dissipate the smell. “We can't put you to bed like this. Bathroom first.”

“Why is the room moving?” Klaus slurred out the question just when (Y/N) opened the door to the bathroom across from his room.

Hadn't she carried him around for a lifetime already? That was that for her weekly exercise, no need to go to the gym this Tuesday. The bathroom was cold and dark. She was always taken aback by how uninviting this manor was. It was so richly ornate, so vast and in-your-face that one would think the rooms where at least heated correctly. But a shiver ran down her spine when she took the last few steps towards the single chair sitting next to the tub.

(Y/N) dropped Klaus on it, then she stretched her back with a delighted groan when her joints cracked a little. Ah yes, she could finally stand upright. When she lifted her arms to stretch, she realized that she didn't smell like roses either, but this was due to carrying Klaus around, she was sweating now.

A quick shower would do her good once she had taken care of her sleepy best friend. He was very pale in the face and rocking between sleepiness and exhilaration. Kneeling down, (Y/N) placed her hands on Klaus' knees and shook him a little to gain his attention. She did not expect what she got instead.

Klaus toppled over and before she could process what he was doing, she felt a distinguishable warm, sticky substance spill on her thighs.

“Fuck! Klaus!” she shrieked, forgetting about anyone else being in a nearby room, asleep. “What the hell?!”

After all she had done for him tonight, he just barfed on her jeans? And the stench... She was going to be sick too. She quickly grabbed a towel and wiped most of it off before discarding said towel. They had enough bathrooms anyway, one missing towel wouldn't be the end of them.

“'orry, s'rry,” Klaus was muttering, barely audible over the sound of (Y/N) fuming and cursing tequila.

She wiped him clean as best she could; her jeans would have to wait until she was done with him, even though it disgusted her. The stench was plain unbearable. Klaus regained some colors, which was the only plus side to this debacle.

“We'll see how sorry you are tomorrow morning,” she snapped, throwing a towel to his face – albeit a clean one, she wasn't like that. “I wish you a hangover!”

“You don't mean it,” he laughed a silly kind of laugh. His upper body was slowly leaning towards the left until (Y/N) stopped him from falling over and sat him upright again.

“C'mon now,” she sighed and took the towel from his hands. “Let's get you cleaned up and call it a day. You know, we're getting too old to party like that. I don't know how you keep up with this lifestyle.”

“I don't,” he blurted out, staring straight at her, sounding more sober than she had ever heard him. “But tonight's your birthday,” he added quickly, breaking into a sloppy grin again, making (Y/N) wonder if she was staring to mishear things because of how exhausted she was.

“Yesterday, actually. It's well past three in the morning.” He seemed to have fallen back into a half slumber, so she added, “Clothes off now!”

He didn't need more convincing than that and allowed her to remove his jacket and shoes, tossing them in a corner. Then she handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth. This required a little effort from him and he swallowed some wrong and ended up coughing for a solid minute.

“Nearly there, now be a dear and use this mouthwash, because you reek or liquor and puke,” (Y/N) said teasingly, though Klaus was too far gone to notice her playful tone.

He obeyed and when she was satisfied he wasn't too smelly anymore, she nodded to herself.

“Shirt off,” she ordered, holding out her hand. The task was a tedious one but Klaus finally handed the sweaty shirt over and she tossed in the same corner as the rest of his clothes. “Now the pants, and then I'll let you sleep.”

Part of her was glad he was too fucked up to see the blush on her face when she said that. It really shouldn't be there, they had been friends forever and there was nothing she hadn't seen already. But removing lace-up leather pants was an entirely different ordeal than taking off a t-shirt, and Klaus groaned in protest.

“Don't be a baby, Klaus! I wanna go to bed too!” He wouldn't do as she said, so she made him stand up. “I can't believe I'm doing this!” she grumbled to herself, counting on the fact that Klaus wouldn't remember anything that happened tonight once morning came round.

Otherwise, God forbids she ever did what she was doing right now. Her hands fumbled awkwardly with the front laces of his pants and she had to admit it was quite the task. No wonder Klaus didn't want to do it, even she struggled to open them.

“Mmmhm,” Klaus let out a sort of giggle, sort of sigh. “What are you doing, (Y/N)?” His voice shouldn't have been so deep, it made what he said sound sexual.

What was she doing, indeed? Fuck that! He would just have to sleep in his dumb leather pants! She gave up on the task and left his pants half open at the front, raising both hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

“Nothing!” she told him, running a hand through her hair. “Let's get you to bed.”

The short distance between the bathroom and his bed was much more easily covered than their walk here. Klaus fell heavily on the bed, face first, and crashed into his swarm of pillows. Would he be able to breathe like this? (Y/N) briefly wondered. Well, he survived up to his thirtieth birthday without her checking if he wouldn't stifle in his sleep. She shrugged and returned to the bathroom to take a rapid shower. She had deserved it.

Once clean and smelling like Klaus' coconut soap, she hopped out and dried herself. No way she was going to slip into her disgusting clothes again! Her jeans were done for, she would have to burn them. She put her underwear back on and made her way to Klaus' room wrapped in a towel, then she searched through a drawer until she found a shirt that looked clean. This would do.

And finally, blissfully, (Y/N) went to bed too. She pushed Klaus over to make room, and slipped under the covers, passing out almost instantly.

Klaus was the first to wake up, and he was extremely confused by everything he saw. First of all, he tried to remember what happened last night. It was (Y/N)'s birthday, so they went out, obviously, but where? How long? What did they do? Oh God, what did they do?

When he startled awake, he first thought he was cuddling his bolster, but it moved and pillows usually don't move. His eyes opened, and he realized his arm was wrapped around (Y/N)'s middle, pressing her back up to his chest, and their legs were sort of tangled. Immediately removing himself from her, as though he had burned himself, Klaus's eyes widened in shock. What the hell was this? What happened? He had clearly spent the night nuzzling (Y/N), why didn't she just push him off the bed?

Having been in this sort of situation before, Klaus' first reflex was to lift the duvet and check what he was wearing. A sigh of profound relief fell from his lips when he saw his pants were still on. But- wait. The front laces were... undone? And (Y/N)'s pants were gone altogether!

His brain slowly powered up while he blinked away the remaining traces of sleepiness. If he based his reasoning on his current position, last night must have seriously gone off the rails. How drunk had he been? Surely he had known worse, because he wasn't too hangover this morning. He had never made a move on (Y/N)! What could have happened that made him do it last night? Why did she let him?

Oh fuck. He couldn't think about this before coffee. He needed coffee. Thank the fuck for Number Five who brought caffeine back into this house after their father's death. May the old prick rest in pieces.

Klaus sneaked out of bed without waking up his friend, grabbed a clean shirt, and headed downstairs. Yes, coffee first, dealing with his drunk-self's decisions later.

The house wasn't as full as it should have been so soon after their reunion – a real joke, if you asked Klaus. He had come because the timing was great, he had planned on flying over to see (Y/N) anyway, and this time Allison had paid for his trip because she wanted them all to be together.

She was the first to go, soon as the last toast had been given, she'd flown back to her life of glitter and gold. Luther hung around for no other reason than he did not know what else to do. Ever since getting back from the moon, he had been aimless. Number Five was stuck in a fifteen-year-old body and could not go live on his own yet. He lived in the academy all year round, and sometimes Diego came too. He was on the move now that detective Patch was dead. Vanya lived nearby but she didn't stay too long, the place held bad memories for her.

Klaus hated the academy, but it was still his home. He didn't have a place of his own like (Y/N). Coming was no choice for him, it was the only thing to do. At least Grace and Poggo were happy to see him.

He had been sitting in the kitchen, his right leg nervously jumping up and down, eyes wide open staring ahead of him while he bit the nails of his left hand and held his third cup of coffee in the right one. His memories from last night were still hazy at best, he did not remember much apart from getting a lot of free drinks, and dancing with (Y/N).

The logical thing to do was to wait until she woke up to ask her directly, but Klaus wasn't known for making rational decisions. Were it anyone else, he would have bounced the moment he woke up. Shit. He had done so well all these years, being the best friend, never crossing the invisible line, why'd he have to mess up now?

“How much longer are you going to be like this?” Number Five asked from his left. He was reading the newspapers, not even looking up as he asked the question.

His question did not even register in Klaus' brain. Five looked at Luther who sat across from him.

“I think someone broke Klaus,” he told the number one.

Luther grumbled something about it not requiring much given the state Klaus was usually in, before grabbing his bowl and putting it in the sink. Just when Luther left the room, (Y/N) swooped in, looking refreshed despite their late night activities – Jesus, it sounded so bad, even in his head. She was basically at home here, and knew her way around the house, greeted everyone like they were family.

But when Klaus saw her walk in wearing nothing but one of his shirt and underwear, he nearly tipped his chair over. Some steaming coffee spilled over the edge and burned his hand right when (Y/N) greeted them.

“Good morning,” she cooed, stretching like a cat when she stood in front of the counter, probably thinking about what she wanted to eat for breakfast.

Klaus' appetite had yet to make an appearance today. His eyes were glued to her until he realized he was staring a little too hard too long at his best friend's butt. When he turned his head back, he caught Five sending him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.

“(Y/N)!” Klaus couldn't help but exclaim. Both Five and her stared at him curiously, waiting to see what he wanted to say. “There's a child in the room, have a little decency, please.”

Five rolled his eyes and his attention went back on the newspapers. Meanwhile, (Y/N) smiled wickedly and slowly turned back around, taking extra care to show her backside while she leaning forward to place two slices of bread in the toaster. This usually would have made Klaus laugh, even if it was tainted with longing, but after last night, it just made him swallow hard.

“Five is two times you age,” she pointed out. “Also, how's the hangover, Klaus?” Her fingers were tapping along to some imaginary tune against the counter while she waited for her toasts to pop up. (Y/N) then hopped on the counter and sat there, a butter knife in her hand. She began to unscrew the pot of raspberry jam.

“Not in this timeline,” he argued. “And I replaced alcohol with coffee, I'm fueled up for the day,” he assured her, lifting up his cup. “Don't remember much though.” Except his vague memory of (Y/N) fingers tugging at his pants to undo the front lacing, and some other flashes of disturbingly enticing memories.

“You're shaking, how many have you had?” She pointed at his left hand and Klaus had to admit she was right, it was shaking slightly. It took some focusing to steady it but he shot her a confident smile.

“Two.”

“Four.”

Klaus glared daggers at Five for betraying him like this; Five looked totally unfazed. The toaster dinged then, and Number Five folded the newspaper and stood up.

“If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit here and watch you two make small talk to avoid the tension in the air.” Klaus was so going to get back to him for this, child or not. “Nice seeing you, (Y/N). Catch up soon.”

“The tension in the air?” (Y/N) repeated to herself, wondering what Five meant by that. She bit in a toast and walked to the table, sitting where Five sat only seconds ago. He sure as hell did create tension with his comment, but the air had always been clear between Klaus and her.

“Did we sleep together?”

Klaus' question came just as (Y/N) was about to take another bite from her toast, but instead it fell from her hands and landed on the wrong side on the table. What kind of question was that? She always crashed in his bed whenever they came back from a night out. It was how they did things, it had been this way since the beginning.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered with a shrug. “I mean unless you woke up on the floor, in which case I'm sorry for pushing you out of bed.”

Ignoring her humorous comment, Klaus gasped and nervously bit his fingers. She frowned but elected not to make anything of it. It was Klaus after all, he must still be out of it from last night. He poured her coffee in a robotic manner, as if it was born out of a reflex more than an actual intention, like when some people walked all around their room when they made a phone call, because moving helped them think.

“Why aren't you wearing pants?”

(Y/N) groaned before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh, thanks to you my pants are lost to the world! There's no getting them back. I was hoping you would lend me something to wear.”

Klaus nearly had a stroke, picturing the two of them bumping from wall to wall along the corridor leading up to his room, kissing feverishly and scattering clothes along the way. Speaking of, where were his clothes? He put on a shirt before going to the kitchen this morning, but he didn't forget that he woke up half naked, cuddling his equally half naked best friend in his childhood bed.

Why was she acting so natural around him?

“My closet is your closet,” he answered, somewhat mechanically too.

He saw the way she frowned at him before attempting to pick up her face-down toast. He watched her dip her finger in the jam on the table then lick it clean a few times, he closed his eyes right before the sight turned him insane. He could feel his body react to her; the mixture of apprehension and this enticing sight made him all kinds of confused and horny.

“I think I need a shower,” he stated and stood up quickly, before (Y/N) could catch sight of his current state. A cold one.

“You sure do,” she agreed and nodded without detaching her eyes from her newly jammed toast. ��I'll be going home soon, but I'll see you again before you leave, right?” she asked hopefully, a second before Klaus stepped out.

He wanted to turn around to tell her this face to face, but he really had to get out of here before she saw what she did to him.

“I think I'll stay a bit longer.” This came as a shock to (Y/N), whose lips parted slightly, asking a silent question. “Can I come by tonight?”

She nodded, a smile on her face.

Klaus' head had been a mess all day. Especially after he got out of the shower and found (Y/N) in his bedroom, putting on a shirt he had once stolen from Allison. It was all too much and the cold shower he had taken minutes before did nothing for his hazy memories and slight dizziness.

In the evening, when she opened the door and saw him standing there, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat and looking twice as mad, (Y/N) she was in for one of their endless contemplative conversations. She popped out some fancy glasses and mixed them each a cocktail, and off they were to her fire escape stairway. Access to the rooftop was banned since her 25th birthday, the year Klaus thought he would surprise her with fireworks. It was a nice idea, worth being forever banned from up there. So the stairway was the next best thing.

Immediately after they downed their drinks, Klaus' mood shifted and he blurted out the last thing (Y/N) expected. She had noticed how frantic he acted this morning, and was hoping he would be back to his normal self by tonight, but he clearly had something to say. It wasn't always easy being a Hargreeves, this wouldn't be her first improvised therapy session, except they usually only started after the fourth drink.

“(Y/N), I see dead people,” Klaus breathed out as if it were a hush hush secret and not a widely known fact.

“I know Klaus,” she laughed and tipped over her empty glass, watching the melting ice cubes swirl around.

“You don't get it.” He shook his head, his fingers nervously tapping against the railing. “I see everyone, the living, the dead, hell why not throw in the undead too? Sometimes I'm not sure who is who. I'll be talking to someone and I won't realize they are dead until I catch other people staring at me like I'm a freak,” he began rambling, staring off into the night. (Y/N) didn't dare interrupt. “I am, aren't I? I'm a freak. Why would someone like you stick to my side for so long? It makes no sense, so what proof do I have that you're alive and not some ghost following me around?”

(Y/N) extended her hand for him to take, except Klaus, in his state of existential crisis, did not take it right away and simply started at it like he had never seen a hand before in his life. (Y/N)'s nails were painted black because he had done her nails last week, for the memorial, though the polish was chipping off now, and the pure silver ring Klaus had once gifted her as a diploma gift was on her right middle finger.

He tried to remember a time when she wasn't wearing it but couldn't come up with anything. (Y/N) had been wearing it day in day out since he gave it to her – both as a way to celebrate her passing her exams and also to stick it to his old man. It had been a very lavish and expensive gift whose real value was known only to Klaus himself because he knew (Y/N) never would have accepted it otherwise.

His eyes moved back to her eyes. They shone bright like uncut stones, and her rosy cheeks swept by the evening wind made her look terribly adorable. She rolled her eyes after a while and simply grabbed his hand in hers. For whatever reason, he seemed taken aback. As if he had expected her hand to go right through his.

“You can touch me,” she told him, a slight blush warming her faces. True, he had developed the ability to physically interact with Ben now, but he had always been able to touch (Y/N), from the very first moment they met and he had grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way just when a car came crashing into the front façade of a pawnshop. Good times. “And your family see me too.”

“Right. But it still doesn't explain why you stick around. I'm a mess!” He laughed a sad, hysterical laugh that broke her heart, his eyes glowing under the harsh light of the nearby streetlamp. “You should have left years ago, when I started using. Do you know I don't even remember a bunch of your birthdays because I was so high? Who does that? Who celebrates their best friend's birthday high off their ass and forgets about it afterwards?”

He had abruptly let go of her hand. It hurt to hear that some memories that she cherished weren't shared, but (Y/N) never blamed Klaus for trying to escape his distorted reality any way he could. Doing drugs wasn't a good solution, but if he hadn't found a better one yet, who was she to try and force him to face his demons? She had always thought that he would do it in his own time, when he was ready. And he did.

“It's more complicated than that. I know that you-”

“It really shouldn't be. I should have been there - and I mean really there - for you. Why did you wait for me? Even when I left town, you waited for me.”

His sputtered out sharp, accusing sentences; his breath was short, erratic, a bit like when he was coming down from a high. But this wasn't it. Drugs didn't have anything to do with this.

(Y/N) found it difficult to swallow and it took her a little while to decide on the right thing to say. Her feelings for Klaus had always been a touchy subject, but so far he had never questioned their relationship – they were simply the bestest of friends, and that was that.

“I don't know what else to do,” she admitted, feeling the emotion built up. This really was a bad time for her, she becomes weirdly emotional after nightfall and even more so if she drank on an empty stomach. “If you weren't a part of my life anymore, I'd have a huge gap to fill. I look forward to seeing you show up at my door every year for my birthday. You never give me a heads up but I wait for you every damn time. There's no one I would rather get stuck on a deserted island with. You're my ride or die person.”

“I'm not reliable. Ask...” He gestured vaguely. “...literally anyone.”

“You've never let me down so far.” She shrugged. “The rest doesn't matter to me. Now stop questioning my reasons for sticking around. I love you Klaus, what else is there to say?”

He couldn't do anything but stare. (Y/N) wasn't a coward but her courage deserted her suddenly and she had to look away, ignoring his hard stare on her, willing her face to stay cool. Ben was glaring a hole into the side of his head and told him what he had been repeating Klaus all day, slowly driving him insane.

“Tell her. Tell her you love her too.”

Klaus would've told him off or hissed at him if he wasn't hyper aware of (Y/N) patiently waiting for an answer. What he settled for was even worse.

“Your mistake,” he eventually said before letting his head fall back. It was meant to be funny but it came out the wrong way.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” (Y/N) shouted all of a sudden, stung by his comment. “You are one whiny bitch, do you know that? Just accept that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life and move on, because I'm not turning my back on you regardless of how much you bitch about it.”

“You said 'bitch' twice,” he pointed out.

“Yes but one was a noun and the other was a verb.”

“I still don't get it,” he insisted.

Ben scoffed and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to witness Klaus' stupidity in action any longer. Klaus had to admit – at least to himself – that he was being stubbornly dumb with (Y/N). He didn't really know if he wanted to make her mad so she would leave him alone like he deserved, or if he was in complete and genuine denial of his own feelings.

“I don't get how gravity works but you don't see me floating away,” she replied, her tone settling down and getting relaxed again. “Whether you believe or not doesn't change the way things are. This ain't Neverland.”

There was a pause. She waited for a reaction. Klaus rubbed his hands over his stubble.

“I don't understand this reference,” he admitted, very begrudgingly.

“It's from Peter Pan, Klaus! How do you not know that?” (Y/N) raised both hands towards the sky in frustration but her smile betrayed how she felt.

“I've had a pretty rough childhood,” he chuckled as if it was an inside joke. Reluctantly, (Y/N) joined in and they shared an understanding look. “I feel like I lost the superpowers lottery,” he added. “The award for the worst superpower goes to Klaus Hargreeves.” A humorless chuckle. “I can't do anything with it. Nothing heroic at least. I can ask David Bowie if he likes my outfit before going out, but that won't save anyone's life.”

“You saved my life,” (Y/N) reminded him.

“We saved each other's life, it's a draw,” he shot back, frowning as he usually did when (Y/N) brought this up. It had happened eons ago, they were children for fuck's sake. “I couldn't protect you today. I'm not strong, I can't travel through time and space-” he paused, his eyes glazing over for a second as he no doubt remembered Dave, “or force people to do as I say, I can't even throw knives. Anyone can throw knives! You even don't need powers for that, but I still can't do it.”

“I don't need protection.”

“You will if you insist on staying in my life. Trouble always finds us - it finds me,” he added the last part a bit more quietly. “Trust me, I tried to outrun it for years.”

“I don't remember a time in my life when trouble didn't know exactly where I was and when to knock me off my feet,” (Y/N) assured him, setting her empty glass down now. She felt she would snap it in two if she kept twirling its stem between her fingers. “Whether you were there or not.”

“I know you're talking about your time in college, but that's just how college is I think,” Klaus chuckled. “Not that I would know, but that's what I've heard.”

A sad smile etched on (Y/N)'s lips forced Klaus to be serious again.

“It's not just that,” she told him quietly. “Also, you would've loved college. I know you're smarter than you let on, and it would have bought you four years away from the academy. Four years of absolute madness with Yours Truly.” She gestured at herself, grinning bright and wide.

“See? You should have listened to me, that's exactly what I told you ten years ago,” Ben added, much to Klaus' annoyance.

He didn't like when his brother meddled with his conversations with (Y/N), especially not if he teamed up with her against him – she didn't need that kind of support, she was right most of the time anyway.

“I would've blown it. I don't do well with authority,” Klaus argued, mostly to deflect Ben's argument than (Y/N)'s.

Ben huffed and disappeared again. Good riddance, don't come back before I go home, Klaus thought. Just because he's dead doesn't make everything he says cool and mystical.

“Whatever you tell yourself to feel better,” (Y/N) chuckled and grabbed a beer from the edge of the window behind them. “You look a little... off, Klaus. What's bothering you so much? Been seeing more ghosts again?”

“No, I mean yes, but that's not why I'm weird today,” he fumbled with words, pressing the cool beer bottle against his forehead to calm the whirlwind of thought in his head. It was just (Y/N), there was no need for such anxiety. “I don't understand how you can be so relaxed about it.”

“About what?”

“Don't act like you don't know!” He pointed an accusing finger at her and (Y/N) stared at it with wide, confused eyes, blinking slowly.

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. Is it something that happened last night?” A light bulb seemed to light up above her head suddenly. “Did you finally remember how you barfed all over me? Wasn't your most brilliant moment I have to say.”

“I did what now?” Klaus asked, baffled. “No, I don't remember that, and I sure hope I never will.”

“Then what's gotten your panties in a twist?” (Y/N)'s frustration was growing. If he didn't tell her right the fuck now why he acted like that, she would have to tease it out of him some way or another. “You are testing my patience, I can only handle so much nonsense, you know it.”

“Don't I,” he whispered to himself. “You know what? You're right, I'm being dumb. It's not a big deal, we're adults.”

(Y/N) frowned deeper, not having a clue what he was raving about, but deciding she was going to wait until he finished another beer to push the matter. His mind was clearly a mess, who knows if he even knew what he was talking about? Let's change the subject.

“You know, I'm glad this year's celebration was on the legal side, I really didn't want to be arrested again, and if we can avoid any and all near death experiences in the future, that'd be cool too.”

“Yeah,” he drawled out. “I thought we'd go back to classics this year,” he told her. “Since you vetoed all the fun stuff!”

Last year had gotten out of hand, which prompted (Y/N) to set some ground rules for future birthdays and other celebrations.

“I trust you to make even a plain, boring night at the club special,” she assured him, stroking his ego like nobody's business – it wasn't like anyone else did it anyway, his head would still fit through the door in the morning. The other umbrellas and his father always underestimated him. “I've never spent a dull evening with you.”

“So many compliments! Are you trying to get into my pants, (Y/N)? Because that's exactly how to do it.” He poked her cheek when her dimples showed and (Y/N) gave him a pointed look.

Yes, this was easy, this he knew. Just act normal, Klaus buddy, and she'll never know how freaked out you are about spending a night of drunken passion with your best friend, thus defiling your childhood bed.

“I'm way out of your league, man,” she scoffed in mock disdain and turned away from him. “You'd be lucky to get a hand job out of me.”

“Do I hear a challenge?” he asked immediately, jumping to the occasion to tease her further – he knew exactly what it took to make her turn beetroot red in the face. He liked how she tried to hide it behind a curtain of her dark hair. However, he knew he was treading on thin ice, and he had to keep himself in check if he didn't want to fall through.

“No, it's not Klaus!” she fired back, turning red alright. “It's a hard fact.” Fact, my ass. It wasn't even true. “Beer won't do if that's where the conversation is going. I'll be back.”

She climbed back into her living room and disappeared from sight. Klaus let out a sigh and looked into the night. It was mostly silent tonight, except for the cars driving by and the light music (Y/N) put on for background noise.

What kind of a mess had he put himself into? And fool as he was, he kept digging deeper and deeper. He needed to watch his tongue and stop making innuendos all the time. But it's what he usually did, so wouldn't it be weirder to simply stop? Would (Y/N) notice? Well, of course she would, she knew him better than anyone, except maybe Ben, but this was merely due to his ghost status that rendered privacy nearly impossible. Geez, did this mean that Ben saw the whole affair? Klaus dry heaved at the sheer thought that his brother had seen (Y/N) and him in action.

Also, if he couldn't remember shit about it, than it wasn't fair that Ben got to.

“Hey!” (Y/N) called, and Klaus felt something cold and damp against his arm. It was a glass of what he assumed was a gin tonic that she pressed against him to make him snap out of his bubble. “Are you going to take it or should I dump it directly into your mouth?”

God, he thought, accepting the glass but not taking his eyes off her, maybe Ben was right.

He squinted his eyes when he realized she was holding something else, a piece of paper, or was it? He couldn't tell, she was clearly trying to hide it in her palm.

“Since we're already on the subject of sensitive topics, I have a question for you,” (Y/N) told him as she sat down, her arm grazing against him and her eyes meeting his. “I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, but it never feels like the right time.”

He wasn't very good with social cues most of the time, but he had learned to pick up (Y/N)'s. Right now, he knew she wanted to have a serious conversation, her eyes told him so. It prickled his tongue just to know that for once he wouldn't be able to joke his way out of a situation, he would have to answer her truthfully, whatever she asked.

Neither of them drank the gin tonic she brought. (Y/N) thought it might give her a bit of courage if she drank before diving in the great unknown and asking the question that burned her lips. But she felt she might become sick if she so much as brought the glass to her mouth. She set it down on the iron railing.

Soon enough, her eyes prickled a little. Damn, why did she have to be so emotional after dark? It was exactly like when she was little and spilled all her secrets to her friends during a sleepover – the next day they told everyone who her crush was. Guess (Y/N) hadn't learned her lesson yet. No, she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Klaus' eyes were still glued to the side of her face, waiting for the anticipated question.

“Why did you leave, Klaus?” Even her voice was full of tears, but she somehow kept them from falling. Her eyes were trained on the photograph in her hands – an old picture of Klaus, Ben and her that Allison had taken a few weeks prior to Ben's death.

It was then that Klaus had fallen well and good into self-medication, and she knew she had lost him, she had seen his departure the following year coming from a mile away. Though it didn't hurt less when he disappeared without a goodbye.

“You know why.”

(Y/N) laughed a little. Klaus rarely used this serious a voice, she must look a fright if he didn't try to tease his way out of her questioning.

“That's not what I'm talking about.” No, she wasn't talking about Klaus skipping town at age twenty because he couldn't take the abuse anymore and still grieved his brother. “Reginald is dead. Why'd you leave last year? I thought you might want to settle down somewhere now that his influence can't reach you anymore.”

He shook his head and resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his open palms.

“This house isn't home. I don't see his ghost but his bitch ass haunts the place as sure as I am the hottest sibling. I can't even sleep in this house when you're not here,” he scoffed and slammed the full glass on the ground too.

It took (Y/N) aback. She blinked away the remaining tears and a put herself together. He still couldn't sleep. How did that affect someone's daily life?

A childish, idealistic part of her wanted to tell him to come live with her. He knew he was always welcome, she never rejected him. But the adult part of her knew it wasn't that simple. He couldn't spend his life on her couch.

He could just sleep in my bed though.

No, she shook the thought away, that was just plain stupid. The silly, naive teenage girl she never truly stopped being clung to an old hope. She had to let go of this.

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling the ridicule of her sudden outburst now that it was over. She hadn't gotten the answer she was hoping for, but at least she would wonder anymore. “I ruined the mood, didn't I? There was a time I wasn't so serious, see what happens when you're gone too long?”

Shit. She closed her eyes and kept them tightly shut for a second. That wasn't the right thing to say. It came out all wrong, but Klaus still huffed and laughed.

“You mean you becoming boring? Tell me about it, I should take you out of this soul-sucking city before it's too late.”

(Y/N) thought she might like that.

All night they talked, and talked, and talked, but now once did Klaus mention what really bothered him. (Y/N) sat and listened to his jokes and his stories about Five going through puberty again and she laughed with him and huddled under a blanket with him when the night became too cold.

Yet he still would spill the beans to her. It was the first time she felt as though he was withholding information from her, that he didn't just refuse to talk about something, he refused to talk about it with her. Made her wonder if she did something wrong. The only reason why he would hide her something was if she was the source of the problem.

It pained Klaus to see her wait in expectancy all night, hoping he would open up to her. But the more he looked at her – really looked at her, her shining eyes, her smile, the way she shook her head when he told her something funny – and the more he realized he was living a lie he told himself. Ben had always been right. But (Y/N) couldn't know.

So she obliviously kept laughing with him, hoping that whatever preoccupied him so much would soon be dealt with, one way or another. God knew how long he was going to stay this time.

“... I mean, adolescence sure doesn't sit well on Five, he's been insufferable since I suggested he bust a nut to unwind. Something about cheating on Dolores,” Klaus kept going on and on. “Can you imagine? How long will it take for him to recognize I gave him valuable advice? Even you and I did it the other night, and we're fine as fiddles.”

(Y/N) blinked slowly, feeling a wire snap in her brain.

“Wait, what?”

(Y/N) didn't have a superpower. Or maybe she did, only different from the kind of power the Umbrellas had. Klaus wasn't sure. All he knew was that she made things go quiet and he needed that in his life.

When she was sitting next to him the dead didn't come too close. When he held her hand he didn't hear their heart wrenching moans. And the best part was that she didn't even realize, she just hung out with him because they were friends.

One day, he mused, Luther said something in a fit of anger that Klaus hadn't forgotten since, despite the years. He told him that he used (Y/N) for his own benefit and that he would step out of her life if he cared for her at all. That was shortly before Klaus skipped town and became a regular at rehab and the ER.

But he couldn't stay away, he couldn't abandon his best friend. He came back at least once a year for her birthday and tried to come by as often as he could without relapsing. Yes, he was a shitty friend, but he tried. And once a year, for a few precious hours, he was at peace.

He already lost his love once, he won't let it happen again. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep (Y/N) in his life. Sometimes he still thought of Dave, of course. It lasted a flicker beat, during which he wanted to reach for the dog tags - except they weren't there anymore. He had kept them, put them somewhere safe as they were precious memorabilia, but they were no longer part of his everyday attire.

At the beginning he needed to feel them again his chest, they grounded him while he mourned. But over time they began to hang heavy around his neck, weighing down on him instead of helping him keep his head out of the water. That's when he decided to take them off, as painful as it was. Dave was in the past, far, far away in the past, and he was dead. How long could Klaus hold onto the memory of a dead person before it drove him crazy? He was unbalanced enough as it was, no need to add to it.

But as recalled holding (Y/N) against his chest, he thought maybe there was still hope for him. Maybe all the good parts of him hadn't died with Dave in Vietnam. It wasn't her job to fix him, obviously, Klaus knew that, he was aware he couldn't rely on her to fix himself. Perhaps though, waking up next to her and seeing her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to get better. The strength to get out of bed and not dread the day ahead. Maybe he had found a secure place for his heart again - he knew she would take great care of it, she always had.

He shook his head.

He was just putting the cart before the horse. Who said she felt the same as him? Sure, he thought that she act strangely calm after their drunken “hook up”, but he knew now that it was all in his head. She acted normal because nothing happened. She made it very clear that nothing occurred between them, so much so that Klaus would have taken offense if he wasn't busy feeling all kinds of other troublesome emotions.

This was giving him a headache. He had been hiding in his room like a teenager for days now. A few horrendous, boring, restless days during which he barely got any shut eye, for various reasons.

For now, he would enjoy his bath, but how long until (Y/N) barged in here to demand an explanation?

“Where's Klaus? He's been avoiding my calls,” (Y/N) asked Poggo the moment the large double doors opened.

He gave her a crooked smile, and made a slight head movement to the left. She sometimes thought Poggo knew when she was going to come before she even took the decision. She thanked him and stormed in, heading straight for his room and banging on the door. No answer. Her hand flew to the handle and she burst in uninvited. No one. Fine.

There was only one other place he could be if he wanted to avoid people and that was the bathroom. This time (Y/N) did not even knock and simply waltzed in, shutting the door behind her so abruptly that Klaus nearly dropped his headphones in the water.

“(Y/N)! You scared the shit out of me!”

Did he just... summon her? No, that didn't sound right. It was a mere coincidence.

“You should've answered my calls, it would've spared you a heart attack,” she replied, walking straight to the tub he was soaking in. “What's the matter, Klaus? Just say it so we can move on.”

“It's nothing!” he exclaimed, his voice too high pitched to be telling the truth.

“I don't believe you.”

“Just tell her. You know she won't drop it,” Ben told him with his usual 'I am full of wisdom' voice.

They would really need to have a conversation about how dying doesn't make you smarter or give you permission to spy on people's bath time.

“I know!” Klaus shouted at Ben.

(Y/N) took it for herself.

“Then why don't you spill the beans? I'm not going to judge you, whatever it is. Have you had a relapse?”

“No...” Klaus rubbed his eyes both his thumb and pointer finger, feeling tired already. It was barely past noon and he wanted nothing more than find cover in his bed.

“Why are you hiding it from her? Maybe she loves-”

“Shut up!” Klaus yelled, his head snapping to his right.

“Wait, is Ben here?” (Y/N) asked. She knew how much Klaus hated to have more than one conversation at a time, what with ghosts always trying to get his attention. It made it hard to focus and that's what made him turn to drugs in the first place. “Do you mind? It's rude to eavesdrop.”

Ben smiled even though she couldn't see it. She was standing there, fists on her hips, trying to look stern while Klaus sat naked in the tub, unable to avoid this conversation. Reassured that he would not just jump out of the water and try for a run, Ben nodded.

“You can't avoid this anymore. It's long overdue anyway,” he told his brother right before leaving them alone.

“He's gone,” Klaus informed (Y/N).

His shaking hands removed his headphones and reached for the window's edge to grab a cigarette. What had him so nervous? (Y/N) grabbed the lighter and lit his cigarette for him before he burned himself or dropped it in his bath.

“Please, Klaus. I'm getting worried.”

Her eyes shone in the bluish light filtering through the opaque window. He couldn't resist those big puppy eyes. (Y/N) sat down, back against the side of the tub. When his arm extended over the edge to hand her the cigarette, she took it and placed it between her lip.

“Is it something I said? It's not still about last week, is it? I told you: we didn't sleep together like you thought we did,” she said, blowing out smoke and watching it swirl skyward and dissipate before hitting the ceiling. She handed it back to him but he didn't bring it to his mouth.

(Y/N)'s gaze got stuck on his goodbye tattoo.

She, too, had been thinking over and over again about their conversation. When he admitted he thought they had spent the night together, she was taken aback. So much so that her first instinct was to deny vehemently, maybe too much even. It didn't come from a bad place, she was just surprised and shifted into her default denial mode. Whenever someone asked her if Klaus and her were a thing, she flipped and sputtered out something about male and female friendship being possible without developing romantic feelings.

Truth was, it was possible. It simply wasn't the case for her. She had always had a thing for Klaus, and she always thought he was aware and elected to ignore it for the sake of their long standing friendship. She realized how she felt upon seeing the enormity of the emptiness in her life, right after he left.

More than once, (Y/N) almost took a leap of faith and confessed, but they saw each other so rarely already, what if he simply walked out of her life for good after that?

She was blind and that was it. They were already so far from each other on a daily basis, she had nothing to lose, nothing at all. If he didn't share her feelings, they would still have a whole year to put that behind them and get their friendship back on track for her next birthday.

(Y/N) took the cigarette back. Klaus still hadn't answered her. Her fingers lingered on his hand and slid towards his tattoo, circling it.

“You surprised me, to say the least,” she started, still wondering what she was going to say next. Sometimes autopilot was the best option. “On the one hand, I'm glad we did nothing because you were drunk out of your mind and would have forgotten it all – which honestly would've crushed my self-confidence – but on the other, I think it would make for a memorable birthday present.”

It sounded better in her head. When she looked up, she met his eyes and it nearly broke a dam inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so heartbroken. She hadn't seen those eyes in years – or so it felt – and they rendered her helpless. (Y/N) swallowed, unable to look away, trapping by his big, glossy eyes.

“Don't say that,” he breathed out. She barely heard it, as if he was talking to himself and not to her. But she did catch his words and they burned in her mind.

“I am saying it. We've been together for so long now, I should have said it eons ago and not wait for a dumb misunderstanding before finally telling you.” He was so silent, everything was silent, almost like they were alone in the house. A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine and her heartbeat picked up its pace. “Say something, Klaus. Anything.”

“I hate this place.”

Well, it wasn't what she was hoping for, but at least he said something.

“So?”

“So I hate coming back. It makes me feel wrong, it's like a poison,” he tried to explain, finally freeing her from his gaze.

“Maybe you shouldn't come back then,” (Y/N) said, feeling herself growing sick.

“I can't,” he admitted, his voice desperate all of a sudden, breathless almost. “I can't stay away, as much as I hate it, I have to come back, because you're still here. And I can't leave you.”

It was difficult holding up his gaze now. What was he saying? Why couldn't he speak plainly? Then again, neither could she. It was so hard putting yourself in a vulnerable position – it was like exposing your neck to a hungry lion and seeing if he would bite you or spare you.

“I can't live without you.” His confession hit her like a thousand bricks, knocking the air out of her.

“Why does it make you so sad?” (Y/N) pushed.

“I already told you. I'm no good, I can't protect you, I'm a forever work-in-progress, you'll nev-”

“Don't presume to tell me want I am, or want, or need, Klaus,” she warned him before he could go any further.

“I can't even sleep most of the time. My life is a nightmare when you're not right next to me,” he whined, pressing his palms against his temples.

(Y/N) extinguished the cigarette on the tiled floor and stood up, kicking off her shoes. When her hands reached for the front button of her jeans, Klaus' shook his head.

“Wha- what are you doing (Y/N)?” he asked, blinking as though he thought he might be seeing things.

Soon, she stood (once again) half undressed in front of him. What he genuinely did not expect, was to see her take a hold of the edge of the tub and slowly climb into the water with him. Water spilled over the edge of the tub but they didn't care. Klaus froze and blinked dumbly, staring at her as if he didn't trust his own eyes. She was sitting in the tub, straddling his waist to be face to face.

He would lie if he said this hadn't happened already in some of his fantasies, but when he extended his hand to touch her arm, she was real.

“Do you know how difficult it is to take off wet jeans?” she said as an answer to his previous question – which he had completely forgotten about. “Why are you staying in cold water by the way? It's freezing in this bathroom.”

“Welcome to creepy manor,” Klaus replied on reflex. “Where everything is as cold and dead as Sir Reginald's stone heart.”

“You're joking because you're nervous,” (Y/N) said with a blinding smile. Klaus shot her a crooked little smile.

“Guilty. I'm only a man, and you just took a very sexy initiative, bravo.”

He licked his lips. (Y/N) let her fingers trail up his forearms, leaving a path of wet in their wake, little droplets running down to his elbows and returning to the tub. For the first time, she allowed herself to touch him in a new, unfamiliar way. Klaus stopped breathing altogether until she stopped her exploration and simply moved her hands to his neck, her thumbs brushing along his jaw.

He wasn't so cold anymore now, and (Y/N) must have felt it too. He was stark naked, there really wasn't anything he could hide from her, now could he? It wasn't fair, now that he thought about it, it was only right that she dropped her top too. His hands slid under the hem of her shirt and lifted it; she got the message and helped him take off the wet garment.

Klaus seemed to finally come alive when his hands settled on her waist, and (Y/N) replaced her hands where they were. Their proximity was exhilarating: they could feel each other's hot breath against their skin, they got drunk off of it. Klaus' head spun a little. His eyes locked with (Y/N)'s seconds before they met.

Seeing no hesitation on his part, (Y/N) smiled and touched the tip of his nose with hers, making him break into a similarly wide grin. Then, she leaned forward, sending some more water over the edge, and finally kissing him. One of his hands moved to the small of her back and pressed her to his chest, urging her to deepening the kiss. (Y/N) wanted to taste him first, savor the softness of his lips, enjoy the tickle of his facial hair.

But she was hungry too and she was done holding back and being a good girl. Their kisses became more frantic, they lingered; their lips became swollen and red too. Soon, Klaus' lips trailed down towards her neck and her collarbone.

(Y/N)'s hand shot out and held Klaus' throat, cutting short his ministration. Their chest heaved and they grinned madly at each other, completely forgetting the cold water. The rest of (Y/N)'s clothing was soon thrown across the room, hitting the door in a wet splash, triggering a round of giggles.

“Are we really going to do it in a tub?” (Y/N) asked, biting the skin right under Klaus' left ear, sucking it lightly to leave a mark.

“It's no smaller than my bed,” Klaus pointed out with a laugh, though his brows remained knitted together and his eyes closed in delight. He held to deploy an extraordinary effort not to moan out loud.

There was a glimmer in his eyes when he stared at her, as though he still didn't quite believe she wasn't a ghost or a figment of his imagination. He pushed back her hair, taking a fistful of it without ever stopping to look at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

He pulled her closer to him yet, and (Y/N) dived on his lips before answering, “there are 42 rooms in this house. Just imagine the possibilities.”

Neither of them was going to get out of this tub before quenching a thirst that had kept their throat dry for years now. It was messy at best, water everywhere, fumbling hands, voracious kisses, bites, nails marks – they laughed it all off, feeling so light they would fly away.

When they joined, there was a moment of silence, of holding onto each other for dear life, taking it all in and accepting that this was the beginning of something new. Klaus was the first to snap out of it, and his cupped (Y/N)'s cheek, watching her nuzzle his hand and place a soft peck on his palm.

Of course he loved her. How could he ever doubt it?

“What are you thinking about?” (Y/N) asked Klaus with a sly smile, already shifting closer to him as she pushed his hair out of his face.

It had been a long, tiring day – both emotionally and physically – and it had been no small feat to sneak out of the bathroom and into Klaus' room without getting caught. Five would have plucked his own eyes out and Luther might have spontaneously combusted.

Huddled together in Klaus' bed to warm themselves after the cold but no so cold bath they share, they fought to stay awake. Klaus' mind jumped back to his earlier musing about waking up beside (Y/N), and he knew he had been right.

“Nothing,” Klaus lied right away, refusing to reveal the ridiculous musings that crossed his mind. (Y/N) leaned into him, her breath hot again his neck when she spoke again and whispered

“Liar” against his skin.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down again as he swallowed. The scariest part was behind them now, there was no need to be nervous. (Y/N) hand was placed over his heart and he briefly thought she could feel the desperate thumping of it in his ribcage.

“I was thinking-” he started, his throat a little dry, eyes lost in (Y/N)'s hopeful ones. “I was thinking I could stay for a while.”

#klaus hargreeves #tua imagine #klaus hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #robert sheehan #umbrella academ

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alitheamateur · 6 years ago

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The Grind- Chapter 22

(gif by @vanessacarlysle)

All my perpetual fretting over Tia’s reaction to the news of my reconciliation with Colton was all for…well…. It was all 100% necessary. She yelled phrases such as “if you wanna let the asshole back in your bed, you can clean up the mess he’s gonna make,” and “what did the dickhead do to convince you?” Both valid, however brutally honest they may have seemed. I made up my mind not to push it on her just yet, but to tip-toe through the tulips, if you will, until she warmed up to him. The two of them were quite similar in more ways than one, so they were bound to fall into at least a civil relationship sooner or later. Or, there unpredictable, combusting similarities would eventually just explode like the boom of a nuke.

As for progression on the Ritter/Elliott home front, things were moving along nicely. We were back to our morning coffee routine at The Grind, and our running schedule had been carefully decided for Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. One of those particular Sunday workouts had navigated us to the new home Colton had purchased as of late, so he could give me the tour. He’d met me at my apartment that morning, carless, but I hadn’t considered where he’d began his run from.

He’d moved in a little over 5 months ago, and judging at first glances the deposit was heavy for a place like this. The brick front, two story structure must have been newly built on the street because the miniscule grassy path he did have in his side yard, was just ever so slightly sprouting from the clumpy, muddy surface. He led me up a black painted front porch through the front door, seemingly eager to show off his purchase from a successful years earnings.

“Home sweet home. Here we are!” He remarked before breaking the plain into his den. “Whatddya think?”

I thought it wasn’t the place I pictured him in, for starters. Not in pessimistic manner or anything, the space was merely more modern, and suburban for what I imagined his quarters to be like. The cabinets of a kitchen just to the right of the main entrance, were bright white, and stealthy black appliances accentuated more bleach white on the walls. Upon trailing deeper into the area, we entered a hardwood floor living room, where the navy of his leather couch shined under the natural light blazing in from a large window.

“It’s super nice, Colt! You keep it so… clean.” Seriously, there wasn’t a stich of the rug out of place. No molding take-out boxes on his countertops, or discarded shoes strung wildly about.

“Give it time,” he pointed at me with a wide smile. “I ain’t been here long enough to destroy it yet.”

“Don’t expect me to come over and clean the place, mister. This girl is no maid,” I said overlapping my arms in a forewarning.

“You could be. Hey, we could get you one of those little outfits and everything,” Colton said wagging his eyebrows in suggestion. “I’m gonna go shower real quick, then we’ll take the bike back to your apartment. Just hang out here, and give me 20. Unless of course, you’d like the tour of my shower too..”

Okay, yes please! I need to get a good luck at the tub. Inspect the plumbing, and the drains or whatever..

“I don’t have a change of clean clothes, silly. But, you get all squeaky clean, then I’ll take you on the tour of my new place. The bedroom is to die for...” He dropped his head back in a cantankerous huff as if I was torturing him for my own pleasure.

While he left me unsupervised, fidgeting on the couch, I decided some friendly, not at all psychotic girlfriend snooping would be harmless. Wandering aimlessly in my sock feet about the sitting area and kitchenette, something in particular sparked my interest plastered on the double doors of his refrigerator. In carefully executed newspaper snippets, were all of my published works from the last three years held up on display by small, coinlike magnets. One piece I’d written on an injured All-American local boy who had withdrawn his commitment to Pitt due to apparent substance issues. Various tidbits from the usual Steelers coverage, and my article from his fight with Mendez.

Thin, chalky newspaper nearly covered the entire spread of the left side freezer door. He appeared to have saved nearly every published work that had my name attached to it. What made the gesture even more monumentally romantic, was that The Pilot wasn’t available for subscription, nor a newsprint you could grab at any local convenient store on your morning milk run. It was only available for purchase at two outdoor newsstands in the city, one being a small cart on the sidewalk at the front entrance of our main office. The other was easily a 20-minute commute from any of the local businesses he frequented. Neither spot being one he’d cross by coincidence on his morning jog through downtown, or even the closest grocery store, or Mac’s. Meaning the man had made a specific trip, every Thursday morning to spend $3.75 on a paper that he could’ve searched the internet for. I sketched a feathery finger over the printed words, hearing a single dolloped tear drip below at my feet to the crisp tile of his kitchen floor. He really had never sincerely left me, just like he said only a handful of days ago.

“There’s more in an old cardboard box on the rack under the coffee table.” His stealthy, barefoot approach behind me was completely undetected, or I had just been so preoccupied with my discovery that any background noise was hushed.

I faced him, startled, carelessly forgetting to wipe the still running stream of tears, and hiccupped to repress audibly weeping.

“Oh, woah. Woah, baby. Hey, what’s wrong?” Colt stepped once to reach me, and cloaked me into the embrace of his grey tee, blotched with undried remnants of his shower. He placed both hands to my cheeks, leaving my face trapped between his scuffed, worked palms. Eyes searching over my face, like he was looking for the reason of my tears written somewhere across my forehead.

“I’m fine, seriously. It’s nothing.” I nearly snorted to sniff the running of my nose. Yeah, that was convincing. He’ll be right off your back now.

“Talk to me, Livvy. What’s goin’ on, huh? I know tears when I see ‘em. Especially yours.”

“You did this? You kept them? All, of them?”

A hesitant, “U” shape danced over his lips at my question. “Of course I did, babe. Well, I almost missed one week, but I told the guy at the stand I’d give him 20 bucks if he could get me a copy.”

It drew a laugh from both of us, mine still mixed with some joyful tears.

“It’s got your name on it, Liv. Hell, I woulda paid all the money in my wallet if you had written the alphabet down and had it published. I told you once I was proud a’ ya’, and I meant it.”

“I just didn’t… I never thought… I didn’t know you cared this much. I’m surprised you went through that trouble, especially since we weren’t even together for over half of these.” I looked back for the tenth time over the collection marked with my signature.

“I think that’s when I started to care so much. When we weren’t together, I mean. Because y’know, that’s the weird, twisted fucker I am,” he said rolling his eyes.

His hands departed from my face, and one was now pinching the bridge of his masculine nose in frustrated contemplation. I didn’t see the normal abundance of equanimity in his eyes now that normally dwelled there, and I was well aware that he was struggling for the words he sought. “I’m a head case, Liv. I find the love of my life, and talk to her like dog shit, because that’s obviously what a sensible man would do? God… What fuckin’ sense does that make?”

“Honest? It makes perfect sense, actually.” I comforted him, trying to distinguish the fires of aggravation, and self-loathing I could see kindling behind his eyes. “It’s the typical reaction of a man who’s never been in love before, and doesn’t have a damn clue how to handle all the things his feeling all of a sudden.”

“I know exactly how t’ handle it now though.” Colton said snatching me like a flimsy sack of potatoes into his grips, and reaching for a sly kiss.

When his arms outreached though, one of the tattoo additions I had been suspicious of when we bumped into each other at the Temple that fateful day, revealed itself like a shiny penny catching the beams of the sun. Carefully placed on the tender, hairless skin of the underside of his bicep amongst his dedication to the Andy Warhol bridge, and a Latin phrase “Fortis Passioni deditus” translating to “strong willed”, was a small 21 needled in varsity print.

I immediately locked a grip around the evidence in question, raising it further into the light to investigate whether my eyes had been viciously deceiving me. He didn’t dispute, either from downright perplexity, or for the simple fact that he knew exactly what had won my attention and wanted me to snoop it out a little more closely.

Once I had wiped sternly over the numbers with a thumb, seeing they were indeed permanently etched onto his smooth skin, I looked intently upward to his waiting face. I wanted to smile in cheesy satisfaction, I wanted to cry in earnest adoration, and I wanted to claw the very ink out of his skin as backlash for his silly, erratic decision. But no, not really. The sensible, rational Liv rallied admirably to find a way to veto what he had done and hammer him with venomous disapproval. Thankfully, my fanatical love for the man eclipsed the once “safe” nature I carried, and all I wanted to do was fall at his feet.

“Took ya’ long enough, 2-1.” He smiled barely showing a top row of teeth.

“Wh..when?” I tripped over my tongue.

“Few months after the Mendez fight, I think. Was gonna put it on my chest, next to ma’s date of remission. But my guy down at the parlor said here looked better.” The man explained so coolly as if a shrine to my basketball number, and his pet name for me drawn onto his flesh was just something people did so commonly. Seriously, it sounded as if he was just reading off the lottery numbers in the Sunday paper.

“A few months? So, you did this after you dumped me? We weren’t even together and you got this tattoo?”

“Are you mad? Like…seriously upset with me, Liv? I mean, yeah, it was a little reckless, but that shoudn’t surprise you, baby,” he snickered. “But I knew I’d get you back, Livvy. Or I was gonna damn die tryin’. The way I saw it, it would either end up being something meaningful to our story that we could tell our babies in 10 years. Or, if I didn’t win you back, I’d have to look at it every fuckin’ day and think of the colossal mistake I made.”

10 years? Babies? DON’T FAINT. DO NOT.

“Lucky for you then, huh? Your plan played out for the better, I suppose.” I stretched on my small toes to pat my nose to his.

“So, you like it then?”

I didn’t bother to reward him with praise, instead just sucked a hearty kiss from the thin part in his opened mouth, humming sensually.

“Colton?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Take me to bed. Now.”

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfiction #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

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thelandscapingemployeetrap · 3 years ago

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5 Days I NEVER book In My Landscaping Business

How many business days do you have in a week?

As I run my landscaping business, I’ve learned the importance of taking some time off to rest and recharge. So I book days on my calendar and spend more time with my family.

It has tremendously helped me, for I could work without burnout. That’s why I share my five emergency days in this episode and why they’re important. Because same as how important your business is, your health and well-being should also matter.

Tune in and learn from this episode.

“Find out what your days are that you’re going to be taking off or you can’t do stuff, and book out days before that. Do not book customers on those days. It’s tempting when you’re with a customer, and they want us to do a $3,500 or $10,000 job right now, and you’re making that promise to a customer. That’s risky business because you’re banking on the hope that everything’s gonna go perfect; that it’s not going to rain, there won’t be equipment failures and breakdowns and everything, and that doesn’t happen; a perfect world.”

– Keith Kalfas

Why do you have to listen to today's episode.

01:02 – Have emergency days on your calendar. Not having these can eventually lead to a hurt business.

01:52 – I take the whole week off on the fourth of July – the end of the business’ 100 days of hell.

04:27 – The Parkinson’s Law says that whatever space you give something, it will fill. The same thing happens in business.

06:59 – It’s tempting when a customer asks for an urgent $10,000 job, but make sure not to book customers on your emergency days.

08:00 – Nashville, Tennessee, August 17th to 19th Window cleaners, pressure/soft washers, and landscapers

Go to https://www.keithkalfas.com/events and save 25 bucks off your ticket.

GIE+Expo on October 20th

Go to https://www.keithkalfas.com/events for discounts as well.

09:34 – Also, I’ve teamed up with Kory Ballard, the founder of Ballard Products. Check the info below on how you can get discounts.

Key Takeaways

“What we do is we take the entire week off. The fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh – whatever the fourth lands on, we take that whole. Let’s say the fourth ends up Tuesday. We take the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth – all the way through Sunday off, then we come back to work the following Monday. I take a week off, and whoever’s working for me gets a week off as well. That way, we don’t burn out.”

“I’ve learned that I need to take some time off and spend it with my family because if you don’t take some time off and go on a little whatever canoe trip, it’s not good.”

“I’ve learned now that no matter what, there’s always going to be more customers that want stuff done.”

Connect with Keith

Facebook

Instagram

YouTube

Resources/People Mentioned:

My Website: Official Site Keith Kalfas

My Podcast Page: The UNTRAPPED Podcast

My Events Page: https://www.keithkalfas.com/events

Nashville, Tennessee

August 17th to 19th

Window cleaners, pressure/soft washers, and landscapers

Go to https://www.keithkalfas.com/events and save 25 bucks off your ticket.

GIE+Expo

October 20

Go to https://www.keithkalfas.com/events for discounts as well.

Get a Free Trial of JOBBER Software & save 20% off your first 6 months. Grow Your Business With Jobber (getjobber.com)

Try Jill's office today and get a $25 discount when you say or type untrapped. Click here to go to Jill's office.com.

Maximize your production in the field with Ballard Products. Don’t forget to use Keith’s promo code “Keith 10” and save 10% off anything in the online store.

Please leave us a well-written, positive 5-star review if you liked the show. You may click here

Check out this episode!

#Landscaping #windowcleaning

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notsoguiltykpop · 7 years ago

Text

The Tenth Floor pt9

Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?

Yoongi x Reader & Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, humor, probably some angst

Warnings: Strong language, and smut talked about/implied in this chapter

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Yoongi wasn’t in his office on Tuesday morning when you walked in. It wasn’t like him to be late; more often than not, he had already been there for several hours before anyone else even stepped foot into the building. He hadn’t said anything the previous day that he wasn’t coming in, and you turned away from his dark office to find Namjoon.

“Have you heard from Yoongi this morning?” You asked, and Namjoon looked up from his computer with a slight frown. “He’s not here, should we be worried?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Namjoon asked, tilting his head to the side. “It’s the anniversary of his mothers death. He’ll be back in tomorrow.” He went back to whatever he was typing, his attention hardly ever leaving the computer screen.

“Oh.” Was all you could think of to say. He hadn’t said anything to you, but then again, why would he? You still had a job to do whether he was there or not. So you couldn’t quite figure out why you felt the slightest bit hurt by it. Perhaps you could argue that it was rude of him not to say anything to you, but even that sounded petty. He was the CEO, he didn’t owe and explanation to anyone, save maybe for Namjoon who was head of human resources and actually needed to know.

You also felt a strange sadness for Yoongi, the thought of him visiting his mothers grave, perhaps by himself. Or maybe he had gone with his family, that seemed like a much better option in your mind. There was such fondness in his voice the few times he had mentioned her, it was clear she meant a lot to him, and you hoped that he was surrounded by supportive people on a day like this.

You wondered back to your desk with your mind a million miles away. Should you say something to him tomorrow? That you were sorry or something along those lines, or would that simply make him feel worse? That might depend on how long ago it had happened, which you didn’t have the fainest clue. You realized once again how very little you knew about him, and also how much you wanted to change that–not that you should.

It didn’t help that things were still slightly awkward around him, with you constantly trying to remind yourself that he was your boss and that was all he ever should be, and him switching between angry-screaming-CEO-Yoongi and odd-mostly-calm-Yoong. You almost preferred it when he was permanently angry, at least then you knew what to expect from him.

Then again, this other side of Yoongi was (while quite strange) sweet in a way, and almost seemed sane. You could actually have a conversation with him, joke with him even, and he certainly smiled more (though still not as often as normal people). But along with the good came the bad, and it was with out a doubt very bad that the more you got to know him (or tried to), the more you wanted to keep getting to know him–which wasn’t good for keeping the whole boss-employee boundary in tact.

You worked in a bit of a haze the rest of the day. It felt so strange to be there without him, and even Jimin didn’t bother to make constant jabs at you when you passed by his desk. Hoseok came by at one point to inform you that you had been staring at your blank computer screen for a solid ten minutes and that Seokjin was worried. That was when you knew you needed to think about something else. Taehyung wasn’t there, but that could have been for any number of reasons–including that he may have finally gotten bored like Yoongi predicted. Whatever the reason, you were also grateful not to have him there complicating things.

You stood from your desk without much thought, walking back to Yoongi’s empty office absently. You flicked on the light and looked around the mess that it always was. You had no idea how he got anything done in such a wreck, papers were always on the floor surrounding his desk, and the desk itself was so piled up it was almost comical. There was broken glass in one corner, and the filing cabinet in the other wouldn’t close.

You sighed as you made your way into the office–you had finished everything that needed to be done that day, checked and responded to emails, returned calls and reviewed files. So you set about picking up the space, sorting papers and re-stacking them properly. Over the last week and a half, you had learned where and how Yoongi liked things--he just wasn’t good at putting them back where they belonged.

You opened the curtains that blocked off the rather incredible view of the city that Yoongi would have from his office if he ever bothered to move the fabric out of the way. It made the whole space feel better immediately, and you wondered how much more it would help if you opened a window–but you would save that for another day.

Among the papers on his desk, you found an expired credit card, a pair of glasses with one of the lenses missing, and an invitation for a party that happened two months ago. You also found a sticky note that said “call dad” buried under an old spreadsheet. You had no idea if he actually had, so you stuck it next to the many other yellow squares of paper that covered the side of his computer screen.

“What are you doing?” A familiar voice said from the door, and in your haste to stand up, you bumped your head on the underside of Yoongi’s desk where you had been gathering papers from.

“Do you really have no one else to bother?” You sighed as you stood, rubbing where your head had collided with the desk as you gave Jungkook a look.

“I could bother plenty of people, but you’re the most fun.” He grinned at you, stepping further into the office. “Almost everyone else has left for the day. Are you going to stay here by yourself or what?”

You blinked at him. Was it really that late already? You looked at the clock that sat on Yoongi’s desk, something you didn’t know he even had because it had been previously covered in so many sticky notes. Jungkook wasn’t lying though, it was six o’clock in the evening and most people would be going home about now, some even earlier. “I didn’t realize what time it was.” You said more to yourself than anything else.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” Jungkook snorted, picking up a paperweight from Yoongi’s desk and inspecting it. “What is this, anyway?” He held it up and your shrugged.

“How should I know?”

Jungkook was about to reply when you heard voices from not far off, and they didn’t sound happy. You recognized one as Taehyung’s, and it took you a second to figure out who the second person was. You and Jungkook exchanged a look, and suddenly he had grabbed your hand, pulling you in the opposite direction of the exit and to the tiny closet that Yoongi’s office had in the far right-hand corner. You had no idea what it was for, had never even looked in it, and honestly didn’t want to. If Yoongi was that messy in his office, what must his storage space look like?

“What the hell?” You started, but he held a finger up to his lips as he opened the door, stepping inside the cramped space and ushering you to follow. You hesitated--following Jungkook into a small space seemed the dumbest thing you could possibly do, not to mention it was pointless--before you heard the tail end of something Yoongi had just said to Taehyung. It was rude, and a little scary. Maybe you didn’t want to talk to him right then.

“Don’t you want to know what they’re arguing about?” Jungkook asked quietly, and you couldn’t believe that the answer was yes, you were horribly curious. There wasn’t much time to think about it, so you scooted in next to Jungkook, trying to stay as far away from him as possible; which wasn’t easy considering the closet itself was only about two and a half feet wide, and shelves took up a great deal of it. How Jungkook managed to close the door was a wonder, but it wasn’t a moment too soon. You heard Taehyung and Yoongi walk into the office, and then the creak of Yoongi’s desk chair as someone sat down.

“Fuck off. I don’t know what kind of messed up shit you’re trying to pull, but in case you haven’t noticed, today isn’t a good one to bother me.” Yoongi sounded angry, which you had heard before, but somehow it sounded more genuine this time, like he really was ready to punch Taehyung.

“Cut the crap, Yoongi. You know why I’m here, and you know what? I don’t give a fuck if you’re in a shit mood. That’s no excuse.” Taehyung sounded pissed, which was completely unlike him. He always seemed to stay calm, level-headed and neutral. “It’s only once a year. One day out of a year isn’t too much to ask.

There was a pause. “Yes. It is.” Yoongi said finally. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I didn’t come here to talk to you, Taehyung--”

“Of course you didn’t.” Taehyung sneered. “You came here hoping to run into a very particular person, probably to threaten her job, judging by your current mood. You always did replace them if they were a little too nice. Or perhaps you were hoping she’d get your mind off things some other way, like she did the other night. I’m assuming that’s why you used her and then left her in the middle of nowhere Thursday night, anyway.” At his words, you felt your cheeks start to burn, and could practically feel Jungkook’s eyes turning to you in the dark. You should have just made your presence known earlier, it was childish and stupid to hide in a closet when you hadn’t even done anything wrong. You didn’t want to know that Taehyung had jumped to conclusions, and definitely didn’t want Jungkook to hear those conclusions. What if word spread? It wasn’t even true, but it could end your career. “Too bad she already left--though not without cleaning your office, I see.”

“The fuck are you even talking about?” Yoongi’s voice was so low that you almost couldn’t hear it through the door. Regret gnawed at you, you never should have called Taehyung that night. All you wanted was a friend to drive you home, you hadn’t thought about the consequences of him working with Yoongi until later. “Damn it Taehyung.” You thought bitterly. “Why’d you have to bring that up?”

“I don’t think I was clear enough before. You need to stay the fuck away from her.” Taehyung warned. “She deserves a hell of a lot better than you.”

“I’m sorry, who are we talking about again?” Yoongi had switched from angry to mildly annoyed, but you could hear the strain in his voice even from behind a door. “Oh, you must mean my secretary!” You heard him snap his fingers, but you could tell by his voice that he knew exactly who Taehyung was referring to.

“I mean it, Yoongi. If you make her cry again like you did the other night--” Taehyung was cut off by Yoongi, however.

“And what would you know about that?”

Damn it damn it damn it, you couldn’t believe Taehyung was doing this to you. Was he trying to ruin things? Did he want Yoongi to hate you, for your life to be made even harder than it was already?

“I know enough.” Taehyung replied somewhat evasively.

“Good. So you know that that while you were trying to play the nice guy, she was with me, and she enjoyed every fucking second of it. Are you really going to tell me that you’d have done something different, given the opportunity?”

The pause that followed was too long. So much for Taehyung being a friend. You wanted to leave, to run out the door and never look back, send in your resignation letter and never see anyone from the tenth floor again. But you didn’t think you could handle the embarrassment of walking out of Yoongi’s closet with Jungkook, so you stayed where you were.

And so much for Yoongi being a decent guy underneath his persona. He was purposefully leading Taehyung to believe that you’d slept with him, and even if it had been true, it wasn’t something you’d want him telling just anyone--and certainly not bragging about it to people he hated.

You didn’t even notice the tears that had pooled in your eyes at first, but suddenly they were streaming down your face. They were mostly due to embarrassment, but also due to anger--at Yoongi, at Taehyung, yourself for thinking that you knew either of them at all, and at Jungkook for somehow convincing you to step into this stupid closet with him.

“I wouldn’t have left her out in the damn street without a car.” Taehyung snapped finally.

“You like acting as though you’re so much better than me.” Yoongi sighed. “But we both know that at the end of the day, the girl you liked picked me without hesitation. That’s gotta say something about you, don’t you think?” Yoongi was trying to make Taehyung mad, and you suspected that it was working. “And I assure you, you weren’t anywhere in her mind when she unbuttoned her shirt, or reached for my belt...”

“Fuck. Even I’m not this bad.” Jungkook whispered, and you reached up to clamp a hand over his mouth. You thought you might actually have a heart attack if you were caught like this with him.

Yoongi’s words seemed to be the last straw for Taehyung, as you heard a crash from the other side of the door. Shortly after, you heard what you thought might have been a punch, and then some violent swearing, and another crash. Your hand went up to your mouth slowly to cover it.

“They must really like you.” Jungkook hissed, pulling your hand away from his own mouth.

“This has nothing to do with me.” You replied just as quietly. “Neither of them would get this bent out of shape over someone they just met. They were looking for a reason to tear each other down, and I just happened to get caught in the middle.” You hadn’t really intended to tell Jungkook of all people this, but the words slipped past your mouth without even realizing. You weren’t sure how you were suddenly so sure of this, but there was no doubt in your mind--you were nothing to either of them but a way to hurt the other.

“Get the fuck out of my office before I call the fucking police.” You heard Yoongi say, sounding out of breath.

“I’ll tell dad you said hi, asshole.” Taehyung replied, anger clear in his voice.

“You can tell dad to get hit by a bus.” Yoongi seethed. Taehyung slammed the office door as he left.

A/N Yep, they’re brothers! :D Kind of! You’ll see! Do you trust Taehyung, or Yoongi, or neither? Are they both assholes you hate? Is Jungkook growing on you, or is he still just a douche-canoe that might have just dragged Reader into a closet bc he wanted to be in a small space with her? Haha, thank you for reading, and as always, let me know your thoughts and feelings! <3 <3 <3

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bbatcats-blog · 8 years ago

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let me be your coffee pot

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

Title from ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys.

ff.net. - ao3.

Day one: AU/AH of KlarolineInfinity Week!

Caroline was beyond frustrated.

Sleep-deprived, coffee did nothing to calm her, full bent on getting a good grade. Apparently, Mr. Salvatore, her annoying and inappropriate Communication teacher, had taken a sudden like to technology —that wasn’t related at all to the fact that he showed up hungover at the last classes of the year, refusing to teach them anything, sending power points of the contents to them instead— and decided to take the exam through an online platform.

A message appeared on her laptop screen when she was reading a question about engaging people in the media, startling her.

You’re now running low on reserve battery power. You need to plug the power adapter into your computer and into a power outlet. If you don’t, your computer will go to sleep in a few minutes to preserve its memory contents.

Groaning, she looked around, noticing not even one plug in sight. It didn’t surprise her, considering the old vibe of the store, it was a miracle that it had wireless connection to begin with. Hell, she had actually contemplated turning around upon first looking inside “Original Coffee”. Ancient shelves containing jar of coffee grains instead of a machine, and a counter guy dressed in a Viking costume? Weird.

The shining screen reminded her that she had fifteen minutes and forty seconds left to finish the exam.

She cursed her bad luck. Had she walked under a ladder that day? She really hoped not.

Although it wasn’t completely her fault, on second thought, it was Katherine’s.

Though, while Enzo had been her only roommate everything seemed fine, she had gathered that living with people wasn’t easy from previous experiences.

They had become roommates in her first year of college. She was studying journalism and he public relations; however, they met in a Communication class, where he had been assigned as her partner for a project. Bonding over mutual hatred towards the new teacher, a creepy grinch-looking guy, and their love for both Nolan and Tarantino’s films, a friendship was slowly built on trust and support.

She had complained about how exhausting living with girls in the college campus was during one class and how she had been looking fruitlessly for a suitable apartment. He had offered her that, if she wanted, she could be his roommate. It was a tempting offer but she had to think it through. Could their relationship survive cohabitating?

When one of her then roommates started psychoanalyzing her, again, about her tendencies for order and referring to her single status as seeds of ’'the deep insecurities carved on her by her parents’ split“, while the other roommate looked at them disdainfully, perpetual pout on her lips, Caroline snapped and screamed at the girl that she was single because she wanted to, thank you very much, and it wasn’t her fault she was a lazy person who left her ugly clothes everywhere. Packing her possessions and leaving the room, she had called Enzo immediately to accept his offer.

Enzo was accommodating towards her and when she had told him order was needed, he complied, changing his ways and soon everything was organized in their apartment —well, expect his room but she couldn’t do miracles— and stayed that way through time. Friday nights watching movie marathons and eating junk food made them bond even more. To her surprise, she found herself caring for him as a brother and delighted upon seeing they managed to live together without major troubles.

She was happy with her single status. In the other hand, Enzo St. John wasn’t the serious relationship type, having new flings each week, he had enough class to not bring them to their apartment; it was either on their place or no activity at all. Their comfortable, beautiful and calm was destroyed when he became Rebekah Mikaelson’s boyfriend, a beautiful british girl who hated her guts.

With two occupied bedrooms and one to spare, they had always been looking for a new roommate. More than ever, Enzo had prompted her to do so, since she had been a bit lonely now that he spent a lot of time on Rebekah’s place (’'I know you’re an independant woman, gorgeous, but it would really put my mind at ease if you were with someone in here more. I’m feeling quite guilty for leaving you alone this much. What if I give you dog?”).

He suggested Kol, one of the the bajillion of Rebekah’s siblings, but she was no way in hell living with him after he spent the whole day they met —and every time they saw each other— throwing lame pick-up lines at her. No one seemed trustworthy enough, until she received a text message from Katerina Petrova, childhood best friend from Mystic Falls, the only one she had never lost contact with. Apparently, one of Kat’s parties had gotten out of control and the police came, for the tenth time in two months, and having been warned already, her parents kicked her out. With a too self-righteous sister and nobody else to rely on but Caroline, she was the only one she counted on. She needed a place to live in for a while and, after a talk with Enzo, she acquiesced. Using the money she still had from her trust fund on changing her name to Katherine Pierce, she had finally taken on the scholarship given to her a few months ago and went to live with them. Enzo and Katherine became friends quickly, which Rebekah hadn’t liked one bit.

Looking back at it, she damned the day she decided to help her friend.

Elijah, other of Rebekah’s brothers, had come to deliver some books to her on a normal Tuesday when Katherine had opened the door. She flirted with him, not an ounce of shame in her body, in front of a disgusted Rebekah, an amused Enzo and a frowning Caroline. He had coughed rather uncomfortably at the moment but Katherine was enchanted by him. Taking her coat, she threw Rebekah’s book in a table and dragged him out of there, God-knows-where. They had engaged in a relationship afterwards. Caroline shuddered every time she thought of it.

Present day, in the evening, she had been studying with her laptop, when Katherine entered the place, Elijah MIkaelson trailing behind. She slammed both hands on Caroline’s desk, mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Okay, Carebear, listen. This is our fifth month anniversary and after a delicious lunch, I would really like to fuck my boyfriend on every surface of this apartment.” Caroline’s nose scrunched up. “So, it’s better if you go to another place to finish your things.”

The girl scoffed and stood up. “No way! This is my apartment, I refuse to be kicked out again! Go do your stuff on this suit-wearing-monster’s house instead. No offense, by the way, Elijah.”

He nodded. “None taken, Miss Forbes.”’

Katherine smirked. “Then we’ll just have to get to business in front of you, don’t we, Elijah?”

Face red, he visibly cringed at his girlfriend’s manners, but Katherine threw herself on him, kissing him eagerly, and he forgot it.

Caroline angrily took her charger and laptop, putting it on a bag, leaving the room with loud steps.

Before closing the door, Elijah let out, “I’m sorry, Ms. Forbes,” trying his best to be polite through his heavy breathing.

She contemplated with disbelief the brown closed door. Hearing moans coming from inside, she yelled “I hope you both choke!”

In her current predicament, trying to come up with ways to make Katherine pay, a sigh elicited behind her caught her attention, making her turn around.

A guy sat at the table, looking down, frown marring his face, drawing something, very focused, on a paper. Another sigh escaped his lips and he looked up, scratching his neck with one hand, pencil previously used in the other. Stubble decorated his face along with full red lips, blue-ocean-deep eyes and a strong but tensed jaw. When his eyes connected with hers, he seemed to draw a breath and she forgot of the fifteen minutes and counting she had to finish. Their connection broke when, lost in the moment, without thinking, he opened his hand and the pencil dropped. He leaned down to pick it up, attracting Caroline’s eyes to his charcoal stained hands. Past them, she noticed a plug-in tampered to the wall… her salvation.

She contemplated going there and sitting quietly, finish her test and run away but dismissed the idea as too weird. However, when her eyes looked at the computer again and a red light indicated it was about to die, she damned Katherine again and, standing up quickly, charger and computer in hands, she moved to his table.

The guy looked at her, astounded at her sudden approach, but gave her a wicked smile. Damn, he had dimples too! “Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?”

“Is this seat taken?” He shook his head, confused. “Okay, so my computer’s about to turn off and I’m taking this big test and need to use this plug,” she explained while putting her computer and plugging the charger, “if you’re a loner who doesn’t like company I’m sorry dude, you’ll have to get over it for 13 minutes or go, i’m really sorry but blame whoever thought building this place as an ancient coffee shop was a good idea and put only one plug in the entire place. Like, what kind of person could even—?”

He chuckled, interrupting her speech, but her angry gaze made his laughter cease. He coughed. “I did, actually. This is my shop, love.” Showing his teeth, he was very amused at her widening eyes.

She damned Katherine again. Her cheeks couldn’t get redder at the moment.

“I probably should apologize for talking about you like this but i’m on the clock here, dude. Literally. I’ve got exactly,” she looked at the laptop screen, “twelve minutes and fifty-eight seconds so…”

Eyebrow raised, the guy smiled. “Then, I guess I’ll have to wait for it, love.”

A smile formed on her lips.

Twelve minutes and fifty seconds later, she let out a relieved sigh.

Her screen shined with a new message.

Time’s finished. Your test will be on the platform and the grade will be uploaded next Sunday.

After the rather chaotic day she had endured, excitement took over. The scholar year was over. No more essays, exams or projects for Caroline Forbes that year.

She forgot everything until Dimples talked again, pencil scratching paper, “Finished, I guess, sweetheart?”

Unimpressed, she bit out, “Too distracted to notice the pet names before but quit it already, okay?.”

He put the pencil down and smiled. “Yes, ma'am. How should I call you?”

“Caroline,” she answered, dryly.

“Caroline,” he repeated, slowly. Caroline felt herself blush. Living with Enzo, enduring Kol’s incessant talking and Rebekah’s biting words, she had thought herself immune to british accents but he had proved her wrong, it seemed. “Sweet Caroline,” he said, singing tone, drawing the 'e’ at the end.

“Please, don’t. I get called that enough in british accent to have you doing it too,” she frowned, thinking of Kol.

Nodding, he looked at her, eyebrow raised. “A lot of british friends, I presume?”

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

He seemed curious but decided not to question her further. Instead, he smiled at her. “If you don’t mind me intruding, what was the test about?”

“What?”

“You said something about an exam…”

“Oh, it’s my final one of the communication classes. I’m a journalism major,” she seemed thoughtful, looking around the place, “You run this shop? It’s beautiful, even if the old vibe bothers my technology needs,” she joked.

“Oh yes, I run this but it was my little brother’s, Henrik, idea to decorate like this. I would have make it more modern but I can’t bring myself to deny him things. I’m an art major too, but have to work here because my father removed my trusting funds the day I told him I wanted nothing to do with law.”

She frowned. “That’s awful of him. But I really admire your passion for art.”

“Oh, I really enjoy it. Plus, it pissed father off.” He looked down at his draw and she could notice, to her surprise, her face on it. Her breath quickened. It was… very detailed and she looked pretty on it, a light coming from the sketch that made her gasp. He noticed it and she could see him fighting down a blush. “You’re beautiful, Caroline. And I like your personality. No one has ever insulted my coffee shop in such a magnificent way,” he said, seriousness matching his features.

His eyes looked at hers again. When they moved down and focused on her lips, fidgeting, she decided to change the subject, raising her eyebrow to emphasize it. “Why would you want to bother your dad?”

His playful smiled told her he was about to confide her a secret and she leaned too, smiling gently. He leaned over, elbows placed on the table and softly whispered, “Because I’m not his real son and he’s an arsehole.”

Playful attitude or not, the sadness underneath was evident. Suddenly, a memory flashed through her mind. Kol smiling playfully at her, much like Dimples was doing now, telling her stories about his brothers, Henrik and Nik, a bored Rebekah next to him.

British, brother named Henrik, changed law major for an art major, coffee shop owner, not his father’s real son, dimples.

Shifting on her chair, she wondered, “Wait a minute, Dimples. What’s your name?”

He smirked. “Well, certainly it’s not Dimples. I’m Niklaus Mikaelson, though, everyone calls me Klaus except my siblings,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She gasped and started picking her things up. She had her fill of Mikaelsons, she didn’t need more. While doing so, she dropped her latte and it got all over the floor. She bit her lip, there goes her coffee.

He looked worried. “Did I do something wrong, sweetheart?”

She shook her head and tried to smile at him. “Not really. I should probably get going.”

He winced and stood up too. “Is my name too hideous? You can call me Dimples if you would like,” he told her, hopefully.

She let out a laugh but then she turned serious upon seeing his expression.“It’s not you. Just… I don’t want more Mikaelsons in my life.” He seemed taken by surprise. “No offense, but three’s good enough, since one of them is basically the reason my roommate kicked me out today and I almost failed my test. The girl’s the reason why I actually had to get a roommate in the first place and the other’s just a pest.”

His eyes widened, realization struck him. “You’re the Caroline Forbes? That’s why you told me not to call you Sweet Caroline.”

“What?”

He smiled. “My brothers are enchanted by you. One of them refers to you as a pretty little thing that can’t refuse a challenge and the other says you’re a very educated admirable person, I suppose you can figure out which is one,” his statement made her roll her eyes, “and my sister says she hates you but actually likes you a lot.”

Well, she didn’t know that. Her gaze softened considerably.

“I would like to know you as they do. I wasn’t lying when I told you how magnificent you are. You have a light on you that actually warms my heart.” Quirked brow, she still looked rather reluctant, not believing his words. “Come on. Take a chance, Caroline, I dare you.”

Kol had said one true thing: Caroline couldn’t reject a challenge. And his eyes were slowly tearing down her walls.

“I don’t know…”

“I will even buy you another coffee.”

She chuckled. “Okay, but know this, I’m just staying on the promise of more coffee. I haven’t actually slept a lot the last couple of days.”

Caroline got revenge on Katherine eventually in her fifth month anniversary with Klaus. She entered the apartment, Kat’s eyes looking at them from the couch where she was studying, question on the tip of her tongue, but Caroline only smirked at her and proceeded to pin Klaus to the wall, his lips colliding against hers forcefully, tongues intertwining immediately. He nibbled her bottom lip and she felt something electrifying coursing through her veins. Placing her hands around his neck to pull him closer, she couldn’t get enough of him.

The loud slam of the door closing, indicating Katherine was out, got her to finally break the kiss. She felt satisfied at both her revenge and Klaus’ heavy breathing against her shoulder.

“I know what you intended to do, sweetheart.”

No longer scolding him for the pet names, she brought her lips to his again. Unbuttoning his coat quickly, she really hoped none of her roommates would come back soon. Soon as in a day or a week —maybe a month.

#sorry for any mistakes #klarolineinfinity #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fic #klaroline drabble #day one: au/ah #my writing #mine;

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jackson-phillips-blog · 8 years ago

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You Outta Know || Janton and Chase

Tagging: Jackson Phillips, Anton Mishka Morozov, Chase Olsen Setting: Jackson’s apartment, Afternoon of Tuesday, April 25th Summary: Chase comes over to check on Jackson and Mishka comes home from work. Awkwardness ensues and more than one secret gets revealed. Warnings: None

Jackson had been home for a few days and while he still wasn't feeling great--far from it actually--he definitely wasn't as miserable as he'd been at first. The limitations of his injuries still frustrated him infinitely and for as much as he appreciated Mishka's help, he still had trouble admitting that he needed it or accepting it when it was offered. It was slow going and a learning process for both of them but finally, he'd convinced his boyfriend to go back to work, that he didn't need to be watched around the clock. It was easier said than done, but eventually Mishka had left the apartment for a shift at Tall Tales and he'd gone back to sleep on the couch.

It was a little before noon when Jackson finally woke up and it didn't take long for the urge to do something hit him. But he knew he needed rest so instead, he fired off a message to Chase, asking his friend to come over. What better than time hanging with a friend, not to mention the peace of mind that his burn was healing normally? It wasn't that he'd purposely waited until Mishka was gone to invite the other man over b--okay, yes it was because on top of everything else he was still and would always be worried about being outed. Chase already suspected something and showing up to his one bedroom apartment where two men lived was hard for anyone to sell. Jackson made his way to the front door at the sound of a knock, not bothering to fight his way into a shirt. “Hey, man,” he greeted his friend before stepping back to allow him inside. “I was wonderin’ if ya got lost.”

Chase had already written out the instructions for Jackson after their conversation the other night and had left them next to a box of Thin Mints on his kitchen counter so he wouldn’t forget either thing whenever Jackson asked him to come over. Things at work were chaotic as usual, but Chase thrived off of chaos. It was much easier to throw himself into his work and put all of his focus on that than anything else. He had just gotten home and out of the shower when Jackson texted, quickly changing into clean clothes before he heads over, smiling as his friend opens the door. “Hey yourself. Sorry, I had to get changed.” The brunette says apologetically, holding up the bag he had brought with him as he steps inside, chuckling softly. “I come bearin’ cookies and instructions on how to take care of your arm. Want me to get that look over over with now? It’ll only take a minute.”

“I'm just fuckin’ with ya, Chase. Thanks for comin’ over,” Jackson said with a laugh as he pushed the door closed behind the other man. He couldn't help that his spirits lifted a little at the mention of the cookies and he nodded. “Yeah, just kick ya shoes off and come on in.” As he spoke his eyes flicked down to where his hand pointed at the line of shoes against the wall. After a second, his eyes went a little wide as he spotted a few pairs of Mishka's mixed in with his. Fuck. He hadn't even thought about that since his boyfriend has moved all his stuff in. Maybe Chase wouldn't notice though. He cleared his throat and did his best to shake it off mentally as he turned for the living room. “The couch’ll work, yeah?” Jackson asked.

“No problem, man. Anytime.” Chase replies, kicking off his shoes at Jackson’s request. “Yeah, couch is fine.” Grabbing the pair of gloves he had brought with him from the bag, he slips them on, setting everything else aside before following his friend over to where he sat. “How’s it feelin’? It’ll start gettin’ itchy as t heals, try not to scratch it too hard. You can put some plain lotion on it though if it gets too bad, just try not to overdo it otherwise the skin’ll stay wet and not heal.” The brunette murmurs as he looks Jackson’s shoulder over, being careful not to hurt his friend. “I don’t see any signs of infection - just keep puttin’ on whatever they gave ya at the hospital and bandaging it and it should heal up just fine in a couple of weeks.”

Jackson settled down on the couch and helped the slide the band of the sling out of the way so the bandages could be peeled back. “I mean, it hurts, but nothin’ like it was after it happened.” He hummed quietly in reply to show he understood the instructions and he was more than relieved to hear it looked good. Not that he didn't trust Mishka's first aid skills, but it was just good to have that reassurance from someone with medical training. “That's good to hear. Thanks, bro,” he said as he waited for everything to be shifted back like it was. “Just wish the swellin’ would go down already. I wanna take this damned thing off.” Jackson sighed at his own words though. He wasn't the type to complain this much. “Do I get my cookies now?”

“No problem. You could try putin’ ice on it a few times a day, if the pressure’s not too much.” Chase suggests as he reapplies the bandage, giving Jackson a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll grab ‘em.” Getting up, he tosses the gloves out before going back to his things, grabbing the box of cookies. “I left the instructions for ya on the table. They should be pretty self explanatory, but if ya have any questions, ya know how to reach me.” The brunette says, shrugging as he opens up the Thin Mints, offering them over to his friend. “I’m no doctor, but I’m way better than Google. Google just freaks people out, I swear.”

“Jus’ have to figure out a comfortable way to make the ice pack stay where I put it,” Jackson said. It's something he'd have to get creative with, but it would be worth it if it meant the swelling would go down faster. He shifted around on the couch when Chase disappeared, fidgeting with strap of the sling for a few seconds. He really was over the damned thing but he knew better than to risk having to wear it for longer. Jackson grinned at the cookies when they were opened and held out for him. At least this was still normal more or less. “Oh yeah, have folks thinkin’ they've got some incurable shit,” he laughed as he tugged a few cookies from the pack and bit into one. Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed and he sat the cookies down in favor for his phone. Fuck being one-handed. Of course that minor irritation was erased once he opened the snapchat from Mishka, the picture making him angle his screen away from Chase until the time was up.

“Try a bag of frozen peas. They’re easier to bend around your shoulder than an ice pack.” The brunette replies, leaning back against the couch a bit. “You can always put the sling strap on top of the ice pack or whatever too.” Shrugging, Chase helps himself to a cookie, chewing it slowly. “Yeah, it’s crazy. I hate it when people call us thinkin’ something is terribly wrong because they’ve looked on Google and then it turns out to be somethin’ real simple.” He replies, shaking his head a bit. “You need to get that?” He asks once Jackson reaches for his phone, brows furrowing slightly as he moves his phone away - not that he was going to creep on whatever Jackson was looking at. “I can go if it’s bad time, the cookies are yours.” The EMT offers, not wanting to get in the way of anything, even though Jackson had invited him over. But Chase knew things came up all of the time, and he wasn’t gonna pick at it and start a fight. At least not with one of his friends. “Earth to Jackson, anyone in there?”

Jackson typed out a quick response to the picture before turning his screen off and tossing his phone down to the couch. “Huh? What? No, no, no,” he said with a laugh, waving Chase’s words off. He knew it had been rude to answer his phone while they were hanging out but he also knew that Mishka would have thought something was wrong if he hadn’t answered back. “Just a snap from my...friend.” Right, because that didn’t sound suspicious at all. The other man had already hinted he knew there was more to his ‘friend’ as it was. “You-uh--ya want anythin’ to drink or anythin’?” Jackson offered as he picked up one of the cookies he’d put down and took a bite.

“Mhmm.” Chase mutters in response, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Jackson was acting cagey, and it wasn’t the pain medication talking. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t trouble yourself, man. You should be restin’. EMT’s orders or whatever.” He says firmly, giving the brunette beside him a look, though he’s only half serious. He really doesn’t want anything though, pushing the sleeve of cookies back towards Jackson. “Don’t worry about me. You eat cookies and relax.”

Boy, was Beckie glad to see him again. Their relationship was purely based off of their profession, but he could tell that managing the store by herself and some newly hired employee hadn’t been easy. The second Anton had walked into work he saw how disorientated a lot of things was, but he was kind of happy for the distraction. It kept him busy for most of the shift and when his last hour was almost up he had been fairly surprised at how non-offending work was today. He had gone in expecting there to be some sort of Hell fire, alright poor choice of words considering the accident that happened recently, but he didn’t walk out of work with a permanent crease between his brows. Which, was a pretty rare thing to come by really.

As Anton walked back to Jackson’s place he texted Wade. His friend sent him that reminder about keeping Friday free and he had to reassure the Brit that he wouldn’t skip out. It wasn’t like he had a choice last time anyways- and even if he did he still wouldn’t have gone out to that art show. Not when Jackson had just gotten home and all of that. By the time he had his keys jingling in the doorknob he was smiling down at his phone. Leave it to Wade to say some stupid shit to try and ‘threaten’ him for the tenth time about not flaking out on the evening plan. “Гребаный идиот,” he muttered to himself as he unlocked the front door. “I’m back.” Anton pushed the door open and stepped inside only to toe off his shoes right away. “Beckie says hi by the way, and I have a thing on Friday to go to.” He pocketed his phone and nudged his shoes over towards the usual spot he left them but found the area occupied. Huh. Weird. Anton did a double take and frowned, but he didn’t think much of it until he went over towards the living room. “It’s an art show that Wa-”

Oh. Oh, fuck. His mouth remained open as he saw who was sitting on the couch. There was Jackson, of course, but there was also someone else that automatically made his stomach churn unpleasantly. It wasn’t because he found Chase unpleasant or anything, but it was more based off of the guilt he hadn’t gotten over. Anton pressed his lips into a thin line as he looked from one man to another. His hands flexed by his sides out of a nervous habit and he avoided eye contact for a moment. “Uh, hey.” It was said in the others’ general direction as he busied his eyes with the lily that sat by the windowsill.

Jackson had been in the middle of explaining how there was nothing left on Netflix that appealed to him when the door opened so he didn’t pick up on it right away and it wasn’t until he heard Mishka’s voice that he was aware they weren’t alone. He nearly choked on his cookie, a bit of panic rising in him immediately. Was his boyfriend home early or had that much time passed without him realizing it? He blinked up at Mishka as he stepped into the living room, his eyes a little wide. Not that he’d been doing anything other than hanging out with Chase, but that wasn’t what he was worried about being caught in. “M-Mishka...D-Did you get off early?” he asked, his voice shaking way more than he wanted it to. “This is my friend Chase, the EMT that bullied me into goin’ t-to the hospital.” Jackson turned back to Chase, trying to gauge exactly what was going through his friend’s mind at the sudden arrival of another guy in his apartment. “C-Chase, this is Mishka, my fr…” Fuck it, he was already caught now. “My boyfriend.”

Chase recognizes Mishka’s voice as soon as the other male lets himself in, and suddenly everything starts to click. The way both males are refusing to make eye contact, the way they’re both stuttering - this was the friend Jackson had been talking about. “Hey. We’ve met, actually. Over at the pool.” He replies calmly with a shrug, not about to throw Mishka under the bus. Obviously the other night hadn’t been brought up yet, and he wasn’t gonna do that to Jackson. “Yeah, don’t listen to him. I was just doin’ my job.” Gesturing vaguely, Chase shakes his head, moving to his feet slowly. “Jackson, it’s fine, you don’t-” He’s halfway through telling his friend that he doesn’t owe him an explanation when the truth comes out, causing him to pause. It wasn’t that he cared if Jackson liked guys or not, because it didn’t matter to him and it really wasn’t any of his business, but the fact that he had almost hooked up with his friend’s boyfriend a few nights ago was enough to cause concern, at least for Jackson. There was obviously more to the story there, but now wasn’t the time to get into it. “Well then I have instructions for ya, Jackson asked me to write ‘em out just to be safe.” The brunette finally adds on, nodding towards the kitchen. “I can go over ‘em with ya real quick before I go.”

He didn’t actually see how surprised Jackson was, but he sure could hear it. Hell, he could probably smell it if he wanted to the same old dramatic self he always was. Except he didn’t feel like that right now. All he felt was this crippling crash of how much of a shitty person he was all at once. It was always there in the back of his mind, but he was good at just going with it. Now though? Not so much. While a part of him was pleasantly surprised that Jackson admitted their relationship out loud, he couldn’t get over the fact that these two men were friends. Just leave it to him to find the one person that was on good terms with Jackson and himself. Anton cursed himself to hell and back internally as he finally sighed, but none of the growing tension in his body was released with the heavy breath. When Anton looked back over to the pair his gaze was tired and strained. The telltale tick jumped on the corner of his jaw as he listened to what Chase said. There wasn’t a reason to freak out, alright? There really wasn’t, but he felt his stomach go cold and his throat threatened to tighten. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be grand,” he said with a crooked smile that lacked the passive happiness he had walked in with. Anton rubbed the back of his neck as he went over towards the kitchen to see where the instruction were as he tried to keep his breathing steady again. Panicking wasn’t the solution to this, it never was for any situation, but the shitty part of his mind was already spewing crap into his conscious about how terrible of a person he was and the worst part was that he didn’t deny any of it.

Jackson honestly had no idea what had possessed him to introduce Mishka as his boyfriend. It was the truth, obviously and he’d wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t ashamed of that. And Chase was his friend, right? Surely if anyone would understand, it would be the EMT. At least, that’s what he’d thought but it didn’t seem to be the case with the way Chase was suddenly trying to get out of the apartment and how he seemed to pause at the admission. Even Mishka was acting off, but Jackson hadn’t noticed it as much because panic and worry was rising in him. Had he just lost another friend? It was the main question on his mind as Mishka and Chase moved towards the kitchen, the fact that the two knew one another not really clicking in the moment. “Y-Ya don’t gotta leave, Chase,” he called after them, though his voice made it clear he was already sure he’d fucked up. Jackson didn’t even bother to move from the couch, not wanting to make himself look even more ridiculous by trying to chase the EMT down.

Chase can hear the panic in Jackson’s voice and his stomach sinks, mentally cursing at himself. “You go ahead, they’re on the table.” He mutters to Mishka before moving back towards Jackson, offering his friend a smile. “C’mon, ya don’t need me watchin’ over ya if Mishka’s here. We’re good, I promise. As long as you’re happy, Jackson...that’s all that matters to me, y’know?.” The brunette says, trying to reassure Jackson as best as he could in the moment, carefully giving the other male a one armed hug. “I’m gonna go talk to Mishka real quick, do me a favor and take a deep breath or two? Ya look like you’re about to pass out.” Chase murmurs, protective as ever. Jackson was still Jackson, and who he dated wasn’t gonna change how he saw him. Returning to the kitchen, he grabs the paper, giving it to Mishka to read over. “Alright, sorry. It shouldn’t be too hard ta follow, just make sure the bandage gets changed a coupla times a day. I checked Jackson’s arm out earlier, it looks like it’s healin’ pretty well so far.” He says, unsure whether or not he should bring up the other night or not. Mishka was already panicking, and Chase didn’t want to make it any worse. “You have any questions?”

If he wasn’t in the turmoil of staying here in the present then he probably would’ve stayed in the living room to try and smooth things out. There really, really wasn’t anything to be so freaked out about because he knew that the thing that happened between Chase and him was in the past. Things couldn’t settle at just that though. Of course it couldn’t. Anton merely leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a defensive pose but rather one that was more geared towards making himself smaller. If that actually worked it’d be a damn miracle, but he knew that it’d never come true. He listened intently to what Chase said, finding the instructions a nice distraction from the constant drone that ran in the back of his mind. “No, um, not really,” he said with a fraction of a shrug as he covered his mouth with a hand. The urge to chew on the insides of his cheeks came up but he pushed past it.

“But, uh, yeah if you want to stick around then that’s fine. If you’re into Cinnamon Toast Crunch then we have a ton of that shit here too.” It was a weak attempt to keep himself out of the caverns of his mind and it didn’t much to make him feel any more positive than before. “I’m just, going to go to the bathroom for a bit, yeah?” For what reason? He had no idea, but it sure as hell didn’t have to do with taking a leek or washing his hands. Actually, a shower sounded pretty great but then his mind quickly countered that with that one time where things went to shit in said shower. Anton just continued to smile tensely as he excused himself. He made sure to smile at Jackson as he passed by, and he really hoped that his boyfriend didn’t pick up on how thin his mental state was in. Again. It was downright embarrassing at this point. He had gone several years without a single break but now he was experiencing them left and right. It was a way for his mind to tell him that he needed to quit running from shit, but he really wanted to just deny that and look the other way. Anton got to the bathroom, and instead of leaving the door cracked open like he usually did, he closed it with a soft click. His to-go reason was because of how weird it might be to leave the bathroom door open while a guest over but that wasn’t the case at all.

Jackson had slumped back against the couch, prepared to accept the fact that Chase was walking out because of what he’d just admitted to, but he sat up again quickly when the other man turned back to him. Honestly, he was a bit surprised by what his friend said, having fully expected...well the exact opposite of acceptance. He couldn’t find his words in the moment, so instead he just nodded and pressed back into the half hug slightly, shifting back when Chase moved towards the kitchen. It took a moment, but he truly couldn’t recall a time when he’d gotten that reaction when coming out to anyone that he wasn’t getting naked with. Jackson settled back onto the couch, doing his best to breathe as Chase had said. He heard the pair talking in the kitchen and a few moments later, Mishka was passing him and heading off to the bathroom. The smile seemed a little...tight, but he didn’t think much into it just yet.

“Mishka...” Chase sighs, running his fingers through his hair slowly. “You don’t have to go anywhere, this is your place too.” If anyone should leave, it should be him, but Mishka has already disappeared down the hall and Chase is left in the kitchen staring at the space where the other man once was. Sighing, he sticks the instructions on the fridge with a magnet before walking back towards Jackson slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew he had to come clean about the kiss, especially now that Mishka walked off. “Hey...I gotta tell ya somethin’, okay? An’ I’m not sayin’ it because I want to make things weird or cause any trouble, but because we’re friends and you should know.” Chase says slowly, letting out a breath slowly. “I don’t know how long you guys have been together or anythin’...but the other night I ran into Mishka at a club and we went back to my place. We kissed a little, but that’s it, I swear. He started panicking an’ I got him a car to take him home.” The brunette explains, his eyes trained on the floor. “You know I never woulda done anythin’ if I knew about you two...I’d never wanna hurt ya like that, Jackson.”

Jackson had half expected Chase to head out of the apartment, but when the other man reappeared a few moments after Mishka passed by he just assumed his boyfriend had somehow convinced him to stay. His mouth had opened to make a comment on just that when the EMT spoke up first. And the way he was acting...The mannerisms plus the words were enough to make Jackson freeze before the other even finished speaking. Of course he knew about Mishka going out and picking someone up because his boyfriend had admitted to as much. But he’d never said the person he’d nearly had a drunk hook-up with was his best friend. The confession caught him completely by surprise and for a moment he just...sat there, not sure what to do or say.

Finally, Jackson’s brain seemed to kick back in and he shook his head over at Chase. “I-It’s not your fault, Chase. Ya didn’t know,” he said as he looked over at his friend. And that was the truth. He’d made sure to be so paranoid and secretive about Mishka and whatever they were that there was no way he could expect Chase or anyone to just know how he felt. Not to mention the fact that nothing was official until the day after this...encounter had happened. It still didn’t mean he was thrilled about the revelation, but Jackson knew that at the end of the day, the blame rested squarely on his own shoulders. “Thanks for tellin’ me though.”

“I’m still sorry.” Chase mumbles, forcing himself to meet Jackson’s eyes with his after a few moments. He had wanted Mishka to be the one who was honest with Jackson, but he also hadn’t wanted to lie any longer. Jackson was easily his best friend in Atlanta, and he never wanted to hurt him or make things weird between them. “I didn’t wanna be the one to tell ya, but...I didn’t wanna keep it from ya either.” He adds on, sighing heavily. “Look, you should talk to Mishka. We’ll hang out again soon, okay? I promise. But I should get goin’.” Giving Jackson a small smile, Chase heads towards the door, slipping his shoes back on. “I left the instructions on the fridge for you two. Don’t eat all of the cookies in one sittin’, yeah?” He jokes, chuckling softly as he lets himself out, heading back home.

Jackson would admit that maybe the news hadn’t been the easiest to hear, but he was doing his best with it. He just had to keep reminding himself that he and Mishka hadn’t been together and Chase hadn’t known. Still, he couldn’t help the way his stomach dropped a little and his face fell when his friend continued to apologize and shuffled to leave. He wanted to stop him, but at the same time, he knew Chase was right. He needed to talk to Mishka and there was a good chance that the EMT needed to get out himself. “Alright, yeah. Thanks like I said and I’ll see ya later,” he called as he watched Chase slip out the door. He sat on the couch for a few minutes longer, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out exactly how to talk about this with his boyfriend. Finally, Jackson pulled himself up from his seat and padded towards the bathroom. “Mishka? Baby?” he called out as he knocked on the door lightly. “Is everythin’ alright?”

The only question he had running through his mind right now was how he had gotten so weak. Since when did he let this side of him speak up and actually beat him down? He had always been cynical- at least ever since he had learned what sarcasm was and self deprivation, but it had never.. Hurt like this before. Then again, a lot of things hadn’t happened before since he was usually gone and out of any relationship that actually made him feel something. Maybe the reason was because he only had himself to look out for. He had to force himself to be somewhat calloused person he is today because he didn’t have anyone to fall back on, and now that he could he wasn’t sure how to accept it completely. It was new, everything was too new, and it was a moment of weakness that his self loathing self didn’t’ hesitate to jump on.

Anton honestly didn’t hear what Chase and Jackson talked about. He was more focused on taking deep breaths, holding it in and then releasing it. Most of the time he could avoid an episode by controlling how tense his body was. Right now though? It was a little bit more of a struggle than how it usually was. His hands clutched the edge of the sink as he closed his eyes. All he needed to do was just to breathe and it’ll be fine. He didn’t know that Chase was Jackson’s friend. Hell, he didn’t even know that they knew each other, and he tried his best to beat the guilt out of him. Yet, it was easier said than done. The moment he heard a knock on the door he gripped the sink even harder. His knuckles bled white and he cursed at himself for shaking a little. How could anyone want to deal with you? He honestly didn’t know. And yet here you are, still here about three seconds away from crying. Again. Yeah, yeah he was but he still couldn’t bring himself to just barge out and leave town. There wasn’t a single hint of want to do that anymore. He was just stuck in a rut and he didn’t know what to do. Anton ignored the way he winced from the pet name and made sure to suck in a really deep breath this time. “Um.” Amazing, really intelligent there. He couldn’t push another word out as he tried to mentally coach himself into letting go of the sink so he could at least stand upright.

Jackson waited silently on the other side of the door, doing his best not to fidget. The silence from Mishka was not a good sign. Then again, he didn’t hear sobbing so maybe the lack of sound was better than he thought. His shoulder began to ache out of nowhere and he shifted in his sling, the pain coming from how tense he was. Tense? When had that happened? Honestly, he thought he was handling all this fairly well considering it had come out of nowhere. Sure anger was simmering somewhere under the surface and definitely jealously, but all that was easily missed because of the guilt and the sense that this was all his fault. He should have manned up and handled things differently and then the opportunity for what had happened would never have presented itself.

Jackson’s ear pressed against the door at the mumble, hoping to hear more, but that seemed to be all Mishka had to say in the moment and it worried him. “Mishka, I’m coming in,” he announced as his hand went down to the doorknob. A turn proved the door was unlocked and he pushed it open slowly, wanting to give his boyfriend plenty of time to see him coming. He let out a sigh at the sight of the other man, gripping the sink and looking a bit pale. Immediately, he crossed over, shifting behind Mishka as a hand came up to rub over his arm. “Hey, are you alright, darlin’?”

This had to be the nth time he’s had to tell himself that he’s overreacting but it still didn’t do anything to calm himself down. He heard the door open but he didn’t look over. His eyes stayed closed until he felt his arm get touched. Anton didn’t flinch and he honestly didn’t understand why he even thought that’d be a reaction in the first place. There was a response lodged in his throat but he couldn’t seem to push it out at the moment. So he just proceeded to breathe normally until he felt his throat loosen some. “He tell you?” He asked, voice slightly hoarse from how strained he had been up until this point. There was an awful gnawing sensation in the bottom of his gut from a lot of different reasons that were mashed together, but he tried to keep himself as casual as he could afford to. If Jackson was mad then he wouldn’t be surprised. Actually, he’d be more surprised if he wasn’t mad.

Jackson knew his boyfriend enough to know his tells, knew that he was close to a panic attack and that tears were threatening just from the way his muscles tensed and how his voice seemed almost forced out. His hand continued to soothe over Mishka’s arm as it made it’s way down to close over one of the other’s own that was still gripping the sink with white knuckles. He tugged at the fingers lightly, trying to loosen the hold. “Yeah. He told me he was the guy ya went home with last week,” he answered, his voice calm and maybe even a little softer than normal. Jackson didn’t bother to add in the rest of the details Chase had given them, even if there had been few. Maybe that was for the best because honestly, anymore of a play-by-play would have put an image in his head he wasn’t sure he could handle. It had happened, Mishka and Chase had done whatever they’d done, there was no way around it. And a part of him knew he had no right to be upset about something that had happened in the past before he had a say, so he was doing his best to hold onto that. “But that don’t answer my question. I asked if you were okay, baby boy.”

He couldn’t even try and hold his breath as he waited for an answer since he had to keep breathing unless he wanted to really fall into another break. Just hearing those words come out of Jackson’s mouth sounded so wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel even more sick than before. It took him a few seconds but his fingers started to uncurl from the the hold he had on the sink. Anton opened his eyes a little, just enough to see the physical progress he was making. “Okay enough,” he said after swallowing thickly. Yeah, he was always okay enough. This would pass- it always did eventually and he was honestly so tired of falling in and out of this.

Jackson was patient as he felt Mishka’s fingers slipping away from the sink slowly and he twisted his own in with his boyfriend’s digits lightly. While he had to admit he hated to see the other man like this, it was getting easier for him to know just what to do for him when it happened. He pressed his body against his boyfriend a little more solidly and his chin dropped to rest on Mishka’s shoulder as he tried to catch his gaze in the mirror. “I’m right here with ya, babe. He’s gone, just so ya know. I-I’m sorry I didn’t know and I wouldn’t a’ had him over if I’d have…” His head shook lightly against Mishka’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

It was slightly humorous, in his own shitty reasoning of course, that he felt this bad about what happened. He had gone from sleeping with whoever almost every other night to this single person. The same man that kept easing him out of the current distressed state he was in. He still didn’t understand how Jackson could be this patient and not be fed up with how he acted. The feeling of his boyfriend pressed against him helped. Another deep breath was taken in and he let his eyes close again just so he could try and kick out the shitty feelings and thoughts that had almost dictated his mind. “Not your fault.” It really wasn’t and he wanted to elaborate more on that but he’d get to that later when he could say more than just a few words. “Don’t need to be sorry.” He was the one that should be apologizing but he didn’t want to say that while he couldn’t see. As scary as it could be, he felt like Jackson deserved more than just some half assed apology. His body slowly relaxed as he felt more grounded and stable. The next breath he took ended in a sigh as he opened his eyes all the way. He couldn’t help but look at their reflection. Wow, he looked like shit and he had been just fine a few minutes ago. Actually, that wasn’t true. He always had some sort of facade on whenever he was outside, but whenever he was here, at home, he let all of that fall away. So this was him. The real him and he still wanted to be scared of how open he was being but he let himself ignore it just so he could relax fully. “I’m sorry.” He had said it before but he still meant it through and through.

Jackson had honestly never found himself in such a situation. His boyfriend--of course that being a new situation for him in and of itself--and his best friend having a history together, however brief it was. He knew that he wasn’t willing to let something like a few kisses ruin either relationship and he could only hope the other two men would feel the same. He kept so few people close, relationships were hard to come by for him so the thought of losing any of the ones he had was not something he wanted to dwell on. He shook his head again at the apologies, catching Mishka’s gaze in the mirror finally and holding it as he moved to press his lips lightly against his boyfriend’s neck. “Everybody’s sorry,” he said, his tone almost sounding light as he shifted back to keep from trapping his boyfriend against the counter more. “But it happened and it can’t be taken back. So everybody’s sorry and that’s good. It’s over though, right? You’re not...interested in Chase, are ya? B-Because if you are, then…”

The urge to just melt into Jackson’s hold was tempting but before he could he felt the other pull back slightly. Then a look of surprise slapped the worried guilt off of his face a second later. It probably looked comical with how wide his eyes went but he craned his head around so he could stare at Jackson face to face. “There’s no fucking way I am,” he said with more strength than he had felt ever since he got back home. “You’re the only one I’m interested in- I only did that because I was fucking drunk and being really fucking stupid and honestly.. I was thinking about you the whole time. It’s the only way I could’ve done it and then I-” And then he went into a full on panic attack and just the thought made him suck in a sharp breath, but he didn’t fall apart again. “And then I panicked and got really sick but I swear I cleaned the toilet after.” It was jarring to go from only being able to say a few words to talking like a madman, but he couldn’t help it.

Jackson’s head spun a little with how fast Mishka seemed to turn around at his words and the sudden swing from near panicking to almost offensive had him blinking to make sure he hadn’t imagined it or the pain pills weren’t fucking with his head again. But his boyfriend was always full of surprises like that, zigging when he expected him to zag. Still, there was a part of him that was...hesitant. He was head over heels for Mishka and had been since the day he’d met him--even if he hadn’t known it then. But Chase...Surely he was better than Jackson. He was older and had more experience and...He let out a sigh, doing his best to stop the flood of his own thoughts. His head was never a good place to get stuck either. His hand came up to rest on Mishka’s chest and he forced his gaze up. “I hate it, alright. I know we weren’t official and I know nothin’ really happened...But you’re mine, Mishka. Chase is my best friend and I hate the thought of even him near ya like that but...I-I’m not mad at anybody but myself.”

Anton almost squinted his eyes at Jackson but he just stared with his brows slightly creased instead. It was nice to feel some contact again, and as much as he wanted to look down and visually reassure himself that this was as real as it felt, he held Jackson’s gaze without faltering. He reached up and covered the other’s hand with his own as he listened. It was surprising just how much he didn’t like to hear that ‘they hadn’t been official’ because there was a big part of him that was used to thinking that they were a pair. Which, again, slightly terrifying but he didn’t question it. It felt like his heart did a kickflip against his rib when he was told that he was Jackson’s, which he totally was, and then he only frowned deeper. “I am yours and I promise you that I don’t see him like that. Only reason that happened was because I was too afraid to let myself want you- to want this, but now that I have it- now that I have you you’re the only person I ever think about. Especially when it comes to kissing and that stuff, like I’m not joking when I say that you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Jackson shifted his hand on Mishka’s chest to twine their fingers together once more and he moved to bring the back of his boyfriend’s hand up to his lips. It felt good to hear those words, a bit grounding. But he couldn’t help that he still struggled to let the weight of them settle onto him comfortably. Despite so many things, his insecurities were great no matter how much he tried to hide them. “You’re goin’ a lil’ overboard there, baby boy. My ego ain’t that big,” he said as he pressed another kiss to Mishka’s hand before letting it drop down a bit. In truth, he knew that his boyfriend was way more experienced in nearly everything regarding other people and relationships, love and sex. It was embarrassing to admit that out loud, though he was sure Mishka would find it out eventually. “Are we done hidin’ in the bathroom now? I really...wanna go sit or lay down.” Jackson hated admitting that he needed the rest, but he didn’t want to push himself like Chase had warned against.

A smile threatened to come to his lips from having his hand kissed but he kept that firm look on his face. “I’m not doing nearly as much justice as I could be,” he said stubbornly. “But you know mine’s the biggest since I’m so vain and all of that.” And oh look, there came the pessimistic and cynical side of himself again but he didn’t feel like he was being dragged down this time. Anton was back to how he normally was with statements like that and he was thankful for it. A part of him wanted to say that they weren’t hiding in the bathroom, but that was exactly what he had come in here for originally. He just nodded and waited for Jackson to take the lead since he was fine with both options.

“Do we need to whip ‘em out and measure right now?” Jackson teased. Mishka seemed to be feeling better and he definitely wanted to encourage that. What had gone down between Chase and his boyfriend wasn’t great, but it was in the past and he wanted to keep it there. Harping on it would just make everyone miserable. He offered Mishka a small smile as he turned for the door, tugging him along towards the couch. It was more comfortable lately because when he hit the bed, the urge to lay down and stretch out was strong enough to make the mountain of pillows he was exiled to more irritating than they really were. Jackson moved the box of cookies from one of the cushions before urging Mishka up as he settled down back in the spot he’d occupied before. “Are ya hungry? We can order somethin’.”

A soft snort escaped him as he followed after Jackson. “Rather whip something else out and measure,” he mumbled out loud before he could stop himself. Anton actually rolled his eyes at himself because now really wasn’t the time for that. It didn’t occur to him that his responding innuendo was what his boyfriend hinted at but he let it drop from his mind as he arranged himself on the couch. “Always hungry for something.” That he should want to have, and god he was going to bang himself upside the head with a frying pan or something. “But, nah I had lunch earlier on break but you want to order then I’ll eat too.”

Jackson was not the least bit bothered by all of Mishka’s innuendoes. If anything it just told him that his boyfriend was relaxing and feeling better. He settled down and tugged the other closer, tossing a bit of a smirk at the implications. Truth be told, sex hadn’t really been on the agenda...since before the fire. Wow, that realization hit him out of nowhere. Not that it bothered him, really, but Mishka’s teasing made more sense now, even if it wasn’t a conscious thing. “Maybe in a lil’ bit then,” he said as he moved to grab the remotes for the tv. The movement was met with a hiss of pain though because for just a moment he’d forgotten he didn’t have that other hand to use.

Anton merely smiled back tiredly as he leaned in close. It hadn’t been intentional but his lack of filter was in the negative numbers now with how scattered his head had been just a few seconds ago. “M’kay,” he mumbled back right before his eyebrows nearly flew to his hairline from the noise of pain. His hand was already lifted to, well, hover since he didn’t exactly want to reach out and touch the injured arm like he would have done instinctively. Anton leaned forward to get the remote and as he handed it to Jackson he turned towards the man to kiss him on the cheek. “What’d you have in mind?” He asked as he resumed his previous position before Jackson had tried to move.

Jackson let out a huff of frustration both at himself and the alarm on Mishka’s face. He’d get his shit together one day, but hopefully he wouldn’t be stuck like this for much longer. He accepted the remote and the kiss to his cheek soothed the irritation for the moment. Shifting around a little to get comfortable again, he clicked on the tv and began to browse through titles to see if anything caught his eye. After a moment, he settled on one of his boyfriend’s favorite movies and clicked play. “This,” he hummed out, tossing the remote to the table before he reached to tug a blanket down from the back of the couch.

He was thrilled to see what they were going to watch and it managed to pull a bigger smile from him even though he felt like he was about a minute away from falling asleep. Dealing with his emotions and mental health was a lot more tiring than any other physical exertion, but he was happy to spend this time together with Jackson. It seemed like there was always something out there to hit them over the head with bad luck so he was quick to appreciate small moments like this. They could use the rest and they were both healing. Well, it was in their own way, but it was fine. Everything was fine for now and he left it as that.

#para #para:chase #para:anton #you outta know

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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Setting the Record Straight with the North Dakota Radio Host Who Shredded Our City

By now, you know about the North Dakota radio host who ripped Philadelphia on Monday, describing his horrendous experience at Lincoln Financial Field in a letter titled, “Dear Amazon, anywhere but Philadelphia.”

Joel Heitkamp explained that his family was shoved and spat upon and had full beer cans thrown at them. He claims he was headbutted by a drunk Eagles fan and that police officers were complacent with the boorish behavior.

“I have never seen such a display in my life,” Heitkamp wrote.

He followed up with Philly Mag on Tuesday in a more tempered question and answer format, an interview where he didn’t really back down from his criticism of Philadelphia but did mention the hospitality of a “good guy named Ed.”

That’s Ed Callahan, the guy who runs the “Eagles Mobile” tailgate. A Crossing Broad reader suggested we get in touch with Ed for his side of the story, so we did. Ed was nice enough to spend a few minutes on the phone Friday morning, and so was Joel, who got in touch with us later in the day.

Here’s what Ed had to say:

Ed Callahan: Let me give you the whole story as I know it. I do not know what happened to him inside the game. We had nothing to do with that. We have a following in North Dakota, our tailgate, because we’ve been welcoming North Dakota State Bison fans. Some of the folks up there reached out to Heitkamp and had him get in touch with me. We had coordinated earlier in the week. I not only welcomed him to the tailgate, but I arranged for the Green Room bar at 20th and Green Street to be the site for his Friday broadcast back to North Dakota. He interviewed me over the air for about ten minutes Friday afternoon. We also invited him to come down to the tailgate. He showed up and spent about an hour and a half with us. We did shots with him. I told him, about wearing Vikings gear, as long as you’re at my tailgate, you’re safe. Once you cross tenth street, my hands are clean. I have no responsibility for what happens then. Now, on Monday, I texted him and followed up and mentioned that it was a tough loss for them but that we enjoyed meeting you and your company. That’s when he unleashed on what happened in the stadium. But he said, he said to me, this was all in text, ‘you guys were great, I really enjoyed your time.’ Then he shoots out his story. Now, I think he wrote his story in the airport, and it got back to his station in Fargo, and his producer took the picture of my tailgate that I sent to Joel so he could find us, and put that picture as a header on the online story. I don’t know if you notice that when it pops up as the thumbnail.

Crossing Broad: Yeah, I saw that.

Callahan: It’s got a picture of my tailgate, and no mention in the story of how he was treated by us and how we arranged things for him, how we bent over backwards to welcome him. He enjoyed our hospitality for a couple hours, not only him, but his wife, his sister – not the Senator sister, another sister.

Now, he’s a pretty gregarious guy, okay? I think he’s a flame thrower in Fargo on his radio show. So, I have no doubt in my mind, that while he was treated like shit in that stadium, he wasn’t exactly taking tea and cookies to the Calcutta pool with Mother Theresa either. I waited three days after reading that story, because I read the story after exchanging those texts with him. And I went back to him – I’m a 28-year retired Naval officer – the first thing I said to him was, ‘Joel, one of the first things I learned in the Navy is never write anything for publication when you’re angry. Here’s what I’m pissed at. I’m pissed that we had reached out to you, that we had made arrangements for you, and you use a picture of my tailgate in that screed against Philadelphia.’ I said that’s unsatisfactory. He apologized. And he said he’s been over the air in Fargo saying how great we were and how accommodating we were and all of that. But hey, he’s miles away. He also said, ‘talk to the Philly papers,’ because he has gotten back to some folks I guess, and mentioned us. I didn’t see the article that was referenced in the Crossing Broad story by the Philly Mag guy. Did he mention anything positive in that interview or was it just not included?

CB: He did mention you guys there. Let me read the section. He said, quote, “we had been invited to a tailgate by a good guy named Ed. He told us that it was going to be interesting and that once we left the tailgate and went into the stadium, we were on our own.”

So he did mention you guys, but not in the original letter that he wrote. He didn’t talk about the positive experience he had at the tailgate until he spoke with Philly Mag later in the week.

Callahan: Okay, I saw that original story.

CB: Is it disappointing to you that he would leave out the part about your tailgate in his original letter?

Callahan: Oh, absolutely. But let me tell you also what he said. He said that the picture of our tailgate was attached to that story by his producer, and when he got back to North Dakota, he chewed them all out for doing that. And he did apologize, and I accepted his apology for lumping us in with whatever happened to him.

As far as I’m concerned, he was a pretty good guy. We had fun with him, trading barbs back and forth and trash talking, having a few drinks and enjoying ourselves. I also think the ass whipping that the Vikings got contributed to some of the vitriol in that letter.

Callahan and Heitkamp appear together in this picture posted to the tailgate’s Facebook page. Ed is on the right and Joel is in the middle:

And Heitkamp hosted his radio show on Friday from the Green Room in Fairmount:

Joel was good enough to give us a shout a little later on Friday, after wrapping up his show, to offer up his side of the story. We continued the discussion about his experience in Philadelphia and talked about some of the ways in which we can address the fan behavior problem:

Heitkamp: The picture of Ed’s tailgate shouldn’t have been up there. I’m not trying to throw my producer under the bus, but after we wrote it and sent it and she posts it, she used the Philly bus that was sent to us. I apologized to Ed for that, because that RV wasn’t a bad memory for me. I want to be upfront about that. The other thing about it was, whether or not I put Ed in the article, I knew that this article was going to cause trouble. I did. I was talking in generalities, and in fairness to Ed and his tailgate, and what I learned about Philly fans, I’m not not sure Ed wanted me to say, in any way, shape, or form, that he welcomed me around. I mean, think about it. Should I have put him in there? Probably. But in terms of, ‘boy, you didn’t mention the good,’ that’s pretty minor compared to the population of fans where it wasn’t good. I think what pushed me over the top was, well, number one, getting headbutted wasn’t good. But the more important thing was when they circled my wife and my sister and told them that they were going to rape them up the ass. That pushed it over the top for me.

Crossing Broad: I originally thought, and Ed mentioned this, that maybe you were just writing emotionally and off the cuff after a difficult weekend. But you haven’t backed away from any assertions about Philly fans, have you?

Heitkamp: No, I haven’t. And I haven’t because I saw, first hand, all of it at its worst. People have been sending me blog posts and Youtube and all of this, saying (audio cuts out briefly). And I knew that was going to come. Absolutely knew it was going to come. Then it was because, ‘we lost.’ But, Kevin, this went way further than that. It did. Beer cans thrown at you, people getting up and screaming in your face. I mentioned what happened to my wife. Check with the Vikings’ parents. They were sitting in a group and had beer cans thrown down on them. They ended up having to go up in the stands and arrest people and take them out. I’m not lying to you when I tell you that a security guy at the stadium told me, after the screaming in my face, to ‘get the hell out of here.’ It was, ‘you were never welcome here’ kind of stuff. This is a guy working for the stadium. And so, here’s what I’ll stick by – I’ll stick by my challenge of, when the Eagles play the Cowboys, the Chief of Police and the Mayor of Philly need to put Cowboy jerseys on, Cowboy baseball caps on, and just see how bad it is. Walk around. Walk around the tailgate and see what happens to them.

CB: My take on this has always been that the decent, law-abiding, tax-paying normal Philadelphian looks at those people and doesn’t feel any sort of pride or connection to that. But I also don’t think it’s just a ‘Philly problem.’ I mentioned the Giants and Dodgers fan stabbing from a few years ago (in another article). There’s been awful stuff at foreign soccer games. So I think where you start to lose some people is when this is described as a ‘Philly’ thing when we sort of look at it as a human problem, as trashy people acting like trash. Does that make sense?

Heitkamp: I understand what you’re getting at, I just disagree with it. I think they take specific pride in what they do. And I think the average fan that wouldn’t do that, I saw a number of fans there that were just chuckling while this was going on even though they weren’t the ones screaming and getting in your face. And the other thing, Kevin, is that it wasn’t an age thing. It wasn’t ‘hey these are 25 and 30 year olds.’ This was something that I think people have grown up with and taken some pride in, because it was 50 and 60 year olds, people my age. I just think it’s become acceptable. That’s what repulses me the most, that it’s acceptable.

CB: So, let’s “advance” the story here. That’s the old industry term, yeah? Let’s move the story forward. Outside of just attrition, and that mindset going away over time, what is the solution here? What can law enforcement do? What can the mayor do? Are there steps to be taken by the normal, decent Philly resident?

Heitkamp: Sure. Here’s what I would do if I was the Philly mayor, and I doubt he’d do it because it will cost him some votes. But first off I’d place undercover police so they can monitor all of this. Second, there’s no way I’d let people start tailgating at 9 a.m. for a game that’s going to start in the five o’ clock hour. No way I’d do that, they’re gonna be hammered, and hammered badly. I’d certainly monitor throwing beer cans at people. The city itself has to monitor physical violence and has to monitor people that are committing acts of terror, and that’s what they were doing. For my wife and my sister to go through that, that’s completely ridiculous. And the other thing I would do if I was the Eagles themselves, I would monitor every arrest, and if I found out that those people were season ticket holders, I wouldn’t let them be a season ticket holder. Because that would stop it. People would go, ‘I don’t want to lose my season tickets!’ And I know that there are a lot of people who tailgate who don’t have tickets and don’t go into the game, but if you put a list on there of people who can’t be STH anymore, you’re telling me as passionate as those fans are, they they wouldn’t stop it or curtail it? You bet it would. The other thing is, the NFL. The NFL itself has this family reputation that it wants. If the NFL wants to be represented that way, fine. But the ratings are down. They’ve been struggling with the general public over their image, if they want that to be their image, they need to look at one of their members and do something about it.

And one more for you, and this one is gonna blow you away a little bit – I believe that if somebody from my team, that if people wearing my colors are going in and the home team does that, I’m gonna get involved (in stopping other fan’s behavior). (Vikings owner) Zygi Wilf needs to deal himself a hand. He needs to call ownership of the Eagles and talk to the commissioner and advocate on behalf of his fans that had all of this done to them.

CB: I’ll leave you with this one; sounds to me like you think the change really begins with the neutral fan who is complacent in letting this happen, and not even necessarily the offenders themselves.

Heitkamp: I agree, and it has to start at the top of the Eagles’ organization. The Ed Callahans of the world are not the problem. Ed, while we took a lot of crap from them when we got to the tailgate, we should have! We were wearing Viking colors and that’s good rivalry stuff. I get that. But that isn’t the problem. You can deal with that and have fun with that. It’s the physical violence, it’s the vulgarity, it’s the intimidation. It is women who spent money on tickets, leaving, leaving at halftime and saying, ‘how are we going to get out of here?’ No woman that bought a ticket to a game should have to talk about the threat of being raped.

As we wrapped up the discussion, Joel wanted to throw in one more thing about the Philadelphia fans who have been sending messages of apology for the fan behavior:

Heitkamp: I keep emailing them back, saying, ‘it’s not your fault.’ It’s not your fault. It should be directed at Eagles’ management and the city. If those two do their jobs, then it’ll get fixed. But it’s not your fault.

So there you have it, some clarity on the tailgating situation and doubling-down on the in-stadium fan behavior.

Setting the Record Straight with the North Dakota Radio Host Who Shredded Our City published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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