#why is it so easy for my mood to get derailed and stay there. and so hard to get it back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesunicarusfellfor · 3 years

Note

hello!!can you do a part two of your Yandere!Tommy x Reader x Yandere!Tubbo Headcanons/Fic ?! i loved it!!

It amazes me how this became a fan favourite OVERNIGHT like daaaaamn!

This one is gonna be split into parts around the end, so like what happens if you choose Tubbo/Tommy/Neither/Both

(f/l) = first letter of your name

(N/n) = nickname

(f/f) = Favourite flowers

Eggpire does not exist

ALSO. The last Route (Neither) I wrote is shorter because apparently, Tumblr wants to crash after you surpass 10k words, but I could write a continuation fic of Neither that might turn into another x reader? Just platonic? Not sure. Remember, I will always write a continuation of a fic if ever asked.

TW: Yandere, Explosions, Burns, Scars, Manipulation, Mention of Painkillers and being drowsy on them, brief mention of collapsing

Part one

Yandere!Tommy x GN!Reader x Yandere!Tubbo Headcanon/Fic Part 2

Tommy was furious to see you spending time with anyone that wasn’t him.

But seeing you having an early morning coffee with Ranboo??? Tubbo’s husband???

He was about to light the damn house on fire he was so pissed! That’s not even exaggerating, he would’ve and had you live with him! Although he wouldn’t let you know he did it.

Poor Ranboo was trembling so bad, genuinely fearing for his canon lives.

You quickly got up and stood in Tommy’s sight, prevent him from glaring at your tall friend, although he still didn’t look happy.

Before anyone could say anything else, Tubbo stormed through the door with his sword in his hand and teeth violently grit together.

“So... You weren’t trying to throw me off by writing about going to see them in your memory book,” Tubbo growled softly at his husband causing Ranboo to desperately pull his memory book closer to his chest, tears brimming his eyes. You could understand why, his best friend went through his memory book without his knowledge and possibly went through his other things in an attempt to figure out what he was doing.

“I guess neither of you are loyal...” Tommy grumbled with a roll of his eyes, causing Tubbo to give him a hard jab in the ribs, “Ow! Bloody hell, mate! I’m just saying both of you are going for them without even breaking up first!”

“It’s platonic!” Both Tubbo and Ranboo stated although Ranboo’s voice came out as a tiny and meek protest, rather than Tubbo’s annoyed growl. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ranboo put his crown back on his head, “I’m-I’m not interested in chasing them, so no... I was just talking to them...” He visibly shrank in on himself as the two boys glared darkly at him, “I... Should go...”

“Hold up.” You pointed at him, making the tall and lanky male stay seated in his spot while you turned back to Tubbo and Tommy, “I know why Ranboo is here. I know why he,” You pointed to Tommy, “Is here. He always kicks down my door early in the morning to do some crazy things. But why are you here?” Moving your finger to point at Tubbo, you noticed his look immediately softened upon you turning your attention towards him.

His cheeks became a light pink and his goat ears fluttered slightly as he put his sword away, “Am I not allowed to visit?” There. There was one of the mood switches and manipulation Ranboo warned you about. “Tommy invited me to L’Manberg, and I heard my beloved platonic husband was in the area as well. Plus Tommy left the door open.”

You blinked a bit, caught off guard by the fact that Tubbo completely brushed over the fact that he was here because he had read Ranboo’s memory book, “Oh, I see... Then shall we all go mining today? We’d be able to get a lot more ores than before!” You smiled, pretending that your two friends didn’t kick down your door and threaten the man who was just trying to protect you.

“With Tubbo and Ranboo?” Tommy growled out in disgust at the thought of you spending time with them, “But (Y/n)! We always go mining on Thursday mornings! It’s our thing. Between just US! Aka, not Tubbo and Ranboo...”

“I- uh, have a meeting with Techno and Phil later today, so I can’t go. Sorry, (Y/n)...” Ranboo murmured, although you could tell by the shakiness of his voice that he wanted nothing more than to run and hide in his panic room.

“I’d love to go!” Tubbo chirped softly, ignoring the audible noise of disgust and annoyance that Tommy made, “Let me just get my stuff from my enderchest.” He walked over to your enderchest and opened it. You didn’t mind too much as you gave everyone full permission to make themselves at home in your house, but you were just a bit shaken up at the moment.

Ranboo quickly got up and scurried out the door, giving you an odd look as he passed by. He looked... Guilty, but his smile was sad and soft, but seemingly affectionate. You knew he would help if these two were scaring you too much.

The two boys brought you to an unpopular mine in the DreamSMP that was filled to the brim with ores.

They were quick to take down any and all mobs that came within any sort of distance to you, recklessly charging without a second thought in attempts to protect you.

While there was intense amounts of fear and tension circling through your veins because of this morning, you did quickly grow to have fun with the banter between these two.

Even Tommy and Tubbo were having fun bickering, almost seeming to forget the fact that they were in a war with each other. Almost.

The constant fluttering of their hearts and warmth on their cheeks was an easy reminder of what they were fighting for.

Every single ore, gemstone and pretty rock that you looked at, the boys would immediately pick up and put in their bags so you didn’t have to carry it.

When Tommy began to whine about being hungry, you wanted to go back to the surface to eat the food you had packed, but they both thought that was too far.

So, you suggested sitting down in the abandoned mineshaft you had discovered.

“Ooh!” Tubbo squeaked, his ears wiggling as he turned the corner of the mineshaft, “There’s a ravine over here! Let’s eat by the light of the lava so we don’t waste all our torches!”

“Finally! I’m starving!” Tommy tossed his ore-filled bag off of his shoulder and set it against the wall. Once you spread out the thick blanket you had brought on the ground, he plopped himself down and set down his shield and sword, “What do you have for food today, Big/Little (F/l)?”

You hummed as Tubbo sat himself down on the other side of you with a yawn, likely not used to getting up early, “I have... Sandwiches, some fruit slices, berries, y’know, the usual. You tired, Tubbo?” Glancing over at the brunet, you saw him rubbing his eyes with the long sleeve of his brown and yellow striped sweater that you had made him when he first travelled to Snowchester.

“Little bit, yeah. Can I lay against you? Just for a little bit?” He asked softly as you handed Tommy a sandwich, which he practically inhaled in seconds. Once you gave a nod of approval, the smaller boy laid down and curled up with his head against your lap.

Tommy grumbled in annoyance and without thinking much, laid down as well with his head against your leg too. When you gave him a small questioning look as this was highly out character for him, but he simply just mumbled about how you were definitely more comfortable than the rocks.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, unconsciously playing with their hair as you glanced around the stone walls for any untouched ores, but by now both boys were asleep and you didn’t feel like waking them up. Taking your time, you began to consider your situation now that you knew both boys were smitten with you and practically willing to hurt anyone who came in contact with you.

Tubbo’s mood switches scared you, a lot, and you were worried that him being the nice and blushing boy you had met a few years ago was nothing but an act and that all the gifts were an attempt to lure you in or distract you from his violent tendencies. You had watched him walk into your house, eyes blank and filled with rage towards his platonic soulmate for talking to you without his knowledge, and you were worried that soon that rage would be directed at you for doing something he didn’t like.

Tommy’s violent tendencies were just as scary though, so he wasn’t in the clear in your eyes either. While he did shape up a lot from when you first met, he still had a tendency to bark insults at you and hurt your feelings, which you hope is unintentional. He also often tried to threaten people and keep them away from you, like Eret or Niki who got yelled at and a tad bit injured after they had given you gifts or offered to bring you somewhere cool... They didn’t really spend time with you anymore after that... You missed them and didn’t want the same thing to happen to Ranboo.

But, this couldn’t go on forever. You couldn’t just run... and you knew very well that rejecting either of the two would cause the other to lash out severely, to the point where the one you chose, you, and your friends were in major trouble. It’s not like you could choose both right? ...Right? Then again... Choosing both would potentially cause tension to stir up again between the two best friends.

Your train of thought was violently derailed when you heard a hard thud a few meters in front of you. With a small gasp, you looked up and saw a creature of varying different shades of green slowly looking around before a few more thuds followed behind it. Before you could even think of waking the two boys, the green creature began to run at you quickly with its four legs.

A creeper.

A terrified cry left your lips and suddenly the weight on your lap vanished. Now awake, Tommy immediately grabbed his shield and used it alongside his body weight to slam into the creeper backwards into a small horde of zombies that had dropped down with it. “Get up you dumbass! Are you tryin’ to die?!” The blond yelled at you as Tubbo, who had also sprung up at the sound of your fear, began firing arrows at the group of mobs.

Once you got over your shock, you grabbed your axe and shield before quickly jumping to your feet and charging into battle. The zombie you had chosen to fight gurgled and swiped and gnashed its teeth together at you as you used your shield to block its hits. Backing up a few steps, you slashed your axe at the undead mob and took out its bottom jaw with the black blade, gleaming with an enchantment that set the creature on fire. The smell of burning rotten flesh caused you to gag and scrunch up your nose before you used your shield to shove it into the pit of lava at the bottom of the ravine.

Laughing softly in triumph, you turn around to help Tubbo and Tommy, only to let out another gasp of shock as you saw the very creeper that had been shoved away earlier had now returned with a vengeance. And it was mere inches away from your face.

There wasn’t much you could do except barely raise your shield in time to block a good majority of the explosion from damaging your body, launching chunks of stone outwards and off the edge of the ravine.

And you as well.

“(Y/n)!!!” Tubbo’s voice echoed through the stone cavern as you felt yourself get launched backwards before beginning to fall, gravity quickly beginning to grasp onto you and drag you down towards the lava below.

Reaching out, to grab onto anything that would stop you from falling, but to no avail. Your mind barely registered Tommy and Tubbo running towards you before you shut your eyes tightly, silently praying to whatever or whoever to save you.

Then you stopped dead in the air, something wrapped around your arms and hands.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and looked up to see the human and a goat hybrid that had been laying with their heads in your lap just minutes ago, were now desperately grasping one arm each, preventing you from falling to the end of one of your canon lives. Both of their blue eyes were filled with tears that were dripping down their faces and hitting the molten rock at the bottom of the ravine as they struggled to pull you up.

Once you felt the solid ground below you, you finally managed to take a few breaths to calm yourself down as you felt tight arms wrap around you on either side, barely able to comprehend the sobs of terror from your savours. The dull burning and throbbing pain on your cheek were enough to bring you down to reality and carefully wrap your arms around the two wailing teens as they desperately clung to you, almost as if you were going to vanish right below their fingertips.

Tommy was the first to gather himself and pull himself away from your good shoulder and rub his eyes free of tears to look at the new injuries covering your body and your busted armour, “F-fuck... We’re gonna have to get you to Phil to get those burns patched up...” He sniffled, trying to act like he wasn’t just bawling his eyes out over you nearly losing a canon life. For once, he didn’t seem to mind Tubbo clinging onto you and wailing into your side as you pet his hair, trying to calm him down.

Tubbo refused to let go of you for the next hour as you travelled out of the mine, his arms desperately wrapped around your waist/shoulders. (Depending on your height)

Tommy also held onto your non-burnt hand, that once held your shield, as he carried yours and his bag, leading you both back the way you came

If another mob came out to fight, it was almost a guarantee that one of them would run forward and the other would lightly push you into a corner, then proceed to block you from view via a shield and their body,

Even if you thought that you were in a decent enough condition to fight, the one shielding you would only look at you sadly and shake their head, saying something about the explosion burns along your (s/t) skin.

Once you had gotten out of the mine, it was around 6pm, and the sun was going down, but luckily Tommy had sent a message to Philza, his father, about the situation, so he was prepared and already at Tommy’s house, which was the closest to the mine.

It wasn’t a long walk, but god you were so exhausted..

It got to the point where Tommy and Tubbo were on either side of you, preventing you from collapsing before you got to the home.

Let’s just say, when they opened the door, Philza was already there and immediately panicked upon seeing the injuries covering the one side of you and the state of your armour. (No you were not wearing the god armour Tubbo gave you.)

One of your cheeks and lower jaw were burnt and bleeding, along with your dominant arm and leg that weren’t behind the shield when the explosion went off.

Tommy Route - Mellohi

Because your home still being near L’Manberg and the Prime Path (In this route), it was easier for Tommy to check up on you while you were healing from your injuries.

While you were bedridden, Tommy was a lot, a lot, quieter when he came into your house, never sure whether or not you were sleeping.

If you weren’t, he would eagerly show you something he found, tell you some drama he heard around the area, or tell you about his day. Or just play Mellohi on constant repeat.

If you were asleep, he would silently walk over and check on your bandages or potion supply, (updating Phil if you were low or bleeding from moving too much), or even sit beside you for a little bit to make sure you wouldn’t just stop breathing out of nowhere.

To say he was scared your entire recovery process would be an understatement.

He would rarely let anyone but Phil check on you, definitely nearly blowing his nerve when Ranboo or Tubbo would walk into your house.

If it was Ranboo, we would definitely get picked up and thrown,

If it was Tubbo, he would try and push him out because he knew that threats wouldn’t work on him.

In the situation that he did push Tubbo out, Tommy would immediately lock the door and stay in there for the next few days

For the more likely situation, because we all know how stubborn that goat is, and he wasn’t able to push Tubbo out, Tommy would subtly put a few drops of the sleeping potion Phil made you, into your drink.

When you began to doze off, Tommy would mention it to Tubbo in the most serious voice he could muster. It always worked, because Tubbo wanted what was best for your health.

The absolute minute that Philza deems you stable enough to get off of bed rest, Tommy is by your side in seconds and trying to encourage you to stand up.

When you do get the nerve to try and stand again, he would immediately be holding your good arm, preventing you from falling if your bad leg suddenly gave out.

In the case that you do collapse from your injuries, he would at first be extremely panicked, but then he’d start calling you insulting names and calling you an idiot.

He would bring you on walks all around the DreamSMP to get you used to walking again but would have no problems sitting down again.

That’s a lie.

He would complain a little bit, but if he saw you were genuinely in a lot of pain, he would just shut up and awkwardly ask what he could do.

If you needed anything for pain, he would straight up run to your home and get it, if they already didn’t have it.

The fact that you’re spending so much time with Tommy absolutely infuriates Tubbo, and he tries to guilt-trip you into spending more time with him.

But then Ranboo tells him that you can barely walk down the Prime Path without wanting to cry from the pain of the burns, and he offers to move back to L’Manberg. Or at least what’s left of it.

This sparks an argument between Ranboo and Tubbo almost immediately, but you’re much too tired to try and stop it, instead quietly asking Tommy if he can help go back to your home or to get them out so you could sleep.

He would be glad to.

Like he would do it, with an absolute goofy smile on his face because he basically gets your permission to have your attention all to himself!

When you’re all healed, your relationship between you and Tommy has practically tripled from what it was.

You’re much closer to him than he was to Tubbo, to the point where he has told you everything.

Even about his exile...

Because of your closeness to him, he somehow got even more protective but also calmed down his threats.

Like, now you could talk to Niki and Eret again, but you were not allowed to leave your house at night alone, especially after mobs have spawned.

Hell sometimes if he’s really paranoid, he’ll go to your house and spend the night just to make sure mobs don’t bang on your door or ruin anything.

He straight up took the time out of his life to fence the property around your house off and fill it with torches so things didn’t spawn in.

Sure he’ll call you slightly insulting names, but he makes sure that they wouldn’t be too painful for you before saying them aloud.

Tubbo still tries to be nice and manipulative, which Ranboo tries to stop, but it’s pretty much worthless at this point.

He’s lost.

He knows it, Ranboo knows it, and Tommy damn well brags about it.

Tubbo does end up crying to you quite a bit about it, but you can understand, he’s heartbroken at this point and can’t do anything about it. Tommy and you know about his manipulation tactics, he couldn’t take Tommy’s last life because it would show up on your communicator, and then you would never love him!

Unfortunately, this does cause him to lash out at Ranboo quite a lot which led to their third divorce. Although this one seems quite a bit more permanent, you never know. (Ranboo took Michael)

One evening, Tommy invited you out of the house oddly enough. Even though mobs would be spawning soon? It greatly confused you.

He even asked you to wear nicer clothing? Like a tux or a dress? Either one or both worked in his eyes.

Honestly, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to fight mobs in a fancy outfit, but you trusted him.

“Tommy?” You asked, opening the door as you smoothed out your clothing with your hands and adjusted your hair a tad bit to your liking. It was shocking to see the tall blond nicely cleaned up and wearing a suit, but it was quite a welcome sight!

He nervously adjusted his red tie before holding out a bouquet of perfect (f/f), and cleared his throat, “You... Uh... Clean up nice. I- uh... No- wait... What did Sam say again?” He murmured to himself, “Ah fuck it... You look nice, (Y/n).”

You chuckled as your cheeks flushed a light pink, happily taking the bouquet filled with your favourite flowers, “I’ll put these in a vase and then we can go where you wanna bring me.” With a smile, you quickly placed the flowers in a glass vase filled with water before going back out with Tommy.

“Sh-shall we? Is that a common phrase to say?” He asked as he held out his arm for you to link with his, a habit he picked up from walking you around while you were healing.

“I suppose we shall. Calm down Tommy, no need to be all fancy and stuff around me.” You chirped with a small smiled as you took his arm, linking it with his, “Now, are you going to tell me where we’re going? Or is this supposed to remain a mystery?”

Tomathy visibly relaxed once you told him he didn’t have to be all professional and fancy, beginning to lead you down the Prime Path, “It’s a secret! I worked hard on it too! So you better be grateful or I’ll kick your ass.” He jokingly threatened, smiling a bit as you laughed at his typical attitude.

He led you down the wooden path, the two of you joking the entire way with a goofy smile across your faces. Tommy then took a sudden turn onto a newly made pathway and lead you down it, never answering any questions about it the entire way, even when the buildings turned into a forest. The pathway was lined with fences, and the trees were filled with small hanging lanterns, not only preventing mobs from spawning but also creating a beautiful fairy forest effect.

Seeing your look of awe, he gave a small sheepish laugh, “You like it? Puffy and Sam helped me out with it for the past few days, but this was my idea! And this isn’t even the best part!” He grinned widely before quickly pulling you along again.

The walk wasn’t very long, but it was extremely beautiful. Eventually, he brought you up to a large hill with a massive oak tree where a beautiful picnic was set up, surrounded by lantern light. Even with the lanterns, you were still able to get a clear view of the starry sky above without a single cloud in sight! “Oh my god... Tommy... This is incredible...”

“Innit? Puffy helped me make all the food, but this was my idea. Unless you don’t like it. Then it was Puffy’s idea.” He joked in an attempt to hide his nervousness as he went to ruffle his hair, but then remembered that he had spent a few hours taming it down, so he decided against it.

“I love it! This is so beautiful!” You looked up at him with a bright and happy smile, making him return it with a soft smile of his own, “Come on, oh! There’s a jukebox!” You eagerly pulled him over to the blanket and sat down, taking a look at all the food that had been set out.

The tall male happily took a disc, Mellohi to be precise, out of the enderchest that had been set beside the jukebox, neatly placing it in and pressing the button to make the music play before he sat down beside you. The two of you began to eat the meal that he helped make, joking, laughing and smiling the entire time, having the time of your life. You leaned your head against his shoulder and smiled up at him as you gently held his hand, making him realize even more how important you were to him.

Mellohi, the same song he lost his friend to, was the same song he was listening to while gaining a new important person in his life. You.

The entire night went on with you two eventually falling asleep at the top of the hill, completely unaware of the brown-haired male leaning against a tree. He desperately grasped his shirt where his heart was as tears poured down his shirt.

Tubbo always liked Cat more than Mellohi...

Tubbo Route - Don’t Let Me Fall

Tubbo was so so glad that he had managed to convince (manipulate) you to live in Snowchester when he did. (In this route)

Somehow managed to convince you to live in the mansion, although it was probably done when you were drowsy on the pain killer potion Phil gave you.

This man would completely ignore his own country to make sure you were well taken care of. Like Ranboo literally had to step into power and start working on things and taking care of Michael.

Speaking of the baby zombie piglin, because you were now bedridden and bored out of your mind, Tubbo frequently brought the child in if Ranboo absolutely demanded that he take over for a bit.

The baby absolutely adored you! The injuries on your body reminded you of the ones he got when he travelled to the overworld, so he didn’t feel alone.

Unfortunately because of your constant pain and drowsiness, Tubbo thought it was best that he stayed in his room. Or maybe that was because he didn’t want him getting close to you too?

It was actually extremely rare for Tubbo to let anyone in to visit you. He actually even got incredibly annoyed when even Phil would come over to restock the potions for you or make sure your wounds were healing.

On a normal day, if you were awake, Tubbo would be blabbering on about some story without a care whether or not you were listening. He would most likely be acting the story out as if it were a play, determined to provide you with as much entertainment by himself as he could.

If you were sleeping, he would also be sleeping, although on a few chairs pushed together in your room. There’s a rare time where he will stay up and watch you to make sure you’re breathing still, but that’s only if he’s really scared and paranoid.

Tommy absolutely REFUSES to even look at Snowchester, so you never really got a chance to thank him for saving you.

Although... Tubbo very actively tries to convince you that Tommy didn’t even come to help you when you had fallen and that you had been in shock so that’s why you didn’t remember correctly.

At first, you didn’t believe him, but eventually, with constant repetition, you slowly saw it as the truth. You genuinely began to believe that Tommy hadn’t pulled you up and that it was only Tubbo that did.

After quite a few weeks, Phil told Tubbo that you could finally get out of bed, but Tubbo asked him if he was 100% sure MANY times.

The goat hybrid actually didn’t want you to get out of bed and start walking again, worried that you get up would leave him, so he wasn’t going to tell you.

But Ranboo was the one who told you.

This led to quite a violent argument between Ranboo and Tubbo, but there was nothing Tubbo could do since you already knew the information he tried to keep from you.

Tubbo started ignoring you, so Ranboo was the one to try and get you used to walking around again, but this lead to the shorter male getting extremely jealous and helping you instead.

He frequently walks you around Snowchester on a strict set schedule, when he knows no one will be out and no mobs will be spawning.

One time, he didn’t expect Tommy to be walking around the snowy forests when he was walking with you, holding your hand to make sure you didn’t lose your balance. At least that’s what he told you.

Tommy looked... Empty, when he saw you both walking together. But his eyes darkened a bit when his blue eyes landed on your hands twinned together.

Tubbo looked a little hostile in your eyes, but he simply just gave Tommy a sharp smile before trying to pull you along as if he didn’t notice the tears beginning to pool in his ex-best friend’s eyes.

Tommy knew he lost right then and there, so he decided to say fuck it and start screaming degrading names at the two of you, catching you greatly off guard, hurting you badly enough to the point where your feelings were more than a little hurt.

When the founder of Snowchester realized that the blond hurt your feelings, he was quick to lash out back at the other man in your defence, but by then you were already walking away, back to the manor.

It took about ten minutes for him to realize that you went back to the mansion, but when he did, he sprinted through the door in an absolute panic before practically pouncing on you the second his eyes caught sight of you.

He protectively wrapped himself around you and whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you quietly rested your head against his shoulder.

After that, You and Tubbo became a lot closer emotionally. To the point where he called you his platonic wife jokingly, although you both knew he didn’t want to add platonic at the beginning.

He began to tell you about everything that weighed heavy on his shoulders, like his death from Technoblade’s fireworks, even to being threatened by Dream during the disc war.

When he noticed that you were genuinely beginning to care about him, his manipulation and jealousy actually began to calm down quite a lot.

You could actually spend time with Michael and Ranboo without anyone getting yelled at by Tubbo and causing him to get ridiculously jealous.

He began to take over his job as the founder of Snowchester, now actually trusting Ranboo to keep you company and even letting him take you outside during the day. But he refused to let you out during the night.

He’s just worried about mobs. Creepers especially.

Everything seems relatively like it was before that one day before Tommy and Tubbo completely lashed out at each other.

Tommy does often try and talk to you when Tubbo isn’t around, but both you and Ranboo try and put a stop to it as quickly as possible,

He’s lost.

He hurt you, and Ranboo couldn’t help but miss how Tubbo used to be, so if keeping Tommy away from you makes Tubbo act normal, he will damn well make sure that Tommy stays countries away from you.

This does cause Wilbur’s younger brother to break down a little bit, which you can genuinely understand, even if you hold a grudge against him for not saving you and yelling at you, you knew he did have feelings for you at one point even if he refused to admit it.

Unfortunately, this does cause quite a bit of pranks and explosions to stir up around Snowchester and the L’Manberg crater, but they stop within a few weeks. Tommy probably got scolded by either Sam, Phil or Puffy,

One morning, Tubbo invited you to spend a day outside of the mansion with him after a heavy snowfall.

He spent almost all morning outside, doing something he refused to tell you about, and when he came in to wake you up, his face was already cherry red from the cold.

How could he even want to go back into the freezing cold without any sort of warm drink or even sitting in front of the fire for a bit!?

“How are you so... Full of energy?” You murmured from behind the bathroom door as you got changed into your warmer clothing for when you do go outside. The door was cracked open a small bit so you could hear Tubbo rambling on and on about how he had a great surprise for you.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” He was obviously grinning with excitement. When you walked out of the bathroom in your thick clothing and jacket, he bounced up from his spot on the edge of your bed, “Finally! Let’s go! Hurry, before it snows or gets warmer.”

You only nodded curiously and he grabbed your hand, eagerly pulling you out of your room and down the large stairs that lead towards the door. He pushed the large doors open with a bit of difficulty due to the snow piled up, but with your help, you both managed to slip out the door. Tubbo happily grabbed your hand again and began leading you down towards the docks where the water was covered with a thick sheet of ice, “Oh it must’ve got really cold last night... What are you showing me?”

“Over here!” He pulled you over to a large half-sphere made out of snow. He led you over to a hole in the side of it before dropping down to his knees and crawling through the entrance, “Come on!”

Blinking in surprise, you hesitantly followed him inside of the handmade snow building and gave a small gasp of glee as you saw that it was an igloo! The inside had a few blankets on the ground, preventing you from sitting on the icy snow-covered ground, there were a few lanterns placed on small snow hills preventing the small room from being dark, plus there was a small basket of what looked like two thermoses and a bit of food, “Tubbo! Did you build this?”

“I did! I also spent last night building it too!” He grinned widely, his ears wiggling with glee, “But this isn’t even the best part! Check over here!” The brunet shuffled over to another basket before pulling out a pair of white boots with silver blades bolted to the bottoms.

“Ice skates?” You tilted your head a bit as you crawled over and pulled out the pair that looked to be your size, “But I can’t skate...”/”How did you even know I could skate?”

Tubbo only turned his happy grin towards you, “I’ll show you how! Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall!”/”You briefly mentioned that you missed skating once or twice when you were all dopey on painkillers a few months ago!” He pulled out his pair of skates and began to take off his boots. (After getting his skates on he helped you with yours if you didn’t know how to lace them up.)

Once your new footwear was all tied up, he helped you up and carefully lead you outside with his arms tightly wrapped around you to help you keep your balance. (Even if you did know how to skate, he was still worried about you falling.) Tubbo carefully led you towards the ice and helped you stand up straight on the frozen water, making sure that you wouldn’t fall.

“See?” He smiled softly and held your hands tightly as he began to skate backwards, pulling you along with him until you slowly got a hold of what you were doing. “You (still) got it!”

You two slid and slipped around on the ice, laughing, smiling and spinning around with the other, but suddenly out of nowhere, your blade got caught in a groove of the ice that likely got chipped out when you two were skating around. With a small cry, you felt your legs slip out from under you and you immediately shut your eyes, awaiting the inevitable impact as a result of gravity.

Thankfully, two arms wrapped around your frame before you hit the ground. You slowly cracked open your eyes and saw your best friend holding you tightly against him. Your (e/c) eyes stared into his blue ones for a few moments before your face broke into a smile. “You caught me...”

“I would never let you fall...”

There two of you continued to skate around, having fun in the other's presence, completely unaware of the blond hidden behind a snowbank with his hand clasped tightly over his mouth and tears beginning to freeze to his reddened cheeks.

Tommy often found himself wishing he had let you fall...

Tommy & Tubbo Route - Rhythm of the Storm

Because your original housing was set between Snowchester and the Prime Path, it was surprisingly an equal distance between Tubbo’s mansion and Tommy’s house.

In the beginning, Tommy would go to your house first in the mornings, then leave around noon when Tubbo would come, but the constant social interaction left you always sleeping through either one of their visits.

It got to the point where you asked both of them to come by at the same time so you could talk with them both at the same time.

This caught them both off guard that you wanted both of their attention at the same time, but then only began to see benefits from them meeting with you together.

Now you weren’t out cold during the mornings when Tommy opened the door, and now you weren’t asleep by 2pm when Tubbo was over. Plus they could both take care of you at the same time!

There were a few times when either of the boys’ yandere tendencies peaked out, but you or the other would scold them out of it. Or Tommy would give Tubbo a small smack upside the head which would make him scream dramatically like a baby goat.

While they did take your injuries relatively seriously, they also were joking with you and cheered you up with their antics, preventing you from falling into a depression from staying inside all day and every day.

On a normal day, if you were awake and had more energy than normal, Tommy would be telling you incredible stories of his travels and Tubbo would be either making food or potions. Tommy isn’t allowed near the brewing stands or the stove anymore if you’re wondering.

On a bad day, if you barely had any energy and could barely stay awake, the two boys would be much quieter and let you sleep. On those days, they would ask Phil if you were actually okay, or they would go back to their respective homes.

If your burns are causing you immense amounts of pain one day, Tommy will refuse to even be in the same room as you and will genuinely beg Tubbo, Ranboo or Philza to stop your pain. Even if he doesn’t like others being around you, he’s beginning to accept Tubbo’s care towards you but he’s still wary about his father and Tubbo’s husband.

Speaking of, Ranboo and Michael had seemingly disappeared from Snowchester, but Phil assured you that they were both in the Tundra, (And to keep it a secret from Tubbo.)

On Phil’s latest visit, he told you that you could get up and out of bed without irritating the burns on your legs, although you might have trouble at first.

Upon hearing the news, Tubbo and Tommy were at your sides in seconds, asking if you wanted to get up and encouraging you to try. If you didn’t want to, they (mostly Tubbo) would understand about it and leave you to sit on the fact for a bit.

If you did, Tubbo would be at your injured side to make sure your bandages stayed together when you got up, while Tommy would be on your good side and mostly holding you up if your balance was bad enough.

Tubbo wanted to help you walk around at night, just in case you were self-conscious of your burns, but Tommy was too worried about any sort of mob approaching you. While they knew they could protect you, they just didn’t want to take any risks.

Tubbo will burst out crying after he hears an explosion, meanwhile, Tommy will freeze completely still. Which is also what happened during the mining incident that caused you to get injured, which is why Tubbo was the one to scream and continue to cry long after they had saved you.

Because of this, they don’t want to face a creeper with you around to see them panic and be in danger while they struggled to get themselves together.

When you’re out walking around, Tubbo is extremely patient and Tommy at least tries to hold his complaints.

If someone even looks at you wrong, they’ll have an angry raccoon boy yelling threats at them and Tubbo drawing his sword. They usually run with their tails between their legs afterwards.

If you collapsed on the walk from the pain, the amount of panic that would happen would be enough to have every single parental figure in the SMP running to help you. Luckily when it did happen, Badboyhalo was there and was strong enough to carry you without irritating your burns, and even gave a few pointers on how to help with burns. He had to raise Sapnap. He would know.

When you woke up at your home, you saw Tubbo and Tommy actually having a civil conversation with the large 9ft demon rather than threatening him to get away from you. That could've been because he was a demon though. But you were still proud!

You guessed that they still thought you were asleep when Bad left because you heard them murmuring and trying to keep quiet as they most likely made lunch.

Because of their conversation with Bad, and proving to you that they can actually behave themselves, you began to realize that their Yandere tendencies were calming down a lot. Meaning you weren't scared of them that much anymore, and you were beginning to accept their feelings towards you.

Unfortunately... You couldn't pick between them... And didn't know how open they would be to polyamory, but seeing as they weren't ripping each other's throats out, maybe their reactions wouldn't be too terrible?

Tubbo began to tell you about everything that bothered him, currently and formerly, like his death from Technoblade’s fireworks, even to being threatened by Dream during the disc war, or the nukes disappearing and his worry about whether or not Tommy cares about him.

Tommy also began to open up as well. Telling you about his brothers and father, his exile, his fear that Tubbo doesn't care about him anymore, and his third canon death.

After the two began to open up more, you began to realize they weren't being as clingy and desperate for your attention, most likely now trusting you to spend time with people other than them.

Maybe because they were catching on to you slowly beginning to return their feelings...

Everything seems relatively like it was before that one day before Tommy and Tubbo completely lashed out at each other.

A few weeks after your body became completely healed, the two boys spent a few days away from you, which you were curious about but never really commented on it.

One day when they both arrived at your house at their usual time, they were dressed up for an adventure and their bags were filled with everything that anyone would need.

They eagerly pulled you out of bed at some ungodly hour in the morning, although Tubbo thankfully had breakfast (and coffee) ready which you ate before going to get dressed into appropriate clothing and your god armour that Tubbo made, that was equipped with a new god sword that Tommy made you!

This was your first adventure since the explosion in the mine, and you damn well wanted to have fun.

"Okay, okay! Damn, Big Man, calm down!" You groaned as you threw the bag over your shoulders and tightened the straps accordingly. Once you tied up the laces on your boots, you straightened up and without fail, you felt both of your hands being grabbed before you got dragged out the door.

"We've been planning this for a few days! Nothing will stop us now!" Tubbo cheered, hopping along beside you as he held your scarred hand, "We have everything we could ever need for the next week!"

Your surprised reaction was ignored as Tommy continued dragging you down the Prime Path with a map in his free hand, "A whole week? That's quite a long adventure! Are you sure we'll be able to handle it?"

"Relax (N/n)! We were both raised by Philza Minecraft! Y'know, Survivalist extraordinaire? We know how to ration, build a shelter if needed, and everything in between!" Tubbo gave you a wide and cheesy grin as he spoke about the man who raised him, despite not actually being related to him. (Dadschlatt AU if you're wondering)

The three of you ventured off through many acres of forests and other biomes, holding hands and chatting away the entire time. Tommy let it slip that you were going to find buried treasure and maybe a woodland mansion if you were feeling brave enough, which is why he was always holding the map.

"Tommy, (Y/n)! Look!" Tubbo squeaked out happily as he saw a field of dozens of different flowers with bees hurriedly buzzing about to pollinate the plants around. The sight of the yellow and black bugs caused Tubbo to make happy little bleating sounds as his ears wiggled.

You and Tommy exchanged glances with a small smile, knowing very well you wouldn't be able to pull the hybrid away from them. "I suppose it is about time for a break..." You murmured as you were dragged off by the smaller brunet, thus pulling Tommy along as well.

The three of you sat down in the flower field, placing out a blanket to prevent yourselves from getting covered in dirt, despite knowing that it'll happen anyway. You set out the food Tubbo had packed while the two teenage boys ran around, having fun and, well just being teenagers.

Yes, Tommy got chased by bees.

Tubbo made you, himself and Tommy a flower crown, which you proudly wore, but Tommy was a bit more hesitant which you eventually made him get over by giving him a begging look. Yours was a bunch of (f/f) varying with colours, Tubbo's was a variety of yellows and white flowers, while Tommy's was mostly red and white.

While you three enjoyed your small picnic, you were all completely unaware of the fleeting bees, closing flowers and scattering animals. It was only when Tubbo's ears began to flick oddly did he lift his head, "I think there's a storm quickly approaching..."

You lifted your head and rose your arm to block the sun from your eyes to look at the quickly darkening clouds, "Oh damn, yeah we gotta go find shelter. Like now." You hurriedly grabbed your bag and began shoving the foot containers in it while Tommy and Tubbo packed everything else up too.

Despite your best efforts, you three quickly got caught in the downpour of rain and became absolutely drenched in rain by the time you found a small and shallow cave to hide in. "Aw fuck... Absolutely perfect! Sam said it wasn't gonna rain todaaaaay!" Tommy whined dramatically as he slumped against the stone wall.

You sighed and began pulling out the blanket again, knowing very well that you'd all be here for a while. When Tommy stopped whining about how he thought it was gonna be perfect weather, he helped Tubbo with starting a fire so you could all dry your sweaters that you had been wearing.

The two boys plopped down on the blanket on either side of you, Tommy hiding his head on your shoulder while Tubbo was curled up with his head against your lap, (After asking for permission of course) trying their best to drown out the sound of the sounds of the booming thunder.

After a few moments, you used the consistent pattern in the rain to keep beat before beginning to hum a soft tune while you ran your fingers through their damp hair.

Slowly, Tommy and Tubbo fell asleep, leaning against you while you hummed along to the rhythm of the storm...

Neither Route - Left the Game

Your house was quite out of the way from the Prime Path and Snowchester, in fact, quite possibly even closer to the Tundra. (In this route.)

Meaning that you were pretty far out of the way from everyone except for Ranboo, Phil and Techno. Which prevented both Tubbo and Tommy from coming around often, meaning Ranboo and Phil had to help you with a lot.

You felt bad because you didn't know either of them too, too well, but at least you knew you would definitely be getting better.

Ranboo actually had no problem helping you with your injuries, although he had to carefully write down what he gave you and when.

During your road to recovery, Ranboo and Tubbo's relationship became incredibly worse as the goat hybrid became even more manipulative and violent.

You became a personal therapist and babysitter for him and Michael, in return for him helping take care of you.

Speaking of Michael, the reason Ranboo hadn't joined you on the mining trip was because Phil had finished making a potion that would allow Michael to survive in the Tundra.

Tubbo and Tommy's violent habits had quickly doubled over the time when they couldn't see you, but luckily for you, the one time they did try to visit, Techno had come with Phil to meet you.

They ran out immediately.

Yes, Techno asked you about how you felt about anarchy.

Whether or not you joined the Syndicate is up to you.

Ranboo then told Techno and Phil about how Tubbo and Tommy were obsessed with you, and that your life was possibly in danger.

Technoblade only said that he had no way to help you, but Philza's fatherly instincts kicked in and he wanted to protect you both from the two boys he raised.

Once you got all healed up your burns scarred over, Phil and Ranboo already had an idea of how to keep you both and Michael safe.

It was highly risky and would leave you with only one life until you come back to the DreamSMP.

Phil was going to give you access to his Hardcore server.

Both you and Ranboo had a long and serious talk about it, but then remembered he was literally rich. He had dozens of totems!

Techno made you three totem pendants for you to wear around your necks, so you wouldn't always have to hold the totems.

(Philza asked his wife, Kristen the Goddess of Void and Death, to keep an extra close eye on you three and make sure if any of you do die, it's incredibly quick and painless.)

Standing in front of Phil, your bags filled with everything you would need to survive in the hardcore world, you watched as the centuries-old avian scanned you three up and down.

"I'll ask you both one final time." He sighed after he deemed all of your equipment and armour worthy. The blond fatherly figure stood in front of you and Ranboo as you held Michael with a glowing green orb in his hand, "Are you sure? There are no respawns when you run out of totems."

"Yes. It'll be much safer than the DreamSMP..." Ranboo murmured quietly, quickly scrawling as much as he could fit into his memory book before he forgot anything, "Even if it isn't permanent... We just need to run."

When Phil turned to you, you couldn't help but take a deep breath, "Yeah," You murmured, shifting the young piglin child on your hip, "I'm sure. Thanks again Philza... We really needed to be somewhere where they wouldn't find us..."

"I'll check up on you both once a week. Remember, travelling through servers will disorient you for quite a while and you quite probably won't understand where you are at first-"

"(Y/n)!!!" An angry yell came from the forest, and you turned your head just in time to see Tommy and Tubbo running in your direction.

You and Ranboo hurriedly whipped your head to face Phil again, but he seemed to have caught on before you both as there was a portal swirling with greens and golds beside him, "Go! Now! I'll see you both tomorrow! Remember, you can take anything you need to increase the chances of your survival!"

Ranboo got over his shock much quicker than you did because he grabbed your arm and leapt through the portal, bringing you and Michael along.

Ranboo Beloved left the game.

(Y/n) (L/n) left the game.

Michael Underscore-Beloved left the game.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere tommyinnit #yandere tommyinnit x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo #ranboo #ranboolive #dsmp #tommyinnit dreamsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #ranboo dream smp #tommyinnit dream smp #tubbo dream smp #c!tommyinnit #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!ranboo

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witchcraft-of-obsession · 3 years

Note

Heavy rain fell outside, strong winds that'd pull and push any and everything. Thankfully you were in your friend's house, out of danger with free shelter and food. You'd have felt guilt for taking advantage of them, but it didn't help they were such a great cook either.

It all was going great, the scary weather made for a surprisingly cozy mood. Lying back on the sofa, counting the wood tiles, even though bored, you were having somewhat of a good time, waiting for them to finish whatever errand that was taking place in whatever room they wandered off to. It was their house anyways, so it's not like you had any business walking around. So you stayed put like they told you.

You weren't expecting to fall asleep though. And you were expecting to wake up in their bed with them tangling their fingers in your hair even less. You weren't exactly creeped out quite yet, but you were a few steps short from it, yes.

Hearing a sudden love confession was not the plan, and as much as you were planning to give it a chance because let's be honest, they were quite easy on the eyes, you felt awkward saying that as they stared at you with big hopeful eyes, mouth agape awaiting for some answer. The scenario just felt weird, and you weren't exactly sure how to react, waking up of a sudden in your friend's bed who was just looming over by the side, staring as you furrowed your eyebrows and thought about the best way to voice your thoughts.

Things escalated quickly though when they started tearing up. You were about to half get up and wipe their tears or something but then boom, just like a train, they derailed completely. Few tears turned to full on crying that turned to sobbing that turned to guttural cries, if they were in true pain and you weren't sure anymore if they were just that sad or if maybe they were stabbed and you didn't notice. Why the hell were they crying so much? Your eyebrows furrowed further.

Begrudgingly you got up and cradled their face. After witnessing how little it took for them to have a breakdown, you were a bit scared of touching them and pressing a seemingly non-existent button of theirs. They were silent as you held their cheeks, tears keeping on falling and wetting your hand. You felt a bit disgusted, if you had to be honest, but you went on.

You mentioned saying how they were nice enough and were good at cooking and they were quite good looking and--Well, you wouldn't mind trying things out, that is. They had eyes wide as the moon, lips widening in a smile that felt far much more stretched than anatomy would allow, frankly. They nodded their head and leaned in, nuzzling their face into your neck as they whispered something you couldn't quite catch.

Oh look, the rain had subsided, you guessed you could maybe take your chances going home. Though looking at their arms that had already wrapped around your waist, their face still in the crook of your neck, you thought maybe you should let them have their fun with you a little longer, lest they had yet another breakdown.

Love is indeed amazing, they reckoned as they tightened their hold on you. Both sides oblivious to each other thoughts. That was for the best, likely.

They were glad it all worked out. They weren't very experienced with nature-related spells, so maybe they missed the mark making the storm just a bit too strong. No matter, it just made the results better. They weren't very skilled with love potions either, but they weren't above trying them out, if you had turned them down now. Thankfully it didn't come to it though. They guessed knowing your likings beforehand did make things easier for them. They sucked at cooking, but magic made food was never bad. Their original face wasn't bad, but if you liked this one better, then they didn't mind their new look either.

This is amazing, like I can’t fathom any words to describe how beautiful this is. I feel like you literally took the idea straight out of my head because this is how imagined the Yandere to act to his darling if things didn’t their way.

#yandere male #yandere thoughts #yandere #yandere male x reader #yandere imagines #tw yandere #yandere x reader #shrooms thinks #shroom replies #anomymous

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astralaffairs · 4 years

Text

freedom of the press 06 | t. jefferson

title: freedom of the press 06

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

words: 15k

warnings: implied sex, suggestive jokes & teasing, thomas has astoundingly shitty timing, lafayette is a huge fucking cockblock, hella fanservice, v v v tender quality time, and then some more implied sex

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudywlw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98— hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

By the time Y/N woke up, the sun was hardly up, the streets were plowed, and the bed was warm. She didn't try to leave it, instead curling further into Thomas's warm embrace when he pulled her close. Huddled alongside him, his skin against hers, she didn't bother to fight the fatigue that still ebbed at her mind, instead letting herself drift peacefully in and out of consciousness. She could feel Thomas's quiet laugh rumble in his chest when she made no move to get up. She didn't process it enough to react when his lips brushed against the crown of her head.

By the next time she woke up, the sun was high in the sky over Washington D.C., the streets were still plowed, but the bed was cold.

She frowned as she pushed herself to sit up, leaning back on a hand as she rubbed her bleary eyes. He'd left without saying a word.

She knew as she peeled the covers off herself, still damp in places with sweat from the previous night, that she shouldn't have expected him to stay.

Why would he have? He was a busy person; it was already... Shit, how had it already reached 2 PM?

She slouched into the bathroom, feeling like a wreck as she wiped the smeared mascara from her face, tied up her wreckage of sleep hair. She couldn't bring herself to take off his undershirt she'd donned the previous night, too cold to sleep in nothing but too exhausted to find some real clothing. (He'd laughed at her for it, but all the same, he didn't give much resistance before offering up his shirt.)

Regardless, they'd done nothing more than sleep together. He had no commitment to hang around any longer. If she were him, she probably wouldn't have stayed either. Still, it would've been nice for him to have said goodbye.

She tried to blink the sleep from her vision as she padded to her kitchen on bare feet; she would force herself to eat something before getting dressed and having to go down to another shift at the diner that evening.

Dry cereal might not have been the pinnacle of health for her just then, but it was easy, and she was in no mood to fight her cravings. When she pulled down a bowl, though, a flash of purple in the corner of her vision gave her pause.

She closed the cabinet absentmindedly as she turned, eyeing the post-it note dubiously from a distance, glancing around her apartment to confirm she was alone. (There hadn't been much question about the matter, but she couldn't be too careful.)

It was a moment later still when she approached it, stifling a yawn, and plucked it from where it'd been stuck onto the countertop.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Y/N raised an exasperated eyebrow at the scrawled note despite the smile she fought back. The handwriting wasn't hard to recognize; not after she'd run her fingers over matching pen marks through a few hundred pages of Byron poetry -- not to mention the fact that there had only been two people in her apartment all night, and she certainly didn't remember writing that.

She shook her head lightly as she went to recycle it, but that time, it was the writing on the back of the paper that made her freeze.

For the next time you need some ancient literature, or for the next time you lock me out in the cold.

(202) 863-4828

Perhaps it wasn't such a gloomy afternoon after all.

------

Unknown Number: [Attachment: 1 image]

Unknown Number: nerd

Thomas grinned down at his phone where it was tucked halfway into his pocket. He'd been in meetings since noon, but after the night he'd had, he was struggling to focus on fundraising numbers and campaign strategy, most of it going in one ear and out the other as he waited restlessly for his phone to buzz. He'd begun to think by then that she wasn't going to reach out.

thomas 🙄: kinda harsh to say that abt someone who's been dead for 200 years

Y/N 🍑👀: ah yes because i was definitely referring to byron

Y/N 🍑👀: not the person who carries around purple sticky notes just to paste byron quotes in people's kitchens

thomas 🙄: you insulting my stationery?

Y/N 🍑👀: just your taste in literary quotes

thomas 🙄: don't be mad just cause i'm right

thomas 🙄: it didn't even wake you up when i left in the morning

thomas 🙄: at that rate you were gonna spend a lot more than a third of your life asleep

Y/N 🍑👀: wouldn't have still been asleep if you hadn't had me up past 4 am

thomas 🙄: is that really a complaint, now?

Y/N 🍑👀: uh??? yes, it is????? i have to deep clean my sheets and my mattress now smh

thomas 🙄: as though it wasn't worth it ;)

Y/N 🍑👀: wasn't worth the cost of the five gallons of bleach i'm gonna need to get the smell out

thomas 🙄: don't even pretend

thomas 🙄: you didn't seem to have any problem last night when i started ruining your sheets

thomas 🙄: you really gonna act like you don't want me to ruin them again?

Y/N could almost hear his voice in the messages, could picture his self-satisfied smile, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she read and re-read the text.

Y/N 🍑👀: you're paying my laundry bill

thomas 🙄: worth it to me

Y/N 🍑👀: or maybe we'll just have to ruin your sheets next time

Thomas inhaled sharply; his eyebrows shot up. Next time. He wouldn't have thought that just two words could turn him on quite that much.

"Thomas?" His head snapped up, his eyes wide; he'd somehow managed to forget entirely where he was in the few minutes since Y/N had texted him. Thankfully, it was only James who seemed to have noticed.

"Hmm?" He blinked, staring up at James's expectant stare. His gaze flickered across the conference room, and while James was clearly on the border of annoyance, everyone else looked to him curiously. "'M sorry, James, I spaced out for a second thinking about... your proposal for the fundraiser?"

That was the last thing he remembered hearing, and James didn't look impressed. "Right," he said dryly. "Anyway, I was asking how you felt about doing another town hall in D.C."

"Yeah, alright." He nodded, hardly processing the words, and James cocked a brow.

"Really?" He folded his arms. "I'm surprised you're giving in that easily. Last I remembered, you wanted to move your next few town halls up further north."

Thomas shrugged. His palms were sweating as all eyes turned to him for an answer after he'd spent the past ten minutes thinking about something very different from his supporters. "You make a good case for it."

(The fact that he hadn't caught a minute of the advocacy was irrelevant.)

James hadn't bought a word of it, and Thomas could tell from a single glance at him. He made a mental note not to pick someone who could see right through him as a running mate next time.

However, he fabricated a smile, much to Thomas's relief, having no desire to confront him right there or then. "I'm glad. I had a couple venues scouted out, but I'm open to any more suggestions."

"I think we need a new type of place. The same locations again and again get monotonous." Thomas struggled to resist rolling his eyes; he had to remind himself he'd only hired Charles Lee because he was donating more than twice his salary to the campaign.

"So what do you suggest?" He met his eyes skeptically from the other end of the table.

"What about a café?"

"A café?" Another of his campaign staffers who he couldn't identify by name spoke up -- Noah? Nate? Nathaniel? Thomas couldn't help but agree with his incredulity.

"It would be good for you to actually get to know your voters instead of... preaching to them from on high." As Lee continued, his voice close to a sneer, Thomas had to force himself to control his expression. "It would be much more personal for you to finally sit down and meet them."

"I'm runnin' a campaign, not speed-datin' the voters." Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw James purse his lips to repress a laugh.

"It's actually an excellent idea." Really, now? He glanced disbelievingly at the woman to his left. "The most common criticism you receive is about thinking yourself above your voting base. It'd be a good chance to lose some of your aristocratic reputation."

Hurtful, but not inaccurate. Thomas nodded, though he knew the skepticism was still clear in his gaze.

"If we do go through with this, where in the city do you propose we hold it?" James didn't seem to appreciate his fundraising proposal being derailed into a meet-and-greet, and by Charles Lee of all people. Thomas was right there with him, his annoyance only compounding when Lee shrugged unhelpfully.

"It's the Jefferson campaign, not the Lee campaign." Charles did make a good point with that. Thomas only wished he'd have thought of it before he decided to wedge his opinion into James's plan like a Republican jigsaw puzzle.

The question gave him pause, however. Were he to be perfectly honest, he didn't know more than five restaurants in the city by name, four of which wouldn't exactly earn him any points as a 'man of the people.' The last, however...

It was probably a poor idea; he'd known that even before he considered it. But it did seem to fit what they were looking for. It was in a low-income neighborhood, run by a family of immigrants. It had a bright atmosphere and an abundance of seating. However, the most tempting part to him wasn't how it'd look to the voters, but being able to see one person's expression when she learned he'd rented the place out for an entire evening.

It might've been a poor idea, but he had to put his campaign first, and the benefits were more than defensible.

He grinned. "Think I got a place in mind."

------

Y/N spent the next few days overthinking the fact that Thomas had left her last text on read. God, why'd she have to go and put the idea of a 'next time' out there? She was sure he didn't want commitment any more than she did, so she must have scared him off.

She hated how tumultuous the past Friday night had left her emotions.

Thankfully, when she arrived at work the following Monday, it didn't take too long for the distractions to come pouring in.

"Y/N!" Her head snapped upwards, her eyes wide as she saw Ashley marching into her office. She wore a smile, but her eyes were narrowed, and Y/N couldn't help the sense of dread building in her stomach.

"Ashley." Her response was wary.

"So your article got a decent bit of attention last Thursday." The words were nice enough, but they were altogether devoid of energy.

"... Thanks?"

"No, that's definitely a good thing; take the compliment." As Ashley circled around to take a seat on the edge of Y/N's desk, however, she tensed in her office chair, trying not to noticeably grip the armrests. "But a lot of it was controversial attention."

"How?" she asked, taken aback. Her brow was furrowed; it was likely the most unbiased article she'd written about the election.

"A lot of our readers seem to think you're siding with the Jefferson campaign toward the end of it." So this was why Ashley had entered looking so skeptical, and Y/N was sure her disbelief was written plainly across her face.

"Seriously? Because I mentioned that they're turning away funding from super PACs, you mean?" Ashley nodded, and Y/N let out a huff of incredulous laughter.

"You don't need to hold back on your critiques, alright? You can go after whatever information you uncover." She either didn't notice the annoyance growing in Y/N's eyes, or she didn't seem to care. "Don't be afraid to use what you uncover."

"And if what I uncover is entirely unrelated to the election?"

"Nothing is unrelated to the election, Y/N. That's exactly what you don't get." Something akin to excitement flashed in Ashley's gaze as she leaned forward toward Y/N, but the hint of vindictiveness gave her pause. "For you, the people are readers, not voters. You're not the one in an election."

Though she shifted further away in her rolling chair, Y/N said, "I'll keep it in mind, but for the time being, it's all been pretty mundane. Haven't found any skeletons in his closet."

"Then make some."

A beat passed; Y/N could only stare up at her boss in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes when Y/N didn't seem to be on the same page, which only elicited more worry. "You, as a writer, have grown to national visibility. You have the power to sensationalize things if you want to keep people hanging onto your every word."

"I'll keep it in mind, thanks." Ashley narrowed her eyes further at the bite behind Y/N's words.

"I'm serious. If you want to go further as a reporter, you can't just state facts. You need a narrative. There's a reason no one watches C-SPAN."

"Pretty sure I can spin a narrative on the election without stooping to the level of a gossip column." With Y/N's hard stare, Ashley seemed to realize she wasn't getting any further with the conversation, and after eyeing Y/N for another moment, she sighed heavily.

"You'd better show me a good narrative." Y/N had begun to tune her out as she pushed herself off of her desk, instead turning back to the article she'd been drafting. "I trust your judgment as a writer, so I'll let you take this however you want it. But people want to know who they're reading about."

"I have a feeling everyone knows who Thomas Jefferson is by now," Y/N responded dryly.

"I mean know him, know him." That elicited a raised eyebrow. "He's a person, not just a candidate. That's what America wants to see."

Y/N couldn't help the strange sense of pride that curled in her chest, tried instead to suppress it alongside the inexplicably conceited mantra Ashley's words elicited: she knew Thomas Jefferson in a way America never would.

When Ashley raised her eyebrows, Y/N realized she'd let the silence stretch on a moment too long. She swallowed her thoughts. "So you want me to air his dirty laundry?"

Y/N's eyes widened at the grin that broke through Ashley's unimpressed demeanor.

"Finally, she gets it." With that, Ashley turned to go, ignoring how dumbfounded she'd left Y/N. She glanced back with a well-pleased smile.

"If you need dirt, never be afraid to dig up whatever it is he's left buried."

-----

Unfortunately for Y/N, the distraction that was her boss's scarily cutthroat mentality only weaved itself into her racing thoughts about her most recent encounter with everyone's favorite Republican frontrunner. The next few evenings at the diner were slow, which she couldn't necessarily complain about -- being rushed and nagged by half of downtown D.C. over the course of a week wasn't quite her paradise. However, it only gave her time to spiral under the weight of everything she'd learned.

To her conflicted relief, coming in earlier in the afternoon on Wednesday provided a welcome diversion. It would've been her afternoon to herself after leaving her office at the Post, but when one of their baristas called in sick, the money for an extra two hours was too tempting for Y/N to turn down.

Despite her early shift, it wasn't until around 7:30 that her evening hit a bump in the road.

"Prosciutto roll for Belle?" she called out as she reached the end of the counter, putting the tray with the finished order and the receipt on the end of the counter. She pulled a paper cup out of the stack by the divider for the drink that was ordered. She was about to dash back to the kitchen after checking over the food, when--

"Excuse me."

She was sick of overly-familiar voices interrupting her workday. She froze on the balls of her feet where she'd begun to retreat, before turning with forced positivity permeating her demeanor. Couldn't her two jobs stay separate, at least most of the time?

"James! Hey. Congrats on the Super Tuesday win." His surprised smile put her at ease as she reached where he stood.

"Oh... Y/N. Thank you," he said, tone hesitant, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. "I didn't know you worked here." She only shrugged.

"I just started two weeks ago. Not surprised you haven't noticed me around."

"No, I don't mean..." She raised an eyebrow when he trailed off, before he chucked to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is my first time coming here. You being an employee just... explains a few things, is all."

"Glad to provide some clarity... ?" With any context, his insinuation would've been painfully obvious; however, completely ignorant of the previous Saturday's meeting, Y/N was absolutely oblivious. She pursed her lips.

"You have my gratitude for it." James's knowing smile explained nothing for her, however.

"Right." She glanced at the growing line over at the cash register, anxious to keep the flow of customers going smoothly as the place filled up. "Anyway, what can I do for you? If you're here for dinner, line starts that way."

She nodded to the other end of the counter, but he shook his head.

"I'm not looking for food, actually."

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. "I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but I'm starting to think you're in the wrong place."

"No, no..." He plucked a takeout menu from the stand toward the end of the counter and nodded, eyeing the diner's logo. "I'm where I'm supposed to be."

"You're sure?" Her skepticism was still blatant.

"I'm sure." He glanced up from the menu with a smile. "May I speak to your manager, just briefly?"

That was when she paled. Eyeing his nonchalant expression, she prayed none of her assumptions about his motives could possibly be true, especially as they grew stranger and stranger. Her new spiraling was beginning to tie back to her previous spiraling -- could James have found out about the past Friday? Would Thomas have possibly told him? Why would that mean he showed up at her family's diner to talk to her manager about it? Could he have been trying to--

"Why do you look so nervous?" Her alarm only seemed to amuse James, and she huffed, leaning against the counter.

"James. You're a politician who showed up at my place of work, rejected food, and requested to speak to my manager." She looked up at him with a flat gaze, and he only chuckled, shrugging in acquiescence. "There isn't some new health code no one told us about, is there?"

"Not this time. Check back in a week, though." She rolled her eyes. "In all seriousness, may I speak to whoever's in charge? I assure you I'm not here to shut down your café."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "How generous of you. Give me a second."

He nodded as she turned away, laughing when she took only three steps before aggressively yelling "Orlando!" in the direction of the kitchen.

The man in question emerged with his brow furrowed, wiping his hands on a dishtowel with his brows furrowed. "What's wrong, mija?"

"Nothing yet." She glanced between him and James, her stare inquisitive. "Someone wants to speak to you about the diner real quick."

"You get us into trouble again?" Orlando raised a playful eyebrow, and Y/N couldn't help her wry smile as she rolled her eyes, batting at his arm.

"No, Orlando," she huffed.

Her contrived annoyance hardly buried her amusement before James decided to pipe up. "'Again'?"

She turned to James with a playful glare, and he grinned. "You stay outta this." She pointed a reprimanding finger at him, but he didn't appear at all fazed. "Gonna get me fired before you have a chance to shut us down, at this rate."

"You got us shut down?" Orlando gasped, but when Y/N saw the mirth behind his playful shock, she groaned.

"No, Orlando." James's and Orlando's grins mirrored one another as she looked between them, exhaustion settling into her tone. "I need you two to take each other off my hands, now. I have drinks to make."

"Of course, Y/N." James wasn't too hurt by the final glare she sent him before turning away.

As she fell back into her rhythm fulfilling orders, Y/N couldn't help but keep an eye on the two men, especially not when Orlando emerged from behind the counter to talk to James, trying to stay out of her way but also moving just out of her earshot. She knew the glances she kept sneaking toward them weren't as subtle as they should've been; she knew Orlando could see her watching them. As James continued on, Orlando's entire demeanor went from skeptical to welcoming, his body language opening up in turn. (Y/N tried briefly to read their lips, but something gave her the feeling that 'sent out the minors' wasn't quite true to their conversation.)

She had to force herself to turn her focus back to the customers as the unfinished drink orders began to pile up, her eyes widening when she caught sight of the mounting line of cups to her right with names and orders, but with a distinct lack of coffee. A few more minutes passed as she struggled to keep up, finally holding pace with the ever-growing demand when Orlando shook James's hand, passed off a business card before the two parted ways.

At the risk of making just a few customers lose their heads, Y/N followed Orlando into the kitchen, her curiosity overriding her work ethic.

"Hey, what was that about?" She caught him just as he was tying his apron back on. How pleased he looked had her skeptical.

"Oh, nothing very big. Don't worry." He withdrew his plastic gloves from the front pocket, pulling them on with a shrug. "He asked me about renting out the diner for a night for an event with Thomas Jefferson's campaign."

That stopped Y/N cold. "He did?"

"Mhm." He nodded, and he didn't seem to notice how stunned Y/N had suddenly begun to look. "I told him yes. I didn't think Mira would be thrilled if I turned it down. He offered us a lot of money for it."

"Oh, did he now?" She let out a shaky exhale, glancing back at the front of the diner to see James just exiting through the glass doors. "And did he say why he wanted to do it here, of all places?"

Orlando shrugged. "I didn't ask."

Why wouldn't that be your first question? Despite her moderate angst, Y/N tried not to let her frustration show. "Is Mira around? I need to talk to her."

"Aren't you in the middle of a shift?" He gave her a pointed look, and it elicited a dramatic, drawn-out groan from Y/N.

"Orlando," she whined, folding her arms. He gave her a mocking pout.

"Y/N." She rolled her eyes. "You're losing us valuable customers and valuable time as the line gets longer. Go back to making drinks."

Despite her scowl, she nodded. "After I close tonight, you're gonna get a piece of my mind."

------

As it turned out, it wasn't Orlando who was given a piece of her mind that evening.

2 New Messages, 10:38 PM

Thomas raised an eyebrow as his phone vibrated. He sat at his own dining room table, the sound coming from just inches to the left of where he was working on his laptop. Who would be contacting him that late?

Y/N 🍑👀: tell me it wasn't you who came up with the idea of renting out mira and orlando's diner on the only night when i work all evening

Y/N 🍑👀: please for your sake blame james

He grinned. The draft reports of the campaign's funding allocation he'd been typing up could wait just a few minutes.

thomas 🙄: i feel like you're just tryna get me to lie so you can slander me in the papers for it

Y/N 🍑👀: thomas i stg

Y/N 🍑👀: are you just planning your campaign around what's gonna annoy me most????

thomas 🙄: that's a heavy accusation, i would never

thomas 🙄: just wanna make sure you don't get too lonely without me

Y/N's scowl held no real anger as she read the texts.

Y/N 🍑👀: oh of course

Y/N 🍑👀: if this is your way of trying to get laid again, it's a flawed strategy

thomas 🙄: what happened to ruining my sheets "next time"? :)

Y/N 🍑👀: you still owe me for all the bleach i had to buy

thomas 🙄: don't avoid the question

Y/N 🍑👀: don't avoid the cleaning bill

thomas 🙄: if you're still tryna ruin MY sheets next time, it won't be your problem

Y/N 🍑👀 is typing...

Thomas rolled his eyes when the typing bubble disappeared and he didn't receive another text. Y/N, on the other hand, was biting her lip, her fingers hesitant on her keyboard as she read his text to herself. Her heart rate was picking up as flashes of the past Friday played in her mind.

thomas 🙄: did you really just stop typing on me??

Y/N 🍑👀: can we return to my actual question???? why the fuck did you decide to rent out the diner for your campaign?????

thomas 🙄: wasn't my idea to hold a meet and greet at a restaurant

Y/N 🍑👀: there are literally hundreds of restaurants in dc tho

thomas 🙄: and??

Y/N 🍑👀: and you just happened to rent out the diner i work at during the entirety of my shift???

thomas 🙄: pretty sure i mentioned a while back that i was gonna learn your schedule

Y/N 🍑👀: i'm not sure how good it's gonna look for your campaign when i file a restraining order against you

thomas 🙄: you mean you don't miss me? :(

Y/N 🍑👀: oh c'mon you're just asking for it now

Y/N 🍑👀: you almost make it too easy to mock you

thomas 🙄: i'm so hurt

Y/N 🍑👀: already?? i haven't even started mocking you yet

thomas 🙄: we'll see who's mocking who when you're stuck with my campaign for five hours this friday

Y/N 🍑👀: five hours??????

thomas 🙄: don't get too excited now

Y/N 🍑👀: fuck you

thomas 🙄: only after you get around to changing your sheets

✔ Read, 11:03 PM

------

Try as she might, Y/N failed to find a way out of her evening shift the following Saturday. She pleaded with her co-workers (no one else was available); she faked sick (Jac marched up to her apartment just to call her out); she was about ready to find a fake ID and leave the country when a better idea occurred to her.

Mailto: [email protected]

Hi Mr. Adams--

(No, too informal.)

Vice President Adams:

(.... Passable.)

I hope this email finds you well. This is Y/N L/N of the Washington Post, to whom you gave your email address a number of weeks ago at President Washington's gala.

(She prayed she was using 'whom' correctly.)

As you know, I've been assigned to cover the Jefferson campaign up until this November's election, and I'm reaching out for any timely information you would be willing to share on the current relationship between Secretary Jefferson and yourself, as the projected Democratic nominee. I was hoping to find out--

(What was she hoping to find out? Her mind was still attached to Ashley's most recent ominous wisdom -- don't be afraid to dig up what he's left buried. But how could she ask the vice president for dirt without erring on the wrong side of collusion?

Backspace just a little.)

I was hoping to give my readers a somewhat more personal perspective on Jefferson's time holding office as Secretary of State. Is there any chance you'd be available for an interview? Please let me know; I look forward to hearing from you.

Regards,

(Was regards too stiff? Backspace.)

Best regards,

Y/N L/N

She'd been hesitant to actually use the email address he'd given her; she bit her lip as she pressed send. She might not have been able to find a way out of five hours of the diner being full of nothing but Jefferson supporters, but if Ashley was looking for dirt, eavesdropping and an opposing perspective could go far for her. Despite her writing prospects, she spent the entirety of her Saturday dreading its end.

James was the first to show up. The diner was cleared of its usual patrons, but that night, it'd be operating at capacity.

"So should I assume your presence means this whole 'meet-and-greet' wasn't an elaborate hoax just to deepen my frown lines?" Y/N was looking up at him with somber resignation as he entered the diner wearing a wide smile.

"Your input and documentation are valuable to this campaign, Y/N. We would never target you like that." She rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the counter, despite how amused James appeared. "In other words, you have a long evening ahead of you."

"Y'know, I'm firmly convinced you're just trying to make my life Hell until I stop covering the election," she accused him, and he laughed.

"Have a little faith. I wasn't even made aware that you work here."

"Yeah, you weren't."

"What are you implying, exactly?"

"Take a shot in the dark." She glared at him, but it had no real anger in it. "Now, I'm not sure why Thomas is so fixated on antagonizing me, but you'd better tell him--"

"James, hey, you ready to get set up?" It was at that moment the front door of the diner flew open, and it was only a moment of silence that passed before Thomas looked up from whatever he was so absorbed in on his phone, and when he caught sight of Y/N's exasperated expression, a grin split his face. "Y/N? You workin' here, now?"

"Don't even start."

"Aw, c'mon, what d'you possibly mean by that?" His hands were stuffed in his pockets; he wore a shit-eating grin, and Y/N just scowled.

"I have too many hours left in my shift to deal with you two this early." She pointed an accusing finger between the two of them as she threw down her dishrag. "I'm getting Mira and Orlando."

"Some hospitality," Thomas pouted as Y/N began to turn, pausing to give him the stink eye, and he failed to mask his entertainment under his feigned offense.

From there, the evening went about as well as she could've hoped. Mira, as expected, was beyond overjoyed to see Thomas, didn't waste even a moment in helping him set up, and when the floodgates opened at 4:30 PM sharp, Y/N's feet were sore even thinking about scurrying back and forth for five hours on the tile floor she'd already spent her morning polishing. (So much for that polish, anyway. It was less than five minutes before layer after layer of bootprints wracked the shining ceramic with an avante-garde collage of brackish slush and sidewalk gunk.)

Demands were ringing in her ears. She struggled to distinguish between her rather lifelike migraine and the surrounding frenzy of voters and journalists alike -- the voices all sounded the same. A disembodied shout requested an extra tub of honey butter, and she tossed one onto the end of the counter without thinking twice. Two dozen hamburgers over the next thirty minutes seemed a small price to pay to no longer be working the cash register.

She'd begun to count how many viruses could fit on the surface of each dollar she collected in tips with a strained smile, retreating back to the kitchen to wash her hands every time she stuck one into the pocket of her apron. Considering the crowd, she considered herself lucky she was making tips at all.

The money was an undeniable result of the wandering eyes of a number of middle-aged men in the crowd, being to various degrees of seedy -- her skinny jeans seemed to be a hit. Though he wasn't one among the crowd stuffing wadded bills into her hand with a sleazy grin every time she came around to bus tables, there was one man whose wandering gaze she kept meeting. (He'd rather have provided a much different type of gratuity, and she suspected that went beyond subsidizing her trip to the laundromat to wash her bedsheets.)

She had to put it out of her mind every time she caught and subsequently broke his stare. The wolfish smile he watched her with had her feeling more vulnerable than she'd have liked; every time she noticed it, she couldn't help but pale and duck away like a mouse dodging a trap (no matter how tempting the bait might've been). Not to mention it was distracting her from her job. She shook the thought from where it weighed down on her shoulders, instead scurrying back to the register to deal with the line.

"Alright, what can I get you?" The words were breathless as she rushed to the counter, having just made seven lattes in the span of approximately five minutes and ferried forty kilograms of dirty dishes back to the kitchen -- she wasn't looking forward to washing them at the end of the night. Her tired eyes snapped open when she realized who stood before her. "Lafayette! How long have you been here?"

"Standing in line, or in ze restaurant?" His smile was just on the right side of jeering, and she rolled her eyes.

"I didn't take that long to get here; I don't wanna hear it."

"Of course not, chérie." He eyed the menu posted above her as he spoke. "I arrived 'ere nearly two hours ago, but I 'ave only just now come to get food."

"Been avoiding me?" she teased.

"Can you blame me?" Her scowl was all but involuntary at how self-satisfied he looked, choosing to avoid her annoyed gaze. "Any recommendations from ze menu?"

"Whatever's most expensive." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she shrugged, holding her hands up defensively. "What? Like you can't afford the New England stuffed lobster?"

He pursed his lips as he looked back down at her, but his eyes were all smug amusement. "Fine. I will 'ave zat and ze agave lemonade."

"My paycheck appreciates it," she said. "That all?"

"Zat will be all for me." The devious smile he wore as he leaned in a fraction of an inch had her on edge. "But with 'ow he 'as been ogling you all night, I daresay Thomas may want something more."

"Lafayette!" she scolded him, stepping back from the counter to glare. "Why has that become the first thing you bring up every time you see me, now? I am at work."

Her seething was in a hushed tone, and he only shrugged, leafing through his wallet with a smug smile. "Remind him of zat, not me."

____________

It was nearing eight o'clock, and Y/N refused to remind herself that she still had more than an hour and a half to go. She'd deigned to wash the dishes by that point, actively avoiding the crowds in the dining room between Thomas's wolfish gaze and Lafayette's knowing smile -- she wasn't sure when her family diner had become a lion's den.

The yellow latex gloves she'd been forced to sport were an occupational hazard, she supposed, as she reached up to return her latest stack of side plates to their rightful place in the cabinet above her. When she turned back to the sink--

"Thomas!" She jumped back, holding the edge of the counter behind her. She hadn't heard him come in.

He raised an entertained eyebrow as she pulled off her thick rubber gloves, throwing them down onto the counter with a thud before reaching over to turn off the water. "What are you doing back here?" she huffed, "You can't be here."

He shrugged, and she could feel her heart rate rising along with the blood to her cheeks. Him cornering her, alone in the kitchen at her part-time job after all the texts they'd exchanged over the past week, had her feeling increasingly vulnerable.

He plastered on a mock pout, folding his arms as he leaned against the side of the counter. "Oh, nice to see you, too, Y/N. I'm great, thanks so much for askin'."

Y/N scowled. "Don't pretend I'm the one out of line, here."

"You aren't happy to see me?" His brow creased as he held a hand to his heart, and though she rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitched upward. "You're hurtin' my feelings. Figured it'd be a welcome surprise."

"Oh, of course, based on how thrilled I was to hear you rented the place out for the night?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

She huffed at his audacity, shaking her head.

"Anyway, what d'you want?" she asked as she moved to go back to where she'd been at the sink, shooing him away. However, entirely undeterred, he took a step toward her, and she took one back, nearing the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide.

"Thomas," she said hesitantly, and he took another nonchalant step toward her, slowly backing her against the kitchen wall. Her voice was shaky, her heart pounding in her ears like a warning bell. "What are you doing?"

"Well, sweetheart," he began matter-of-factly, his gaze hawklike. Her breathing stopped for a moment as he closed in on her, one hand landing on the wall beside her head and the other on her waist. His grin broadened. "I seem to remember being promised a 'next time.'"

At that, she couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh, the sound breathy. "Seriously? And you think now is a good time to cash that in? I'm working."

"So am I." He shrugged. "Makes it more fun, doesn't it?"

"No, it absolutely does not!" Her reprimanding was losing its bite, though; his smile was apparently more contagious than anything she was going to pick up from touching the used cutlery of his unsavory voters. He leaned in toward her with a mischievous eyebrow raised. "Thomas."

"Y/N," he echoed mockingly before he dipped down, lips finding the side of her cheekbone, trailing down toward her jaw.

"There's a window in here," she reminded him, despite tilting her head to give him access to her neck. "We're in plain sight."

"Not from this corner." She could feel his grin against the side of her face. "Really think I didn't think this through, sugar?"

She let out a skeptical hum when his mouth reached her collarbone, running her hands up his chest, arching up against him despite herself. "This is a bad ide-- Ah!" She squeaked when he nipped at her skin, and his grip on her hip tightened.

"Whatever you say," he murmured into her neck.

"We're going to get caught." She let out a soft gasp as his hand on her hip traveled south.

"By who? Mira?" He pulled back to look her in the eye, a playful shine to his gaze. "She gonna fire you for stealing the attention of her favorite customer?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, pursing her lips to push back the grin that threatened to break hef stony facade. "No, she's gonna fire me for whatever health code violation this constitutes." She shoved him lightly by the shoulder, but it only prompted him to anchor her to him by the waist.

"I won't tell." The hand that rested against the wall threaded itself into her hair, tipping her head back to look her in the eye. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of reaction in the affirmative. She bit her lip.

"My kitchen shift ends in less than half an hour." His expression visibly deflated, and she gave a small, sly smile. "So you'd better be quick."

Delighted surprised flashed in his eyes; she squealed when he hitched one of her legs up to his waist, tightening her hold on his shoulders. "Well, I can't turn down a challenge, now, can I?"

With that, he reached over and flicked the sink's faucet back on, the water drumming loudly on the underside of a saucepan. She furrowed her brow. "What are you doing?"

"Drownin' you out."

His lips returned to her neck with increased fervor, and he tugged aside the collar of her shirt, biting softly into her skin. "Fuck you," she moaned, and he laughed.

"Right here, in plain sight?"

She was about to rebuke him, eyes narrowed and mouth ajar, before he began sucking a hickey into the skin of her shoulder, and he felt her whole body relax in his grasp as she let out a groan. "You're unbelievable."

"I do my best." Her eyes began to flutter shut as she lost sight of her initial task, the small tsunami of dishes becoming hardly a wave in the distance. His hands trailed further downward, and she could feel her chest heaving as she dug her nails into the thick material of his suit. She bit down on her lip, trying to remain quiet, desperate not to draw any attention, when the door opposite them flew open.

Y/N squealed, shoving Thomas away from her, but the damage was done when she met the intruder's eye.

"Lafayette?" she asked breathlessly, "What are you doing back here?"

"So it is only a problem when I come into ze kitchen?" He gave Thomas a pointed look, who glanced to Y/N guiltily. She yanked her shirt back over the reddening mark halfway across her shoulder with a huff. "I was only coming to ask where ze bathroom was, but I fear ze two of you may need it more zan I do."

"Out. Both of you." Y/N glared at Lafayette, who looked spectacularly amused by the scene he'd walked in on. Thomas, however, looked nearly as put-out as Y/N. She walked over to pull her rubber gloves back on, turned the water off in the sink. "I need to get back to work."

"It seems you should do ze same," Lafayette commented to Thomas, who straightened his tie, scowling.

"Thanks for the reminder." He brushed past Lafayette on his way to the door before he turned to leave, casting Y/N one more burning gaze that left her palms sweating.

Y/N turned back to the sink and grabbed the next dish from the stack, expecting Lafayette to follow Thomas out, but he only raised his eyebrows, joining her near the sink as she picked up a sponge and returned to scrubbing a spot of yellowish crud from the edge of a plate, grimacing when she realized it was crusted over.

"So," he started, and she looked up at him warily, not abandoning her task. "I take it my hunch as to where you disappeared to at ze fundraiser last week was not misguided?"

She closed her eyes to take a deep breath, pausing for a moment, thoroughly displeased with the hubristic smile he wore. She didn't give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. "What d'you want, Lafayette?"

She glanced in his direction as he pulled his lips into a dramatic pout. "Is my company not good enough for you to 'ave here? You hurt me, chérie."

"Right. No agenda there," she said dryly, and he shrugged, unable to contain his self-satisfaction.

"So, 'ow long have you and Thomas been carrying on in secret?"

After the momentary pause the bluntness of his question gave her, she rolled her eyes. He came around to the drying rack on her other side, apparently ignoring her peeved sarcasm. "We aren't."

"Non? Then what, exactly, did I just walk in on?"

"Give it your wildest guess." As she turned to add a plate to the stack, she watched Lafayette hoist himself up onto the counter to her left. He gave her a sly look.

"Why did you not tell me about your little liaison? It is not like it was difficult to figure out."

"'Liaison'," she snorted. "Is there anything you don't know how to make sound pretentious?"

"Do not avoid the matter at hand."

She could feel her cheeks beginning to heat as she turned the faucet back on, and it wasn't just the steam coming from the scalding water. "It's not like that, Lafayette. Seriously."

"'Ow far 'ave you two gone?"

"Lafayette!" She turned with that to glare at him, his nonchalance about her embarrassment only compounding upon it.

"What? Do you really not want someone to confide in?" She paused at his words, though her scowl didn't relax, and he took that as an invitation to continue. "I can only assume you 'ave not been 'aving zis conversation with Alexander. I can picture quite clearly how 'e would react."

She let out a huff of bitter laughter as she returned to the dishes. "Can't argue with that one. He thinks the hickey I came back from Detroit with was from you."

"Non!" His eyes shone with mischief, despite his contrived incredulity. "I am your cover story?"

"It's his theory; I didn't even give him the idea." She added another plate to her pile. "Though, a lot of my friends seem to think you're a whore, now."

"Mm, and why should I not go and tell them ze reality of ze situation?"

"Don't you dare!" she said. "What do you stand to gain from that?"

"Protecting my reputation, apparently," he said mildly. "Or, you could simply tell me what 'as been going on."

"Are you blackmailing me for gossip?"

"Think of it as an exchange."

She scoffed, turning her head to look at him. "You really are shameless, huh?" He shrugged, folding his arms as he turned to look at her expectantly, his knee bumping her pile of silverware. She sighed. "Fine. We screwed. You happy?"

"Delighted." He wore a small smile as he shifted her dishes out of his way. "'Ow many times? Only once? When was zis?"

"Lafayette!"

"What?" he asked innocently, but the exhaustion written across her face made him laugh. "Come on, Y/N; we are friends, non?"

"Seems like I'm stuck with you, so sure."

"Zen why do you not feel like you can speak freely with me?"

When she met his eyes that time, the words seemed to be in earnest, not even mocking in the slightest. He wore a small smile, and he broke her gaze after a moment, eyeing the layout of the kitchen.

"Alright. If it'll get you off my back." She sighed, shooting him a dirty look, and he nodded, pursing his lips to suppress the grin that was bursting at the seams. "It was a week before Friday. Only once. And, to be honest, I have no idea where to go from here."

"Thomas seems to have some idea where he wants to go." When she gave him a dead stare, he laughed. "I am not making fun of you, zis time. Truly."

"This time," she repeated bitterly. "I'm just... not entirely sure what I want. The whole thing feels risky."

"It certainly is risky if you are trying to get lucky in public during his campaign event." He gave her a scandalized look, but her scowl was unwavering.

"Thanks for the advice."

Her sarcasm left him undeterred. He shrugged. "But if you are careful, what is ze harm? I assure you, even the papers zat care enough to cover Thomas's sex life do not 'ave the resources to find out who is ending up in his bed."

She hesitated a moment, considering his words.

"No, you're probably right." She sighed. "The thing is... I don't know. It feels like it could become a problem."

"Ah, is there... something more you want out of zis?" The sidelong look he gave her was more concerned than she expected it to be. She shook her head, giving a light laugh.

"No, no, nothing like that." He'd begun moving the dishes to his other side by then to maintain his spot on the counter. Y/N rolled her eyes when she noticed. "My career just complicates things, is all."

Before he could respond, she took a step back from the counter, peeling off her rubber gloves despite the looming load of dishwashing she'd still have to do before the end of the night. "And as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I need to get back to making sandwiches. Head back out to the dining room."

She jerked her chin toward the door while retying the strings on the back of her apron. Lafayette frowned.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not trying to. Kicking you out." She gave him a flat stare as she turned toward where she stood. "Some of us have bills to pay. C'mon."

He scowled as he hopped off of the counter and she waved him away, following close behind to herd him out the door. He glanced back over his shoulder at her when she did, though, and his gaze looked once again as smug as it had when he first realized what he'd walked in on. "If you insist, chérie. I understand that you must do away with me before you can carry on with your little affair. Do not let me get in ze way."

Y/N rolled her eyes at how pleased he looked with himself as he strolled back into the seating area, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. However, when she returned to the kitchen counter, she couldn't help but scan the room through the front window; who she was looking for went without saying. She found him already looking at her, and she swallowed hard.

Nothing articulable was conveyed in his heavy stare, nor in the barely-there smile he wore, arms folded as he watched her shamelessly. She bit her lip. The three seconds she held his gaze felt like hours, and when he finally winked and broke eye contact to turn to someone who'd just approached his table, she felt her stomach turn. This wasn't over.

------

Thomas's rally ended at nine, but it wasn't until closer to nine-thirty that he'd persuaded the final member of his constituency to call it a night. Mira, Orlando, Jac, and all their miscellaneous employees had gone home when their shifts ended at the official end of the event, but Y/N was stuck on the clock for another hour or longer until she finished cleaning up the mess left behind from the evening. Unfortunately, his event running over time meant that he didn't start clearing out his campaign setup until around five minutes after the diner was empty, and that his posters, decorations, and gaudily-colored buttons weren't actually gone until closer to nine fifty.

Y/N was clearing the kitchen counters all the while, knowing she couldn't begin to mop up the grayish mess of liquified dirt and matted grass scattered across the floor until they were both gone. When they seemed to be on the last load of red streamers and campaign merchandise, she emerged back toward the front counter to lock up behind them. Thomas was still out in the back when James approached her, his final box of t-shirts resting on his hip.

"Is there anything else you need from us before we leave? I don't want to take up too much more of your time."

Y/N smiled at the concerned look he wore. "Depends; have you paid Mira in full for all our troubles?" Despite her exhaustion, her tone was light, and the tension in James's brow relaxed.

"I gave her the check before she left."

"Then you're good to go." She shrugged as she went to collect another basin of dirty dishes from under the side of the counter; her annoyance at it couldn't even rise, not after the mountain of plates she already had waiting for her next to the sink. "I've got everything else under control."

He nodded. "Thank you for letting us rent out the venue. All our attendees seemed more than happy with it."

"If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here, but I'll take the credit if you're offering it." She raised a playful eyebrow, and he wore a tired smile.

"The credit's all yours."

"My gratitude is beyond words." Though the words were mocking, he let out a light laugh, and she couldn't help her wry grin.

"I'm always glad to hear it." He took another glance around the place, checking for anything that might've been left behind, before turning toward the back exit Thomas had just re-emerged from.

"What else do we still have to box up?"

James paused on his way out. "You're welcome to do a final sweep, but I believe we have everything."

"Yeah?"

"I'm fairly certain." He looked back toward where Y/N stood behind the counter once more, leaning down on the bakery case. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Bye, James." Her sleepy voice has a singsong lilt to it that made Thomas smile as he searched the dining room a final time. She'd started toward the kitchen once more to retrieve her broom, but Thomas's voice stopped her.

"Anything else I can do before I head out?"

She turned on her heel to face him, wore a soft smile when she saw how earnest he looked, eyebrows raised and his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants. "So long as you’ve gotten everything you brought here, there’s nothing I need from you."

"You sure?" When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged casually. "Just hate to leave this place a mess from our campaign event. Don't wanna leave you with all the extra cleanup."

She pursed her lips when her smile threatened to broaden. "That's sweet, Thomas, but really, it's okay. I'm on the clock for a while longer anyway. I think I can stick it out, considering I'm the one employed here."

"Feel like I remember hearin' somewhere that your shift ends at ten." He furrowed his brow, walking toward the counter where she stood. She didn't quite get his point until she turned to the clock above the doorway: it was nine fifty-eight. "'S there really nothin' I can do to help out?"

She snorted, folded her arms. "Not unless mopping the dried coffee off of the floors is your idea of a good time." When his expectant expression was unwavering, her eyebrows shot up. "You're not seriously offering your services as a janitor, are you?"

The corners of his lips quirked. "Only if it's welcome, sweetheart."

"You're wearing a full suit." The disbelief in her eyes was rigid despite his conviction.

"Don't mind. Long as I can throw my jacket somewhere." He cracked a grin. "Unless, of course, you just wanna get rid of me."

She eyed him skeptically, but he didn't seem to be joking just then. "If you're serious, I'm not turning down free labor."

"Or an excuse to spend more time with me?" His tone was playful, and she couldn't help her spiteful laugh as she re-entered the kitchen.

"So that's your ulterior motive? Hope you don't think you're getting any when it's eleven o'clock and I'm half asleep from my seven hours here tonight."

"As, c'mon now, why's there gotta be an accusation?" he called after her, and she could hear the teasing frown in his voice. "Can't I just wanna lend a hand?"

"I'll believe it when I see it." She emerged not a minute later with a broom and dustpan to see him having shaken off his jacket and undone his tie. She quirked a brow.

"Hey, anywhere I can throw these?" His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms as he slid his tie out of his collar, popping open the first few buttons on his dress shirt, and Y/N bit her lip. The suits he wore didn't quite do justice to his physique; his jackets may have fit tighter around his upper arms, but his shirts were practically molded around his biceps just above where the veins bulging in his forearms disappeared into his sleeves. She was sure the few extra inches of visible skin below his collar were meant to draw her wandering eyes, only hinting at the toned chest she knew lay beneath the starched fabric.

When she looked back up and caught his eye, he looked predictably cocky. He wore a wide, smug grin, and she rolled her eyes before he even spoke. "You're starin', sweetheart."

Y/N shrugged, wearing the smallest of smiles. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Anything you wanna see again?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow, and she laughed.

"Tempting," she said, and when surprise flashed in his eyes, his interest piqued as he started toward her. However, she stopped him at arm's length, a hand on his chest. "But you know what would be really sexy?"

His delight in the turn of events was obvious. "What's that?"

She leaned her broom against the counter and took a step forward, pushing herself onto her toes until her lips brushed against the skin just below his ear, and his hands ghosted down to her hips. Her voice was just above a whisper. "Watching you disinfect all the dining room's high-touch surfaces."

She pulled back with a broad grin when he let out a disappointed groan. "Seriously?"

His frustration was obvious, his brow furrowed as he looked down at her, deadpan, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, yeah. Free labor really gets me going."

"Tease," he grumbled, and Y/N gave him a skeptical stare.

"Don't you gimme that; I'm not the one here under false pretenses," she reminded him, and he folded his arms.

"Now I dunno what you could be refferin' to." She raised a dubious eyebrow when a grin split his phony discontent. "But there's nothin' wrong with mixin' business and pleasure."

"Don't you dare try to derail me after taking up six hours of my time, Jefferson." She prodded his chest with a scowl. "If you're sticking around, I'm putting you to work."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." When he did grab the broom, he glanced back toward the kitchen, wearing an inquisitive frown. "I'm gonna go stick my jacket in a cupboard; is that alright? I'll only be a minute."

"Oh, yeah; do you want me to take it? We have a coat closet in the back."

"Nah, 's alright. I can find it."

Though she gave him a skeptical once-over, Y/N nodded. "Have at it."

When he wasn't back a few minutes later, her train of thoughts managed to run a full 5k -- what could he possibly be spending that much time in the back for? Was he really still trying to find a coat hanger, by then? How hard was it to find a closet in exactly two rooms? Or, really, was he just hiding out until she'd already gotten the worst of the grime off of the tile?

She eliminated her final guess when early-2000s pop music began blaring through the diner's sound system. Though she groaned loudly enough for him to hear it from where he'd located the aux input, she couldn't say this was really a downgrade from Orlando's dusk-till-dawn smooth jazz. When he emerged from behind the kitchen's swinging door and caught sight of her dead stare, he laughed.

"Hanging up your jacket, huh?" Her annoyance was contrived; the way the corners of her lips twitched up gave her away.

"Hey, I can multitask." He bit his smile back, giving her a serious look, brow furrowed. "I said I'm here to help, didn't I?"

"How is this possibly helping?"

"'Cause you need to liven up a little bit," he said matter-of-factly, and Y/N rolled her eyes. "Cleanin's only boring if you make it boring."

"You'll be singing a different tune when you start wiping down the bathroom."

"Hey, how'd I end up on bathroom duty?" he pouted, and she shrugged, turning to the shelves at the back to hide her growing smile.

"As the only one of us who actually works here, I've elected myself the de-facto CEO." She hung her dishrag up on the rack next to the sink before looking back at him over her shoulder, shrugging. "Hate to break it to you, but you're on my turf."

"But I'm a volunteer!" he protested, and she grinned.

"My point exactly."

"Now, what if I refuse to do it?" Though she was busy restocking all the cups that she'd finished washing earlier in the day, she could hear Thomas's footsteps approaching where she stood behind the counter.

"Then you don't, and you finally leave so that I can be productive."

"Sounds like I'm really the one with the power, here."

"Not when I have something I know you want." She looked up with a suggestive smile when he hoisted himself onto the counter beside her, and he raised his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest.

"And now what's that?"

"Three guesses, Thomas." She had a feeling he'd only need one of them when his gaze began to wander down the length of her body, eyes shining.

"I dunno how unpaid this labor is, sweetheart."

"Well, you won't quite be making minimum wage," she said, turning back to face him as she leaned against the counter opposite where he sat. "But I think the employment benefits will make it worth your time."

"That so?" He pushed himself off the counter's edge, hardly having to take a step forward before his arms landed on either side of her on the counter's edge, caging her in, and she inhaled sharply. His grin was wide; his hips pressed into hers as he leaned in, and she swallowed roughly, leaning back on her hands which rested on the linoleum countertop.

"I'd like to think so," she breathed, as he dipped down, wasting no time as his lips met the tender skin below her jaw.

"Mm, I think I'm gonna need to decide that one for myself," he murmured against her neck, and despite how tempting it was when his hands gravitated to her waist, falling slowly further as he bit down softly on her earlobe, she pushed him away the minute she found her last shred of willpower.

"Uh-uh." Thomas scowled as he pulled back, hands planted on the counter at her sides. She folded her arms. "I'm not gonna make even more of a mess of this place that I'll have to clean up. When the diner's shining, I'd be happy to revisit."

One of his hands rose to her jawline, lifting her chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eye, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "After the place is spotless," he murmured, his voice hard and his gaze fixed on her lips, "Hope you know how much you're gonna regret leadin' me on like this. You won't be tryin' it again."

Despite her effort to remain unaffected, Y/N's breath caught, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she struggled to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. Her eyes were wider than she knew, and he seemed to be reveling in her reaction, wearing a wolfish grin.

After a moment, she swallowed, took a deep breath, her voice shaky. "Last I checked, I'm still at work."

"And I wouldn't dream of hinderin' your career." Thomas winked as he took a step back, going for the broom where she'd discarded it before, acting as though nothing at all had happened. Y/N was left reeling.

Thus began the next ninety minutes of her life. Though, to Y/N's surprise, Thomas did end up cleaning the bathrooms, putting up little resistance, he'd also managed to convince Y/N to help him. Despite there having been two of them, every subsequent task took twice as long as it otherwise would've. She'd have denied it, but Thomas's presence was a more-than-welcome distraction.

About half an hour later, he'd managed to drag her away from her Lysol bleach and her old rags in favor of taking a break to dance with him (apparently, she was underappreciating the wonder that was Outkast's greatest hit). She rolled her eyes at the suggestion but grudgingly obliged, and Thomas couldn't help but call out the small, growing smile that broke her grumpy facade. He'd seemingly done the impossible by getting her to let herself go for an evening. Neither of them was quite sure how the floor had gradually become spotless between their distracted banter, nor when exactly they'd managed to wipe down every surface in the kitchen as his playlist seamlessly ventured through every one of Britney Spears's wildest phases.

She'd just about forgotten about her fatigue as Thomas repeatedly soaked the ankles of her jeans with his mop, claiming that her being in his line of sight was just too much of a distraction for him to do his job properly. She scoffed every time, but the fact that her cheeks had grown sore from smiling made her annoyance marginally less convincing.

He eventually took off his shiny black oxfords after having spent the evening trying to hide his concern over some of the chemicals in her soaps ruining the varnish; she didn't bother to argue with his insistence that it absolutely marked a milestone in their progress that he wasn't afraid to step in any greenish gunk or black mold -- if they hadn't missed any, what was the harm? However, she did reprimand him for ransacking their fridge when she left for three minutes to put the mop away. She didn't stay mad long.

Wiping down the glass of the bakery display case took too long for her liking. As it turned out, it was difficult to focus after teasing him for the expected mediocrity of the John Mayer impression he claimed to be impeccable, as he immediately decided it needed to be proven. However, she didn't regret provoking him when the result had her sides beginning to hurt from laughing. She was just glad that they'd nearly finished cleaning.

Much to his dismay, Thomas had to cut the music after the sweet old lady who lived above the dry-cleaners next door came down, banging on the back door to chew them out. The fire behind her threats to file a noise complaint with the cops died down pretty quickly when Thomas offered her a beignet and a cup of tea, sending her on her way with a winning smile, a to-go box, and a Jefferson campaign button. (Y/N proceeded almost immediately to scold him for just giving away the fruits of her hours of labor behind a deep-fryer.)

But as the music was revoked, their animated evening of slacking off began to wind down. The only thing left for them to do was to finish the dishes, and Thomas proved to be much more helpful with this than Lafayette had been earlier in the day.

All was quiet as he washed the dishes and she proceeded to dry them, silence split only by his sporadically humming the best of the Black Eyed Peas. It was comfortable, just being together as the warm air wafted from the cooling oven not too far behind, as their hands brushed every time he passed her another plate. Her lips were pursed in a feeble effort to hide how endeared she was every time she glanced to him, his sleeves soaked past the elbow while he remained unbothered. If he noticed, he didn't mention. Finally--

"How are you so good with people?"

"Hm?" He turned his head toward her with a raised eyebrow, and she had to ignore the flecks of foamed soap that clung to his curls and his shirt. Y/N shrugged.

"I just mean..." Her smile was shy; she didn't meet his eyes. "I don't get how you do it. Mira absolutely dotes on you; you've befriended half of our staff after one night here. You just talked to my crankiest neighbor for literally all of five minutes, and suddenly, she's part of your voting bloc."

He just watched her for a moment. His stare was soft. "Can't help it if people find me irresistible."

Her loud, disbelieving scoff made him grin, but she looked far from annoyed. "That's your secret? You were just born with it? It isn't Maybelline?"

Though he laughed quietly, when she turned to him with her eyebrows raised, he shrugged. Her question seemed to be in earnest. "I dunno, sweetheart. Don't think it's anything special. People seem just as drawn to you, anyway."

"Sure, 'cause I have a nice ass, and I'm wearing tight jeans. Not the same thing." How frankly she spoke made him grin, and he shot her a wink, passing off another bowl to her.

"Can't argue with that." She rolled her eyes as she began drying the next dish. He bumped his elbow lightly against hers, gaze teasing yet soft. "But you know that's not what I meant."

She sighed. "Alright, fine, but I'm not forty-points-ahead-in-the-polls charismatic. I just... can't figure out what it is about you that people seem so drawn to."

As she concluded moments later, the uninvited smile she wore when he flashed her a warm grin could've contributed to the reason. She turned back to the plates before her, feeling her skin warm under his heavy gaze. "So you're tellin' me people don't follow me strictly 'cause of my political framework and field experience?"

"Oh, I'm sure every one of your supporters has invested hours into reading the 174-page pdf of fiscal policy your campaign published." Another stack of cups went into the cupboard below her.

"People really don't care about how taxin' it was for me to write all that? And here I was, thinkin' every American voter was out there doin' their homework." He looked with disappointment down at the salad plate he was scrubbing at present, but Y/N wasn't buying it.

"Thomas," she groaned as she turned to meet his phony pout, her stare flat. Her mild annoyance only served to amuse him further, and though she scowled when he laughed, he leaned over to gently kiss the crown of her head. She could feel herself flush despite how chaste it was; the casual affection left her more thrown than if he'd tried to rail her in the middle of the kitchen.

"'M only kiddin'," he defended, voice heavy with mirth, making her roll her eyes.

"Aren't you always?" she asked, wiping off the inside of a cup.

"'Course not." He frowned, and she deadpanned as she turned to him, arms folded.

"I'm not sure we've had a serious conversation since I met you."

"Now, that's just not true."

"Isn't it?" He put down the saucepan he was rinsing out to turn to her, matching her demeanor.

"It isn't. I know I tease, but I've never been anythin' but one-hundred percent authentic with you, Y/N."

A moment passed where neither said anything. The corners of Y/N's lips quirked at how sincere he sounded as he waited for her to react. Finally, she turned back to the dishes before her with a tight-lipped smile.

"Maybe this is what it is."

"Hm?"

"Why people like you. This whole endearingly earnest act you've got going on. I could see that being pretty appealing to voters."

"Hey, what d'you mean act?" He bumped his shoulders into hers, offense written across his face, and she laughed.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I mean. Traipsing around from state to state like some type of charismatic golden boy. Making everyone feel all special and appreciated. It's a good tactic; don't get me wrong." She shrugged as she shelved the last stack of bowls. Just a few more things to wash, and they could officially consider the diner spotless. She didn't think much of her own words, but he hung onto them. It was inexplicable as to why he took so much pride in her all but admitting he made her feel special.

"My bein' all kind-hearted and charmin' isn't some scheme," he said after a moment, plastering on a scowl, and she raised an eyebrow as he passed her a fork. For a brief moment, she was worried she'd crossed a line, but when his eyes met hers, his gaze was playful. "'M just a nice person. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Her mouth fell open in surprise, indignant but hardly disguising her smile, and she let out a huff. "I was joking, you asshole!" When he only snickered, she pursed her lips, shoving him away from her with the little comparative strength she had.

"Hey, now!" His reprimanding had very little bite to it with the laugh carried in his voice as he stumbled a step to his right, tugging the faucet head along with him. He scowled at Y/N's self-pleased smile, flicking his wrist to turn the spray of water from the sink onto her.

She yelped, jumped back from it, but he'd already managed to drench the front of her shirt. She wore an expression of disbelief as she paused a moment, watching him return to the dishes as if nothing had happened despite his entertained grin. It was then that she struck back, lunging toward the sink to retaliate, and he wasn't quite quick enough to stop her.

He could only do damage control once she'd already managed to spray a line of water across his chest, and she gasped when he pushed her back to her part of the counter.

"You're more trouble than I was expectin'," he laughed, and she folded her arms.

"You're no walk in the park yourself."

"But you're the one who decided to let me stick around, sweetheart," he retorted, giving her a pointed look, and she shrugged good-naturedly.

"You might be a handful, but you're worth having around once in a while."

He laughed at how matter-of-factly she spoke, and for once, she wore an unabashed grin. "Now you're just flatterin' me," he teased.

"Oh, of course, such high praise; you aren't always awful."

"Hey, that means somethin', comin' from you," he defended, prodding her in the side, and she squealed, jumping away.

"Hands off, Jefferson. I'm at work."

"Aw, 'm sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect your professional boundaries."

"Check yourself next time," Y/N scowled, but there was no heat to it. The pair caught one another's eyes, both wearing the same, gentle smile, and it seemed too soon when he broke her gaze, returning to the last couple pieces of silverware. She watched him another moment until he turned to pass her a ladle. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed her gaze hadn't strayed.

She only turned back to the counter when she took the ladle from him, drying it off and sliding it back into its place in the drawer. All was quiet, and though they could both feel the chilled air of the spring night drifting in through the poorly-sealed back door, where they stood, it felt perfectly warm.

He glanced at her. "'S nice to see you like this."

The comment was offhanded; he didn't wait for a response, only returned to washing the spoons, but Y/N furrowed her brow.

"Like what?"

He turned back to her with a raised brow, mildly surprised at the curious frown she wore, and he shrugged, still wearing his faint smile. "I dunno." She didn't fill the silence, and he continued, "With your guard down. Always feels like you've got some kinda walls up."

She swallowed; for a split second, her gaze was absent. Ultimately, she sighed. "I guess I'm just cautious," she said quietly, and Thomas frowned at the defensive lilt that had returned to her tone.

"I get it." He reached over to finally turn off the water, and she put away the final fork he handed her. "'S not always worth lettin' people in."

His smile was tiny, barely there, but understanding, and when she met his eyes, it felt like he was seeing right through her. "It just makes it too easy to get hurt."

He nodded, eyes kind. "'M glad I make you feel like you can relax."

She hardly shrugged as he turned to her, leaning on his hand on the countertop. "Yeah." A small smile graced her lips as she eyed his expression, and she bit her lip. "I guess there are worse things, huh?"

His laugh made her nervous gaze soften. "Aw, sugar, you're too kind," he said, the mocking sarcasm in his voice balanced out by how gentle his grin was. She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she said softly, and he plastered on a mock pout. "I'm not building up your ego any more, alright? I'm not sure it has any room to grow."

"I wouldn't mind you makin' me just a little bit more conceited, now."

She finally turned all the way to him, putting down the dishcloth she'd been using for drying, and despite herself, the affection in the way he was looking back down at her made her heart flutter. "If you're looking for blind adoration, you should've figured out by now that I'm not the girl for that."

"No, you really aren't, are you?" Though her words had been pointed, had come with the intention to knock him back down a peg, his low voice was far, far from contemptuous. Her eyebrows jumped when he took a step toward her, taking her chin in his hand to lift her face to his before bending down to meet her where she stood, his confident lips gentle against hers. "You're so much more than that," he murmured, not pulling away enough to even look her in the eye, their noses brushing together.

Though she hesitated, it was a moment later that Y/N took a step forward to meet him halfway, her tentative touch rising up the stiff material of his shirt and to the back of his neck. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She pushed herself up onto her toes, and their lips met once again.

The patience in his every move was new to her, inconsistent with the raw desire that usually governed his actions. When he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, her mouth parted in a soft moan, and he took the opportunity for what it was, wasting little time in pressing his tongue teasingly against hers. He was holding her close, but she was arched fully up against him regardless of it, wanting to feel the movement of his body against hers. Both her arms looped around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her.

The kiss was deep, intimate, but not harsh, and when his mouth moved to the skin of her neck, she tipped her head back, eyes closed with her silent sigh as his hands moved down to grip the backs of her thighs. She couldn't help her surprise at how effortless it was for him to pick her up, to lift her onto the counter she'd been standing in front of. She groaned when his lips found a particularly sensitive patch of skin, all but going limp in his grasp.

"Thomas," she whined, wrapping her legs more tightly around him to anchor his hips against hers, grinding against his hard body.

"Come home with me," he muttered into her neck, and though she gasped at the feeling of his teeth scraping against her, she pulled back to look him in the eye, raising his head to hers with a hand in his curls.

"What?" she whispered, chest heaving, and he pressed another soft, chaste kiss to her lips.

"Come home with me," he repeated, looking into her wide eyes.

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows at her hesitance, and she took a deep breath. "Thomas, I live upstairs; if you wanna stay, I... I definitely wouldn't mind that, but--"

She cut herself off at his skeptical hum, and he said, "Listen, I almost got caught tryin' to sneak outta here in the morning last Saturday, and I'm not tryna have a repeat of that, alright? Just come back to my place." One of his hands lifted from her thigh to weave itself into her hair, holding her head by her nape as he kissed her, more intently that time. "Promise I'll make it worth your while."

She swallowed. "Pull your car around the back."

---------

It was hours later that Y/N found herself lying exhausted on satin sheets, slumped in a penthouse just across the river and high above the city. Thomas hadn't been lying about making the most of her time; his hands had seldom left her skin from the moment she entered his passenger seat, dragging her quickly past the doorman on the first floor of his building, pinning her against the wall of the elevator for a heated, fleeting moment before he'd finally tugged her the rest of the way to his apartment.

She was wrapped in his covers up to her chest, feeling just on the wrong end of self-conscious, but her clothes were rumpled and sprawled across every corner of the rooms they had to pass to reach his bed. They hadn't been overly concerned with where the outfit ended up, just that it wasn't on her skin. Every joint in her body was already sore, and she groaned as she tried to sit up, leaning against his headboard as Thomas returned to her with a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said, and he couldn't help but grin at how hoarse she sounded as he handed her the cup.

"'Course, sweetheart." He came to sit beside her as he pressed a kiss to her temple, and she took a long sip of the water, nearly draining all of it in one gulp. "You alright? Everything still feeling okay?"

"I'm exhausted, and my ass hurts like a bitch," she griped, but when he raised an eyebrow, she nodded. "But I'm all good. Might have to bill you for the truckload of concealer I'll need to cover up all these fucking marks, but I'm fine."

"Good." He squeezed her thigh lightly when she leaned against his side, her legs bent and knees pulled in toward her chest. When she rested her head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against himself with a small smile.

"Can't believe I didn't know you live in the same building as Lafayette, though," she mumbled, and he looked down at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, he actually lives just across the hall. When he came back from France lookin' for a place to live, I thought it'd be fun if we were neighbors, and he took me up on it pretty easily."

She hummed her acknowledgment. "So that means, when Lafayette showed up half an hour late to your lunch date and I was there instead, that it would've taken you all of five seconds just to go home?"

He laughed. "Now, what exactly are you accusin' me of?"

"Being a pain in my ass two weeks ago," she grumbled, and he shrugged, wearing a small, self-contented smile and not bothering to argue with her.

"You didn't seem to mind me bein' a pain in your ass last night." He raised a smug eyebrow, and she scowled, turning her head to break the eye contact. She disregarded the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.

"You say 'last night' as though we didn't get back here less than four hours ago."

"Don't pretend you don't get the picture."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirked when he kissed the top of her hair. She looked down at the cup she held against her chest. "Is it cool if I stay over?"

"'Course. I don't want you gettin' in an Uber with some creep in the middle of the city at this time of night."

"Mm, but you had no problem with me getting in a Bentley with some creep in the middle of the city four hours ago?"

Despite the teasing bite to her words, he grinned. "Hey, now, I'm just sayin' you gotta be selective about which creeps you're lettin' drive you around at all hours."

"I mean, you haven't killed me yet, so I'd call that a point in your favor." She yawned, reaching over to put the glass he'd given her on his bedside table. "We should get some sleep. It's late, and I'm sure you have somewhere to be tomorrow."

"Alright, sweetheart." She pushed herself forward from the headboard, laying back onto the pillow she'd been leaning on, holding it close to her head as he reached over to turn off the lamplight before joining her under the covers. "G'night."

"Night, T."

They fell asleep almost immediately in one another's arms.

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

5:17 AM

From: [email protected]

Y/N--

I’m glad you reached out. Your writing’s excellent as always, but if there’s information you want, you’ve very much come to the right place. I’ve worked with Thomas for years, and though they left me dismayed, I’ve become quite familiar with the not-so-shining moments in his background.

I’d rather not put anything in writing should someone find this communication. Let’s find a somewhat private place to meet. Be sure to bring a recorder and a notepad. Believe me when I say you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.

John Adams

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quinncupine · 4 years

Text

It’s Never Easy

Word Count: 2,272

Link: A03

Summary: "I lied to her." His voice was just a broken whisper. "She...she asked me if she was going to die, so I lied."

Young Pro Hero Deku deals with his first civilian death and a certain retired hero helps him cope.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood.

Notes: I wanted to write some Dadmight because I love their dynamic and I wanted to explore that. I've never really written Dadmight before so let me know what you think. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy friends!

Quinn's Masterlist!

...

Izuku trudged into the empty apartment and sluggishly pulled off his boots, tossing them haphazardly on the floor then stumbled to the sofa where he plopped down. He hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the darkness, it was easier to hide in it than face reality at the moment. The street lamp glaring through the window provided the sole source of light, though it was far from comforting.

In the darkness he finally sunk down into the sofa leaning his head back into the plushy cushions. A grimy hand ran through his messy green locks as he let out a shaky breath. All that raw emotion he'd somehow managed to suppress for the last few hours was dangerously close to crawling up his throat. It had taken everything in him to keep it together, but now that he was in his apartment- alone and in the dark- that wall he built was crashing down faster than he could say disaster.

The silence was quickly becoming overwhelming. Hands covered his eyes as a stifled choke slipped out. That scene just kept replaying over and over and over in his head and each time he kept going over all the things that went wrong, all the things that he did wrong. For each mistake, a thousand other possibilities of what he could of done differently, but as much as he wished, he couldn't change what happened. This train of thought was only driving him deeper and deeper and there wasn't a reverse gear to back him out of this miserable pit he'd driven himself into.

A buzz in his pocket startled him out of his morbid derailment and he reached for his phone, barely glancing at the name before turning it off and throwing it on the couch next to him. He knew people would call, he knew they would want to talk, but he didn't. All he wanted was to just sit in the dark, to suffer a little longer in his own guilt. It's what he deserved, at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Wait a minute...

He froze, eyes darting over to the phone. The name of the caller suddenly clicked in his mind. All Might. He'd just hung up on All Might, or as the older man kept telling him 'Toshinori.'

With a small groan, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and sat up, debating on whether or not to call the man back. All his emotions were so scattered at the moment. He wanted to talk and not talk at the same time. He wanted Toshinori to be here and yet he also wanted to just be left alone. He wanted the world to just stop closing in on him. He wanted everything to be okay, but that was never going to happen.

Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath, then another, then another. After a while, his breathing evened out and he closed his eyes, resting his head back on the couch and straining his ears to hear the distant echoes of the trains that ran near his apartment. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep.

A loud knock on the door nearly sent him toppling off the couch. Fingers fumbled around for his phone, turning it back on, and flinching at the too bright light that glowed over his face. It was nearly two in the morning, he'd only been asleep for less than an hour. Once his phone had fully powered back on, the small device flooded his notifications with several missed calls and numerous text messages, most of them being Toshinori. Another pang of guilt dripped into his chest at the thought of ignoring his mentor. He didn't want to be rude, something he feared might happen if the retired hero found him in this sorry state.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and all his muscles immediately complained. They were overworked, not that it was really any surprise, the still rookie hero always went overboard on missions. This time, he welcomed the pain. It gave him a nice distraction as he stumbled to the door. On the other side was exactly who he was expecting, although the timing was a bit late, or, he supposed, rather early in the day.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't realize how rude that sounded until it actually came out. "I mean," he sighed. "It's two in the morning All- Toshinori."

"You weren't answering." The older man simply said. "I was getting worried."

Izuku finally took the time to look the man over. He was dressed in a plain pair of sweats and a heavy coat, holding some sort of small box. His hair was a mess and his face, although always sickly and pale, seemed even more so tonight.

"I wanted to check on you." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. "Maybe...talk a little?"

Talking was the last thing on Izuku's mind, but he couldn't just shut out Toshinori, no matter how upset he was. The man even drove all the way here in the dead of night. It would be downright villainous to turn him away. With a sigh, he stepped aside and let the man in.

Toshinori knew the layout of the apartment well; he'd been here enough times by now to have it memorized, but the complete darkness was making it hard to navigate. His hand smoothed along the wall until he found the switch and suddenly the apartment bloomed to life. It was a basic place with just the necessities and of course all the All Might merch Izuku had acquired over the years. Once a fanboy, always a fanboy.

"Um, Izuku," He said quietly, slipping the coat from his lanky form. "Why don't you go change and I'll make us some tea." Toshinori hesitated before continuing. "Maybe take a shower, that might do you some good."

The young pro blinked and looked down at himself. His costume was filthy and littered with dirt smeared cuts. The most glaring issue was the giant blood stain that ran from his torso down to his right leg. Even more disturbing that the blood wasn't even his. He'd been too lost in his thoughts when he got home that it didn't even cross his mind what he looked like.

"Yeah, okay." He murmured, carding his hand through his tangled hair.

A shower actually did sound pretty good at the moment, so he trudged to his room and stripped the soiled garment off, well tried to. The blood had fused the fabric and his skin together so he slowly peeled it off, trying not to look at the mistakes that were literally written in blood and woven to his skin. When he finally did get it off, he stared at the fabric lying limply in his hands. It might've been beyond repair this time, or maybe it was that he just didn't want to see the tainted suit ever again.

The warm water felt nice on his sore muscles, but the moment he looked down and saw the water pooling around his feet turn red he had to steady himself against the wall and take a deep breath. Those haunting images popped back in his head again so he turned the shower on the coldest setting and stayed there until his skin felt raw.

It was about ten minutes before Izuku came back out, flat hair dripping down onto his hoodie, and hands shoved into the pocket of his sweats. He would've looked comfortable if not for the permanent grimace on his face.

Two cups of tea had been set out on the dining table with Toshinori behind one, gingerly sipping the dark liquid. Izuku slipped into the empty seat and stared at the steaming cup.

"Feel better?" Toshinori wrapped his hands around his own cup, savoring the warmth it brought.

"I guess."

A tight silence settled over the two. Usually Izuku was all smiles with Toshinori, the man was his idol, how could he not be, but tonight was different. Tonight held a heavy, more somber mood, one Toshinori was well acquainted with, just not on his protégé.

"What's that smell?" Izuku perked his head up, his curious nature taking over as the scent of cinnamon wafted through the room.

"Oh, right." Toshinori hurried into the kitchen and came back out with a plate full of sweet smelling desserts. "I picked these up when I was in Kyoto the other day. I thought you'd appreciate them."

He set the plate between them. "Yatsuhashi?" Izuku picked up one of the crisp sweets and examined it, glad to have something else to focus on. "Thanks."

"Izuku, my boy," Toshinori gingerly sat back down. "I saw what happened on the news, but I...I wanted to...are you alright?"

Alright wasn't even in the same universe as him. He squeezed the yatsuhashi between his fingers, the hard shell cracking under the pressure. A grim frown pulled at his lips. "How did you handle that...the first time it happened?"

Toshinori folded his hands on his lap and pursed his lips. "Not well, I can tell you that."

That surprised Izuku. To him, All Might could handle anything, no matter how big or small, and always with a smile. The man seemed invincible, even after his retirement, it still seemed like he could accomplish anything. That was probably all the biased sentiment he held in his heart for the man who had filled a role much bigger than 'mentor' could even encompass. Growing up without a father had left a blank spot, something he was able to ignore for a long time, but it was one that Toshinori seemed to fit into perfectly.

"Listen Izuku," he took a deep breath and forced the boy who wasn't so much a boy anymore as he was a young man, a prospering hero, to look him in the eyes. "There are inevitably going to be times where you can't save everyone. That doesn't mean you failed as a hero."

Giant green eyes searched Toshinori's bright blue ones. "Not to her. To her, I did fail." He dropped the crushed treat back onto the plate and sunk his head into his hands. "I lied to her." His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

"Lied?"

"She...she asked me if she was going to die. She was crying. She was bleeding out in my arms and crying. I've never seen someone so terrified, so I lied." All that emotion he'd somehow been suppressing came rushing to the surface and he choked back a sob. "I had her, I had her in my grasp and I still couldn't save her. What kind of hero can't even save one life?"

"Did you forget about all the other lives you saved today?" Toshinori set a bony hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "If anyone gets to call themselves hero, it's you Izuku. Out of all the people I've ever met you are the most selfless and determined person to ever walk this earth. I know I made the right choice in you Izuku, you are the truest version of a hero."

When Izuku didn't respond, he knelt next to his chair, grabbed the boys shoulders and pulled them up gently so he was facing him. "I know exactly what you're going through my boy. I've been there more times than you can count, but carrying around that blame, that, that guilt will only weigh you down." Izuku could only stare at him through tear stained eyes. "I'm so proud of the hero you've become. I'm certain that one day you'll be the very best and all the world will know-" he tapped Izuku's chest- "that you are here."

There was a moment of silence before Izuku lunged forward and collapsed into Toshinori's chest with a crushing hug. They both nearly toppled to the ground before Toshinori managed to regain his footing. It didn't matter that it was an awkward position to kneel in there was no way he was letting his boy go. His gangly arms wrapped around his boy.

His boy.

His son.

The one person whom he considered family, someone to call son, although he couldn't recall a time he'd ever actually told Izuku that, or anyone for that matter. It was more of an unspoken understanding, at least, he hoped Izuku understood. Toshinori never had any family ties and before he met Izuku there was a void he'd buried in the recesses of his mind, but now he couldn't even think of a life without Izuku in it.

"I'm sorry." Izuku sniffed into his chest and Toshinori ran a hand through his still wet curls. "Thank you Toshi...for being here."

To say that that simple nickname hadn't affected the old man would be an outright lie. Izuku had always tried so hard to be respectful, which was why he always had trouble calling Toshinori by his name instead of his title. This might've been the first time he's ever used that nickname and Toshinori, no, Toshi only squeezed tighter.

His heart couldn't help but swell and he smiled, but it wasn't his generic 'All Might' smile, no, this one was reserved for only one person. This was a smile that he could pour his entire being into. A smile that could say so much more than he ever could. This was a smile for his son.

"My boy, you don't have to thank me. It's what family does."

#midoriya izuku #pro hero midoriya #yagi toshinori #All Might #bnha #mha #slight angst #comfort #pro hero Deku #dadmight #izuku midoriya needs a hug #dadmight to the rescue #deku #crying #this boy just needs so much love #can we please get some love for poor Izuku?#he's the best

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

to have and to hold

request from nonnie: Hey I'm 17 and still sleep with stuffed animals.... can you write something where George finds out and teases you about it? I know I'm a bit weird but I cuddle in my sleep so it's hoard stuffed animals or kidnap my cat (dangerous).

word count: 3.3k

pairing: george x reader

A/N: y’all i love this—totally nothing wrong with sleeping with stuffed animals, THEY’RE SO CUDDLY! and that’s what they’re for! thank you for reading and requesting, i’m so grateful for you all, and in case anyone’s wondering, i’m still irrevocably head over heels for these silly boys. also the title’s a tad misleading but there’s no marriage in this but it’s definitely all FLUFF because i’m a dork

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added darlings!

The Sorting Hat cries Ravenclaw! as a young, brown haired girl jumps from the stool and gleefully makes her way over to her respective House table.

Everyone begins to clap, and although he doesn’t feel much like it, George does too.

He’s a bit taken aback when you say to him suddenly, “I can’t believe that was us only a few short years ago.”

Just a few months ago, it seemed as though your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was still a long while away. It couldn’t be creeping up that quickly, could it? You both met only six years ago in Transfiguration, but it feels like a lifetime. George grins at the memory. But now, sitting and watching the newest first years get placed into their Houses, he’s feeling the nerves of the finality of it all—even though you’re not there yet. Not exactly.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he asks you, watching another student jump up excitedly and run to the Hufflepuff table. More claps ensue. “There’s no way this is our last year here, right? We must be dreaming, or something.”

A small smile tugs at the edges of your lips, and George feels his insides go warm. “Of course,” you reply, “we’re dreaming.”

“Would you two quit being so melancholy?” Fred takes you by surprise when he kicks both of you underneath the table. “It’s our final year! It’s exciting! We’ve got loads of mischief planned, Y/N, and we expect your help.”

You roll your eyes. “There’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to get out of this, is there?”

The twins smile and chorus together, “Nope.” before diving head first into the feast that’s just appeared in front of you all.

“Ah well—it is exciting, isn’t it? We’ve got a lot to look forward to!” you tell them, cutting into the piece of chicken on your plate, “and besides.. with whatever you two have planned? I reckon I’m bound for some type of adventure. Things could be worse, right?”

Just then, a sickeningly sinister giggle emits from the front of the Great Hall; the three of you look at a woman dressed in all pink, whose face resembles that of an old toad, chatting animatedly with Dumbledore who’s looking positively woebegone.

“Ugh,” you say, looking back and forth between the twins, “maybe I’ve spoken too soon.”

— -

You’re tiptoeing next to George in the middle of the corridor; you keep whirling around to check if anyone’s behind you. Months, you’ve been doing this. He can’t help but grin at your flustered state. “D’you really think this is a good idea?” you ask him stealthily as the two of you meander throughout the castle halls.

“Of course,” he replies, squeezing your hand. But inside, he’s just not entirely sure. By the sounds of what Harry’s said, getting detention with Umbridge is no walk in the park. He turns back to you and continues, “Don’t worry—Harry knows what he’s doing. Plus, we haven’t been caught yet, have we?” He jabs you in the ribs and teases you, “Where’s that sense of adventure we so admire? Oi, here’s Fred and Ginny.”

Just then, the two Weasley siblings round the bend and quite literally bump into you both. Fred says quietly, “Merlin help me—I can’t ever remember where this bloody room is,”

“Seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy,” you reply in a lowered voice, your eyes shifting across the corridors, “so you’ve got a flew floors to go, Freddie.”

Both he and George laugh; Fred continues, “You’d think after months of going to these meetings, I’d remember where it is?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ginny elbows Fred, teasing him slightly. “C’mon then, let’s go—looks like the coast is clear,”

The four of you make your way up two more flights of steps, sneak past the tapestry, and finally find yourselves inside the Room of Requirement.

It’s an easy lesson today; with the impending Christmas holidays, everyone is in quite a chipper mood—the Room of Requirement has a light, airy feel to it, and everyone seems to be doing their best at all of the defensive magic Harry’s taught so far—even Neville! When he dismisses you for the day, noting that you probably won’t meet again until the New Year, a dramatic groan nearly shakes the room—it seems as though everyone wants to stay.

When you all land back in the common room and take a seat next to the fire, Fred immediately begins to market his and George’s products to a bunch of excited looking Gryffindors; to you, George just shrugs.

“Oh, that reminds me,” you begin, standing up from the couch and gesturing George toward the dormitory, “I think I’ve fixed that little issue with the Fever Fudge.”

George grins broadly; there’s not many people he and Fred trust with their products, but you? You’re basically a third owner. He stops short, though, at the stairs leading up to the girls dormitories. You shake your head and say, “No worry, most everyone’s gone home for the holidays already. Plus—I’ve already hoodwinked whatever spell the professors have cast.”

“So I won’t get caught, then?”

“Nah,” you reply, urging him forward, “I’m strangely brilliant at derailing bits of professional magic,”

He beams at you at this and follows up to the girls dormitory, leaving Fred with a room full of students eager to get their hands on all Weasley products.

It doesn’t look as different from the boys' dorms as he thinks; it’s pretty much the same setup, same four posters, similar looking curtains. He shrugs, thinking, Nothing to worry about, but when he notices you plop down on your bed, he suddenly feels his insides constrict. You pat the spot next to you and say, “Well c’mere, won’t you?”

He places himself down next to you, careful not to mess your very neat bedspread, while he watches you rummage through a bit of your trunk. “Ah—here we are,” you say brightly, pulling out the box of Fever Fudge you’d hidden so as not to be stolen, “good as new, Georgie. The fevers, now, should stop at the appropriate number we’ve discussed—they shouldn’t continue to spike as the evenings go on. Any problems, let me know!”

“You’re brilliant, truly,” he says, peering down at the box of his own inventions. “How did you get so bloody good at this?”

You smile sweetly at him and flip your hair, “Just got lucky, I suppose.”

He laughs and is about to head back downstairs, careful not to mess up anyone’s things, when he spots a little brown bear on your bed near your pillows. His lips curl into a grin, “Erm.. Y/N,” he begins, pointing to the stuffed bear, “what is that?”

Suddenly you jump onto your bed and try to secretly slip this tiny little animal behind all of your pillows. The rosy pink color of your cheeks is evident in the sunlight flooding the windows, “Erm—what’s what, George?”

He places the box of fever fudge down on the table next to your bed, and walks slowly over to you. With a mischievous grin on his face, he continues, “Don’t make me jump on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“But I would.”

And as soon as he says it, he does it; he flops down dramatically, ruining your very tidy sheets. He begins to poke you in the ribs, a tickling of some sort, to try and get you to move. It seems to work, because he grabs the bear from behind your back and you both fall backwards, next to one another, laughing quite animatedly.

He waits with bated breath for you to explain yourself. “Shove off, Georgie,” you say, stealing the bear back from him, twirling it in your fingers and peering at it. You offer to continue, “My mum gave him to me when I was a baby. When I was born. A little ‘coming home’ gift, if you will.”

“You mean to tell me,” George begins, “that you’ve had this for seventeen years?”

You roll your eyes and stifle a bit of laughter. You roll off of the bed, stand up, and place the bear delicately into your trunk. You pull George into an upright position and say, “This conversation’s over. C’mon—let’s bring Fred the fixed Fever Fudge,”

“This conversation is certainly not over,” he teases.

“It’s a source of comfort, you git!” you reply, slapping him playfully across his chest.

“Comfort,” he echoes through a chuckle, “right. And he’s here now because.. you need comforting after a long Potions lesson with Snape?”

You slap him again as you both begin to laugh. “Yes,” you tell him straightforwardly, “and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes, after a long day, I just need something to hug, to hold whilst I sleep, alright? Quit the teasing,”

Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to pull you into an embrace washes over George; he wants, more than anything, to just curl up with you on your bed right now, and to hug you for as long as you need. He’s about to do so, when you pull him by his hand and say, “Oh come on—can’t leave your brother waiting, can we?”

George can’t help himself; he just needs to tease you. Just a little bit more. He begins to tickle your waist when he calls in a sing-song voice down the stairs, “Oh, Freddie!”

You turn and grab his arms; even though he’s feeling rather mischievous, the butterflies are swirling around his stomach, as well. A sinister smirk tugs at the edges of your lips and he feels as though his entire body goes rigid when you wink at him, “Don’t you dare.”

— -

When Ginny enters the portrait hole, she’s surprised to see George slumped in an armchair and not with Fred, off creating some sort of chaotic mischief right underneath Umbridge’s nose.

“No pranks today?” she asks, sinking beside him on the couch.

“Reckon you didn’t see Angelina hanging all over Fred in the Great Hall, then?”

“Guess I must’ve missed it,” she rolls her eyes, and they both smile. “Speaking of—how are things going with Y/N?”

George is slightly taken back; he peers at Ginny with a confused expression and she just shakes her head at him. He knows that everyone else sees right through him, but he never expected his younger sister to bring it up. Guess he’s the type of bloke who wears his heart on his sleeve. “Erm, I mean—things are fine.”

“Things are most certainly not fine. Why haven’t you told her?”

George has been preparing for this—whether it was to come from a sibling or a friend—he knew, down the line, someone would question him as to why you two aren’t together. He slumps back into the couch and twirls his wand in both his hands. “Well—‘cause, we’re leaving soon, aren’t we? Fred and me. Just doesn’t make sense at this point.” He sinks a little lower, and his face turns sullen. “I’ve missed my chance. It’s too late, Gin.”

Just then, you pop inside with Dean and Seamus, giggling animatedly about some silly joke one of them made, and you raise your hand to George and Ginny before quickly heading upstairs to the girls dormitory to change out of your uniforms. There’s a tug at George’s heart—if only he could sneak up there without anyone seeing.

“Hey,” Ginny snaps her fingers at him, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him out of his daydream-like state, “It’s never too late.”

“You think?”

Ginny raises her eyebrows when she notices you coming back down the stairs and making a b-line right toward them. Quietly, she tells him, “I reckon she’ll think the same.”

When you seat yourself down next to them and Ginny quickly changes the conversation, George can’t help but grin goofily at the bunny slippers you have on. You sit yourself comfortably on the couch next to him, cross your legs, and blow lightly on your steaming cup of tea while Ginny relays the story of her brilliant Bat Bogey hex in the last DA meeting to you. Each and every time you smile broadly, George can feel himself shifting closer and closer to you.

— -

“The devil incarnate, she is,” Ron tells his siblings darkly. He peers down at the top of his hand, running his fingers over his silky smooth skin, knowing exactly what is about to happen as the DA prepares for a detention with Umbridge.

Harry shakes his head and replies, “Just try not to think on it all too much. It’ll be over before we know it.” He’s still looking on edge, sleep deprived. The whispers of other members can be heard slightly as Umbridge makes her way down the corridors.

“How is this even legal?”

“Where’s Professor Dumbledore? She can’t possibly get away with this.”

The Great Hall is darker than normal; the hour and a half spent there is some of the most draining George has felt in his entire life. It’s as if the writing alone is setting his soul on fire. Or, perhaps, is it the weak smile and look of pure anguish you give him from a few rows over? He can’t help but feel extremely protective, and he’s shooting daggers at Umbridge each and every chance he gets.

When you’re all finally released, Umbridge giggles in a mocking, satisfied tone. She makes her way back to her office as all of the members of the DA walk begrudgingly back to their common rooms, completely ignoring the apologies of Marietta Edgecombe, who, by the looks of it, is now regretting her decision of giving up the DA to Umbridge.

The Gryffindor common is filled with students looking positively sullen, almost each and every one of them running their fingers over their red, raw, and bloodied hands. George hops through the portrait hole and notices you in the corner, talking animatedly with Ginny and Fred.

“I swear,” Fred’s saying as George sits himself down next to you, “she’s barking mad.”

“You’d think she’d end up in Azkaban after pulling a stunt like this,” you agree, tracing the outline of the cuts on your hand with your finger, “but I reckon she can get away with anything.”

“I reckon you’re right,” George says, leaning his arms on his knees. He takes a deep breath and opts to continue, “how could she possibly get away with something like this?”

Ginny offers, “It’s the bloody Ministry.”

There’s a collective groan from all of you. Ginny shakes her head and continues, “Mum and Dad are going to go wild, you know; this isn’t over. By the way, speaking of Mum and Dad—you two planning on telling them that you’re leaving in a few weeks time?”

George suddenly feels his heart stop. Next to him, you look frantically back and forth between him and Fred, a confused expression plastered across your face. Fred is shaking his head, Ginny’s cheeks are flooding with color, and George is dreading the next conversation.

“You’re—you’re leaving?” you ask, stunned. “When?”

“Gin, we only told you because you overheard us the other night,” Fred says through gritted teeth. Then, he softens and says to George, “but.. I reckon it’s maybe time we tell a few people, eh Georgie?”

“Oh no,” Ginny says sheepishly, looking down at the floor. But you just grin weakly at her as she pulls Fred to his feet and they make their way over to the other end of the common room, most likely to tell Ron of their plans. You hope Ginny isn’t feeling too guilty.

George swallows thickly and then begins, “I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head at his apology, “You don’t need to apologize to me.” You place your hand over his and wait with bated breath for him to tell you what’s going on. You smile broadly at him when he begins to explain.

“We’re, erm, heading out a bit early, you see,” George begins, his eyes shifting from yours to the floor, “we’ve got these grand plans for a business to open up—in Diagon Alley, actually.. sell our inventions. Reckon it could become quite successful if we market correctly—”

His heart is thundering against his rib cage, surely trying its best to escape his chest, and he’s nervous that you’re not going to approve, you’re going to be angry, you won’t ever talk to him again. But to his surprise, you throw your arms around him excitedly and pull him into a bone crushing hug. He’s relaxing in your arms as he listens to your squeals of delight, breathing in the scent of your hair, focusing on the way your body feels beneath his fingertips. And when you pull away from him and shake his shoulders slightly, with both a bright smile on your face and tears in your eyes, you tell him, “I’m so proud of you!”

You’re talking quickly, shaking your head admiringly, throwing your hands into the air and running them through your hair, chuckling lightly, blinking quickly to push back any tears rising to the surface, but he can’t even hear what you’re saying. All George can hear is the pounding in his ears from the steady beat of his own heart, and not before long, he’s laughing at your exasperated state and is leaning in to kiss you, pressing his lips gently to yours and melting into something that’s been building up for years and years. The tension and surprise is subsiding, and you’re playing absentmindedly with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck and you’re both ignoring the annoying whistles from his siblings near the fireplace, and you’re quite certain that George is making a rather inappropriate hand gesture at them across the room for interrupting your moment.

When you two finally part, George grins broadly at you, his hands still shaking slightly due to the adrenaline rush and he asks you, not bothering to answer Fred’s whistles at all, “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?!” you cry out, still obviously rather electrified from both the news and the kiss, “No! I’m not mad.. how could I be? I’m so excited for you both. I hope you’ll know I’ll be coming round to visit all the time.”

“Well, you better,” he replies cheekily, pulling at the collar of your shirt. Then, “I’m really going to miss you these last few weeks.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you reply breathlessly, and he now feels a tug at his heartstrings. He’s feeling nervous. Off balance. Do you still want to be with him after he leaves? Can you two survive on letters alone until after you graduate? “Do you, erm—I mean, I know I’m leaving, but—”

You cup his face in your hands, running your thumbs over the light stubble on his cheeks. A feeling of warmth overtakes him when you grin, peering into his yearning eyes, “We’ll make it work.”

He pulls you into his arms, and the calls from Fred and the others don’t seem to subside in the slightest. “We’re being summoned,” you tell George, leaning back against his chest. You pull out some of their inventions from your own pocket, things they’d given you early on; a pygmy puff, a screaming yo-yo, extendable ears, and more. You begin fiddling with them in your fingers and George grins against your shoulder.

“D’you want to go?”

You intertwine one of your hands in his. “Just hold me for a while first, would you?”

He giggles softly and wraps his arms tighter around you. Teasing begins to bubble up inside him and he can’t help it, he just has to say it. “Don’t you want to go and get your bear first?”

He expects the playful slap across his chest, he grins goofily when you begin to laugh, but what he doesn’t expect is what you say next. He’s practically putty in your hands when he pulls you closer and breaths in your scent when you reply,

“Reckon I don’t need it—I’ve got something else to hold, now.”

reblogs + feedback are always appreciated! thanks for reading darlings, ily so <3

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Text

Grief (Ben Hargreeves x Reader)

A/N: I’m not really sure where this came from. But it’s pretty angsty and kinda cheesy. Just a long conversation with a medium, and a ghost, about things that might have been. Word Count: 1378 Rating: T - Discussion of death, reference to dead parent

“Is this how you’ve felt all these years?” Klaus asked, hugging one of the throw pillows to his chest. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

You looked at him sadly, nodding softly. He had just told you about his time in Vietnam, about Dave, and your heart ached for him.

“How do you do it?”

“You hold onto the happy memories and the time you had with them. You take deep breaths and you let yourself be sad sometimes, but you don’t let it drown you. I wish I could say it gets better but it doesn’t. You just find a way to keep moving forward and you get used to the pain; if it ever goes away I haven’t found that point yet.”

You stared up at the ceiling, fighting back tears. “And I don’t know if this helps, but at least you had the time with him, you told him how you felt.”

“I think your mom knew how you felt about her…?” his confusion was palpable.

“Oh, you meant her…well that’s a different kind of grief.”

“Wait, if you didn’t think I was talking about losing your mom, who did you think I was…?”

You laughed incredulously, stopping quickly when you realized he really didn’t know.

“Klaus, I was hopelessly in love with your brother for years. I just didn’t think it was worth risking our friendship or making things weird with the rest of you to say anything. Biggest regret of my life, even if it probably wouldn’t have ever been something.”

“Why do you think it wouldn’t have been anything?”

You didn’t know it, but Klaus was staring at his brother’s stunned face over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t exactly subtle. I mean even Luther noticed my stupid crush,” you shrugged. “I’m sure Ben ignored it in order to spare my feelings.”

There were few times Klaus truly hated his powers more than as he watched his brother reach out to you, knowing that he would pass right through and you wouldn’t even notice.

“Oh I don’t know, Y/N,” he said, hoping the ache in his voice was easy to write off as more of his general mood since returning to the present. “Ben was always shy. And never really thought much of himself, so he probably wouldn’t have ever guessed that you, or anybody, had a crush on him.”

You smiled bitterly, eyes stinging with tears. “Don’t, Klaus. It doesn’t help anybody to give me hope now. It just…hurts more.”

“I still see him sometimes,” Klaus admitted, withholding the fact that it was near constant and that Ben was a silent participant in your current conversation. “A lot actually. I could ask him, or give him a message or something, if you wanted.”

You shrugged, smiling softly despite the tears running down you cheeks unchecked. “I don’t even know what I’d say. Other than I miss him. Some days more than others…” You looked down, fiddling absently with your fingers. “It’s stupid, but I used to write him letters, whenever I saw something that reminded me of him or did something I wish I could have shared…”

Ben frowned, opening his mouth to speak, and Klaus shook his head softly, a warning that now wasn’t the right time, to let you finish baring your soul first.

“And my first night alone here in the apartment, surrounded in boxes and sitting on the floor because I hadn’t gotten the couch delivered yet, I tried to imagine him here too, like it was our place. We always talked about running away together, when things at the Academy were bad…”

“I think little touches of him made his way here anyway,” Klaus said softly, indicating the shelf full of the sorts of things Ben used to read all the time and talk to you about, even when you didn’t understand what he was saying, framed by curled tentacles.

You chuckled. “I got those bookends as a joke at a flea market.”

Ben was staring at the shelf. You had found copies of every one of his favorite books, and a few others that he hadn’t read but probably would have enjoyed. He reached up, trailing an incorporeal finger over the swirl shape of one of the plaster carvings.

“I like it,” he said softly.

“I thought maybe having things that reminded me of him would make it hurt less, you know, make it feel more like he was going to walk in any time and prop his feet on the coffee table and apologize for being gone for so long. And it’s stupid. There’s no reason for it. We were only ever friends, and dumb kids promising all the things dumb kids say before they really understand how the world works.”

You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to brush away the tears and the grief that were settling in there.

“I’m sorry Klaus,” you said, reaching out to take his hand comfortingly, watching the other fiddle with the dogtags around his neck as he stared into seemingly empty space. “I didn’t mean to derail the conversation.”

He jumped slightly at your touch, turning back to you with an apologetic look in his big, sad green eyes.

“No! No it’s fine,” he reassured you. “I don’t even know what to say about Dave. So listening to you talk about Ben…”

He swallowed guiltily as the pain he was probably causing you both dawned on him again. He took a deep breath to steady himself, closing his eyes to ignore the frantic gestures of his brother’s ghost.

“He’s here you know,” he offered finally, so quiet you barely heard him.

Your heart lurched. “Ben is here? For how long?”

“He’s been following me around like a Jiminy Cricket for years honestly. All the booze and drugs in the world haven’t been able to get rid of him.”

“Why…why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it. Everyone seemed to be able to move on so I thought it would make things worse. If anyone even believed me, which they never do.”

“So if he’s here, and he’s been here, then he heard all of that…?” you bit your lip as a fresh wave of tears threatened, these ones mixing shame with the sadness, knowing that you had just accidentally spilled everything you had kept secret for all these years to the very person they were about.

“Klaus, you moron!” Ben shouted at him, making him wince. “If you weren’t going to say anything at the beginning, why would you say something now! It’s going to make things so much worse!”

“He’s sort of pissed at me for springing this on you now, and he says he likes the bookends…”

A small giggle bubbled up in your throat as you imagined Ben standing there, lecturing Klaus, as he frequently had during your youth. You could tell by Klaus’s facial expressions that they were now getting into a rather heated argument, and you stayed still, a silent witness to it, and tried to imagine your best friend’s face in the air beside your couch.

“I’m not telling them that!” Klaus whined. “That’ll make them cry again. Do you want to make them cry Ben?”

“What are you not telling me, Klaus?” you whispered.

Klaus clamped his jaw shut as he argued internally with himself as much as externally with Ben. Finally he sighed.

“Ben says that he’s…always loved you and always will. And that seeing you grow up and live your life and be happy is the best thing about being a ghost. He just wishes he could have been here to do it beside you.”

Your breath hitched, more tears spring to your eyes and coursing down your cheeks.

“But he also doesn’t want you to dwell so much on him. That time has passed, and you should…move on and find something present instead of being stuck on things that never got to be.”

“I…I don’t know if I can.”

“Ben says you can,” Klaus shrugged, wrapping you in his arms. “And I believe in you too.”

Unseen or felt by you, Ben did his best to join the hug, his own tears dripping into nothingness where they should have fallen in your hair.

#Ben Hargreeves x reader #angst #reader insert #TUA #The Umbrella Academy fic #I feel like there are other fics with this same premise out there #but I was feeling it so I wrote it #what is that ending though?

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

Note

Okay you mentioned Kohga having the hots for king Rhoam. I'm sorry, but can we see something with that???

I make ONE fucking joke, and Ya'll take it to the next level. Fuck you, let's get this over with.

"Kingie! Long time no see big guy!"

Kohga was planning on just hanging out at the hideout today, when he was given a summon by the king. Not that Kohga minded a trip to the castle, he was always fed pretty well. He dove in for a high five with the king, but from the way he glared, he could tell he was NOT in the mood. Even the blade master he brought with him had to cringe at the rejection. Sooga joined him too, but seemed unfazed by the rather cold attitude.

"I'm glad you came at such short notice. I have something very important to discuss with you."

"Oh is it about the fact that we're buying up all the bananas? Look, we still gotta do SOMETHING evil to-"

"It's NOT."

His voice was steely, firm. Someone was NOT happy. His glare was so menacing, his boys took a step forward, as if the king was about to try to beat his ass. Kohga patted their shoulders, making them ease up a bit.

"Easy boys, easy. Look, you two wait out here, imma have a chat with Kingy here."

Sooga of course held protests, but Kohga held his hand up, silencing him.

"Trust me. You two hunks can dash in and protect me at any time. Not that I need it. Though I DO like the attention."

His men bowed, keeping their place. Kohga followed King Rhoam, right to his secret study, in the library, beyond the metal book case. He hated royals, but he had to hand it to Rhoam, there were so many sneaky spaces to hide and explore (and coming from the chief of the Yiga clan, that was high praise). Rhoam shut it behind them both, and Kohga took a look around. This was way different from the main rooms in the castle. Much more personal, snuggly even. A few crates of supplies, a desk full of scattered books, a few chairs, and even a few weapons hung on the wall besides them.

"Nice spot. How many people know about this little place?"

"The ones who built it, and my daughter."

"Well, aren’t I special?"

Kohga chuckled, pulling up a seat and helping himself to the surprisingly comfy chair. He might steal this, honestly. King Rhoam took a seat in front of him, clearing his throat.

"I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you?"

"If it's not about the bananas, then no not at all."

Kohga was already kinda bored, and he started to hum, playing with his hands. He found it easier than just sitting there and looking someone in the face.

"It's about my daughter, Zelda. She complained about you."

Kohga stopped, finally looking at his face. He was about to ask if he was serious, and apparently he was.

"Whaaaat? ME? What did I do?"

He sighed, before folding his arms across his chest.

"She is growing tired of your men. Apparently you give them permission to try to court her."

Kohga wanted to argue with that, but then he thought about it. He was kinda at fault, getting whatever clan member interested to hit on her. Flowers, treats, poetry, even just getting a few smooth talkers to try their hands at getting her attention. He just shipped Mipha and Link so hard, he decided to boot out the competition. Not that he hated her, of course not. Kohga shrugged.

"How is that a problem? I'm throwing HUNKS at her! No clue how that makes ME the bad guy! It’s because they’re Yiga, isn’t it?”

“It’s because she’s already in love with her knight. I’m already planning on giving him my blessings, should they finally decide to wed.”

Kohga should’ve expected it honestly, this old fashioned kinda ranting. Sure they were both kinda up there in age, but they were NOT alike. Kohga shook his head, standing up from his seat.

“Look, I don’t have kids, so I dunno what it does to ya, but you’re taking things WAY outta proportion here. You’re already ready for your daughter, seventeen, to get married.”

King didn’t seem to get it, as if this was a totally normal thing.

“Well yes. Royals marry around this age, why dawdle?”

Kohga put his hand on Rhoam’s shoulder, who didn’t seem to love it, but didn’t exactly push Kohga off.

“Look, let the girl have a little FUN before she gets hitched! She’s got the rest of her life for that stuff, if anything I’m just giving her choices.”

“I’m...not following.”

“For the love of- look. If she wants me to back off, I’ll tell my guys to heel. But I don’t really think she’d complain about me. She only really clams up about you. So it’s why I’m thinking SHE’S not complaining. YOU are.”

He knew by the look in his face that he was right. Kohga chuckled, hands on his hips.

“You don’t gotta lie like that! Makin’ me think I was a bad guy here! If YOU have problems, say you do. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen, but at least you wouldn't be a liar.”

His brows furrowed, but Kohga found it hard to take him seriously at this point.

“I am saying this for the sake of my daughter. If she is to remain pure-”

“Oh great, purity culture bullshit. Look, Kingy, don’t blame her for the fact that you haven’t gotten any lately.”

He put his hand over his chest, as if he had something just terribly hurtful.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You heard me! You know If I didn’t know any better, you’re just mad because everyone’s gettin’ some lovin’ but you.”

Kohga leaned against the King’s chair. This was some juicy shit, you bet your bananas he was gonna milk it for all it was worth.

“When WAS the last time you got off? Few months?”

King Rhoam looked at him as if he had gone insane, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Almost nineteen years, roughly.”

“Holy-you haven’t nutted since your kid was born? Fucks sake, I’d be grumpy as hell too, no wonder.”

He wasn’t even expecting him to answer, honestly. King Rhoam scoffed, as if regretting giving him a response.

“We’re derailing the topic at hand-”

“Now now, I’m not done yet.”

Kohga moved in front of him, one hand at the chair, and pinning Rhoam between the seat, and Kohga’s face.

“Look, I get it. You wanna take care of what you have, you’re constantly stressed, I can only imagine how bad you have it. And knowing I was the cause of some of that stress? Selfish of me really. Let me make it up to you there, Kingy.”

Rhoam looked perplexed at his choice of words, like he figured he would be. Kohga always did have the hots for the clueless ones.

“I’m saying, let me end your streak.”

Still nothing. Holy hell, he forgot he loved idiots. He sighed, pointing down to the king’s crotch.

“Let me polish the royal scepter. Take a gander at the royal jewels. I’m essentially saying let me get you off.”

THAT seemed to get a rise out of the king, given the way he damn near jumped out of his chair.

“That is NOT why I summoned you here! In the SLIGHTEST! The AUDACITY!”

Kohga let go off the chair, putting his hands on his hips.

“One, you have the audacity to NOT immediately say yes, I’m a goddamn treat. Two, why the hell not? You ever fuck anyone that WASN’T the Queen?”

No response. So that was a no. Oh this was going to be some fucking fun. Kohga put his hands on his knees, leaning in so his mask was so close to touching his face.

“Tell you what, because I like newbies. You let me do my thing. And if you don’t like it, you just say the word. In exchange, I’ll tell my guys to heel. Eh? Cool offer?”

King Rhoam didn’t immediately say no, like he expected him to. He seemed stunned at first, but hey, you miss every shot you don’t take. He was going to get a no any-

“Alright. Fine. So long as this does NOT leave this study.”

Holy SHIT. This guy did NOT just say yes. Kohga fumbled a bit, clearly not knowing how to react. He wasn’t bluffing in the slightest, he just had no clue that the king would ACTUALLY take him up on that. He chuckled, poking Rhoam on his nose.

“Well look at you! Growin’ outta that royal shell, color me surprised! Alright, stays between us. Now, you just sit right there, and let ol’ Kohga do his thing.”

He made the king tilt his head up a bit, so he couldn’t see him. Not letting him see what he was doing would make him freak out a lot less, and he could be in denial about the fact that a dude was gonna suck him off. Kohga pushed aside his mask, just enough to reveal his lips, before he got down on his knees. He parted the King’s legs, taking but a moment to massage them. Lot’s of clothes made the guy look almost fat, but Kohga knew better. Those were some toned muscles under that, just how Kohga imagined. He kept massaging for a moment longer, getting him used to being touched, before he un did his belt, and pulling him free of his cloth confines. And holy. Shit. King Rhoam was a dilf dream down here. He wasn’t absolutely massive, but he certainly wasn’t a pipsqueak. He was long, thick, with plenty of white pubic hair. Kohga softly stroked the length of it, and watched as Rhoam seemed to freeze upon the contact.

“Right right, been a while. I’ll go slow, I’ll go slow. Easy does it.”

He had a rather lovely curve downward, and Kohga could only picture how well it’d go down his throat. He kept his motions nice and slow, till he noticed the King’s grip on the armrests loosen. Then he started to up the ante, just a little bit. With his other hand, he cupped his balls, lightly rubbing them in his palm. Then he heard him groan. It was faint, but Kohga caught it. That was the sound of a man who hadn’t been touched in a long, long time. Even by himself, apparently. He was already getting stiff in his hand.

“You’ve...done this before.”

“Not with a royal at least. But yeah, Kohga’s seen a few bananas in his day.”

Rhoam clearly had some kind of retort, before he seemed to jump upon feeling Kohga kiss the head. Kohga tried not to snicker, finding his sensitivity just hilarious. His age seemed to not affect his need for attention. Especially given that a few kisses around the base was enough to get him nice and hard in his hand. He made his touch a bit firmer on his balls, and his stroking a bit quicker on his length. And Rhoam was LOVING it. His head was tossed back, his breathing got all nice and fast, and he could see, past that beard, him biting his bottom lip.

“There we go, all nice and comfy. Any chance you want me to stop here?”

Rhoam was so out of it, he couldn’t do anything but shake his head. Kohga chuckled. He was gonna love this. Feeling him start to throb in his hand, he decided to really wow ol’ Kingy here. He pulled his hand away, using it to palm at himself, before he put the head right in his mouth. Rhoam’s breath hitched, and Kohga loved that. Love how he was making a royal so weak. He pushed himself to make more, stopping shy of halfway down his length. It was enough to make Rhoam squirm in his seat, and even put his hand right on top of Kohga’s head. How cute. Kohga groaned as he pushed his head back and forth, really getting a feel for that thick cock. Then he pulled away, nice and slowly, drool still connecting them.

"Why did you-"

"You were about to cum. I could tell. I want this to be REALLY good for you, so you're going to wait."

"I DEMAND you-"

He was halted when Kohga took a hold of his balls. Nothing too hard, just enough to get him to shut up.

"No no no. You don't get that attitude with me. You rule Hyrule, I rule your cock. I decide when you cum. And because you wanna act up, you get a punishment. Look at me."

Rhoam looked, despite not wanting to, at all. Kohga kept massaging him, tediously and slowly.

"You wanna cum? You wanna shoot your load down my pretty throat? You gotta ask for it like a grown up. No tantrums. Go on. Ask."

Rhoam clearly didn't want to, but Kohga’s lips (and throat) was a blessing, not a right. So he sighed, and made himself obey.

"I...would like to orgasm-"

"Try again. Cum. Make me WANT it."

Rhoam swallowed, before trying again.

"I would...like to cum. In your mouth."

"There we go, much better. Knew you could be a polite boy."

He took a minute to suckle at his balls, really coating them in drool, before taking Rhoam fully in his mouth. That's right, every bit of that royal cock found it's way into his mouth, and Kohga gagged. It was intentional, and it made Rhoam moan desperately. So close. Kohga wasted no more time, and acted like the perfect dick sucker he knew he was.

Kohga was relentless. He groaned loudly as he bobbed his head back and forth, practically fucking his own mouth from the force. Rhoam was really getting into it now, cursing and panting under his breath, especially when Kohga pulled away to aggressively suck at his tip. Kohga was absolutely, and positively cock hungry, and he wasn’t afraid at all to show it. Kohga slurped, and gagged, slurped and gagged, grumbling as if he was an animal, greedy for the chance of tasting cum. Then he got it.

King Rhoam came, and Kohga gulped it down, only pulling away to smear it against his throbbing length. It was a big load, just how he thought it'd be. Ribbons and ribbons of cum littered their clothes, the floor, and the insides of his stomach. He pulled away once he knew no more would be cumming, feeling no more reason to. King Rhoam was a SIGHT to behold. A shaking, panting, cum covered mess. Kohga chuckled, taking a quick second to clean up. A good cock sucker could clean himself up in a flash, as if nothing ever happened. He stood back up, pulling King Rhoam’s face by his beard, and he kissed him. Not because he liked him, nor did he think he was cute. It was because there was something humiliating about making the King himself, taste his own load. He pulled away, wiping his lips, and putting his mask right back down. He could see that little bit of cum on his lips, and it was so goddamn funny to him.

“Glad we had this little chit chat, Kingy wingy. You ever need to get a load of your chest, you know who to send for. Though, I don’t do anything for free. Can I take the chair?”

Rhoam just sat there, looking bewildered, before he gently nodded. Kohga clapped his hands a bit, grabbing the chair, and giving Rhoam a little bit of a wave. He managed to meet up with Sooga and the Blade master, who didn’t even get to say hello before he made them carry the chair he was holding. Sooga looked at it curiously, turning to Kohga.

“Are we stealing this?”

“Nope! Said I could have it! It’s a real nice chair.”

“Why would he give it to you?”

“We had a nice long chat. Wasn’t something I saw...comin’”

Kohga grinned behind his mask. He was an absolute STUD, no doubts about that.

#asks #kohga #king rhoam #lemon #Just hang a sign on kohga #'will suck dick for nice furniture'

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rametarin · 3 years

Text

Maternal narcissistic abuse involves wasting your attention.

I am convinced that one of the reasons for the epidemic of children diagnosed with ADHD conditions is partly because there’s a phenomenon that resembles ADHD but is in fact something entirely different, distinct and separate.

I was diagnosed with ADD as a child, but I contest the conclusion. The schools wanted me medicated for ADD. My family protested. And looking back, I sincerely didn’t have ADD.

I was mentally and emotionally exhausted because of the way women are allowed to abuse their children, so long as they don’t leave marks.

It’s a subtle form of abuse, but it is abuse. And the results and what it does to a child is similar to actually having ADD/ADHD.

How it works is you exhaust them. You disguise the abuse as boilerplate parental engagement and then just annoy the shit out of them with social convention until they want to disengage from conversing with you.

Then you punish or threaten them for “rudeness”, and that becomes the precursor for holding a grudge. It may manifest later on as a no instead of a yes when they ask permission for something. It may manifest as exacerbating a punishment’s severity or length if the child does anything wrong. It may manifest as deprivation of a privilege they usually enjoy just out of spite. Or, it may result in more “justified harassment” in a venue the parent DOES control.

But whatever it is, it will seem valid, it will seem like a legitimate parenting move that is acceptable, and it will annoy the shit out of the child for no other reason than the satisfaction of a sadistic and selfish parent taking their frustrations in life or entitlement to attention out on their children.

For example, my mother used to get us in the car and drive around. The radio would always be what she wanted to listen to, and we’d always go wherever she wanted to go. And in the car, she’d make small talk. Just, force engagement. And you weren’t allowed things like music players, there were no cell phones, no distractions to passively get in the way of any stray stream of consciousness she had from just blasting into the air like firing a shotgun to invite and “engage” conversation.

And if you just sat there ignoring her or not responding or replying to her, that was an invite for her to stop passively filling the air with the equivalent of verbal diarrhea, and then more DIRECTLY address why you seemed to not be “going with the flow” and engaging with her.

Or she’d accidentally do shit like drive over curbs if you seemed to be sleeping. “Oops! Haha! Accident!” Or find some excuse to hit the brakes and stop really fast just to jar you. Just indirect ways she could claim were, “completely accidental” to antagonize you into paying attention to her.

And when she wanted your undivided attention, she’d just talk to the air about an important topic (to her) and then ask your thoughts. Trying to socially force engagement or for you to commit a faux pas by refusing engagement. If you comply with engagement, she then demands you listen not just to the content, but demand you listen to all of it for the alloted time. There are no shortcuts with her, she wanted you to listen to the WHOLE spiel for however long it took before you could compile it, strip out all the wasted emotional shit she invested, and in essence just drag on the conversation for as long as she possibly could.

She fashioned every single engagement and conversation to take as much time as possible and demand you pay attention to every second of it in order to properly answer whatever question or long winded wind up to the question she could pose. She’d pose questions simply to gauge and bar if you were paying attention, and then feign outrage and tantrum if you didn’t. You could not just answer “sure” or “yes” or minimize your engagement to ignore whatever spiel she was saying. You couldn’t just tune her out, because she structured every nonsense conversation to check how well you were engaging.

And if you weren’t engaged, then out came the hostility and the antagonism and the passive aggression. And if they felt justified enough, out came the tantrums and restrictions and threats.

Another technique was she’d have indirect conversations over the phone with other people. You would be hit with weird random mood shifts and changes from her after she got off the phone with someone. Maybe one of her stupid sisters would do something or feud and piss her off, she’d feel like she wasn’t in control of them, so she’d take that out on people she did control just to “assert dominance.” So suddenly if Aunt Nelly (fake name) called her a dumb bitch, you get informed bed time is now an hour earlier, and unless you’re paying attention, you have no idea why this is happening.

So you start paying attention and listening in on family phone conversations just to understand why the dumb bitch goes on rampages. It won’t change bed times or get those privileges back, but at least you know WHAT set her off. And it’s designed to use negative reinforcement to MAKE you interested in those phone conversations and eavesdrop. But, you aren’t allowed to make it obvious you’re eavesdropping. So it’s an unspoken part.

That gives narcissistic moms the opportunity to start talking about you to other people. So you indirectly get to hear intentions or revealed information of what they’re about to do or their plans for things. Being talked about as if you’re an object or not even there when you’re in the next room over is a normal occurrence.

So as a kid, you spend most of your time dodging your mom trying to waste your time with worthless conversation after conversation. Which are just subtle little methods that she uses to waste your time, dominate your actions and deprive you of autonomy. And all she has to do is talk to you. All she has to do is punish you with social conventions. All she has to do is communicate outlandish bullshit about how you’re rude or drop mention about how you “tell her to shut up” for her friends and adults around you to cheer her on and encourage her to punish you for “being so fresh.” Because adult women/mothers get the benefit of the doubt over some kid on if what they’re saying is true, or not. So the whole god damned fabricated social interaction now gets strangers cheering on her abuse to “put you in your place.”

Even going outside as a kid, she found a way to render ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS, fruitless and JOYLESS. All she had to do, any time I was outside, was stick her head out the door and yell. She’d pretend I wasn’t yelling loud enough, purely to waste my energy and attention and make me repeat myself, and justify coming closer to the house to speak. (This was the time before cell phones.)

So she’d stick her head out the door and want to have a 2-3 minute exchange, every few minutes. Just, the most worthless and pointless engagements and exchanges that amount to ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and she would not stop doing it. And there’s no force on earth that canmake a woman or mother shut the fuck up and not do this. Forced social engagement is a thing women can weaponize and do it with impunity.

Eventually I just got tired of my thoughts and my enjoyment of nature walks being derailed and just stayed inside. It was less effort and she was less ardent about wanting her eye on me every two minutes if I was sitting inside playing videogames, where I was at her beck and call within a few seconds notice.

Just through the power of “not shutting her fucking mouth” and being able to escalate consequences for my being annoyed at her constant attention devouring, she managed to want me to make the decision to just stay inside the house because being outdoors was POINTLESS. It was less suffering and stress to just stay inside than try and enjoy something just for her to waste my time and any satisfaction I could get from it. So, she got what she wanted while pretending she just wanted to talk about what we were having for supper. For half a fucking hour, off and on again.

And I can guarantee you, this is normal in the homes of many American children, especially young boys of single parent homes. Because everybody already knows boys are not perfect, boys can and do act up, boys do talk back to their mothers, boys can be out of control, boys can be short tempered, boys can be violent if they get to the end of their rope and just can’t fucking stand the premeditated and calculated harassment anymore, because in a man’s mind, doing that is waging war. And if you’re waging war on a person, escalation to violence is guaranteed.

Women do not escalate to violence unless it’s to land a killing blow, and they tend to try and do that indirectly and without open conflict. Such as, through poison, or accidents. But they do wage war on you.

Because boys have almost no credibility and women/mothers, they have as high as that value can go in trust from other people. It’s easy to allow them to not just do this shit, but be congratulated for doing it. Other women will reinforce it.

When you do this to a young man, every whisper they hear around them takes higher priority than, say, thinking about math. If you’ve been abused and persistently trained to let someone else derail your thoughts to pay attention to them, you can’t manage math problems. You get punished and harassed and stuck into hostile situations unless you give whomever wants your attention top priority and learn to just give them control or suffer. If not directly, then indirectly from boredom, after the punishments take away all your stimulation and autonomy. .

When you do this to a young man, they lose the ability to tune other peoples egos out and focusing and shutting out distraction becomes impossible. Especially when mothers abuse this relationship, trying to prioritize their feelings about, say, Jerry fucking Springer by talking along with the show, over you doing your homework.

They suffer academically. They lose the ability to focus. They get agitated and hungry for stimulation. They do anything they can for stimulation that ISN’T just giving everything to their mothers all the fucking time; comic books, video games, anything that can be put down whenever that rancid, selfish bitch decides she needs to devour another 50 seconds of your life in 8 parts over the next 20 minutes, making your life and your ability to engage in anything stop-and-go with her calling the shots.

So once again, women use ambiguity as a method of getting away with abuse and destruction, because unless and until you can prove they’re the reason why something happened, you have to assume their innocence. Narcissistic moms use the subjective like a cudgel to get away with abuse.

And many young men and boys have just internalized that their mothers are free to do this shit, this is just bird brain bitch mom shit, you can no more contest it or be angry about it than you could contest and be angry about the rain or anything else. So they never really question it. That’s just how things are. They accept how things are and that some things cannot be changed or helped, and wanting so is just a waste of energy. Because it’s impossible.

So they won’t even remember all the times their mothers did this sort of socially and interpersonally abusive mom-shit unless they think about it really hard. How their moms would pre-meditate and be difficult about shit, solely to waste their time and energy before they tried to live their lives. Just to set them up to fail, that much harder. Just for the satisfaction of taking it away from them, whether they willingly gave it or were coerced to.

And then we have the mental health and child welfare institutions deciding the problem is purely that all these kids fall under the umbrella of Attention Deficient. When there’s clearly a distinction between those that have had their mental reserves cannibalized by their fat bitches of mothers vs. those with actual attention deficiency problems brought about by brains and genetics.

So it wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a whole population out there that got baked and basted with ADD medication (like antidepressants for kids with abusive parents) solely because it became socially en vogue as a way to avoid the consequences of your child breaking down from being overly psyche-abused.

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

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dance with somebody (ch. 22)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 21

It's 13:52 on Sunday afternoon when Whiskey knocks on the open door to coach Hall's office.

"Do you have a minute?"

Coach Hall looks up from the folder he's browsing through. If he's surprised to see Whiskey wearing jeans and a hoodie when practice starts in less than ten minutes, he doesn't show it.

"Connor. Good to see you." Coach Hall sets the folder aside. "Will mentioned that you had something very urgent come up, this week."

"That's right." Whiskey closes the door behind him and sits down in the chair opposite coach Hall's desk. "I'm sorry I had to be absent at such short notice."

"No notice, is more like it," coach Hall points out. His tone is not unkind. "I hope, Connor, that you feel comfortable talking to me and Murray when there's something that you're dealing with. We're always here to support you, you know."

"... Right." Suddenly, Whiskey wonders why he hasn't once considered the idea of talking through the situation with his coaches. That might've actually helped him figure things out, sooner. "Yeah, of course."

"Well," coach Hall says mildly. His expression is tentatively curious. "Was there something specific you wanted to talk about, today?"

"Actually, yes."

There's really nothing left, now, except to come right out and say it.

"I just turned down a six-figure contract with the Houston Aeros."

Coach Hall sits up a little straighter.

"Connor," he says, almost sharply. "Connor, that's… That's a really big deal. And certainly not just financially."

"I know," Whiskey agrees. "It would've been. But I've thought about it a lot, and realised that it's just not right for me, right now."

Coach Hall opens and closes his mouth, twice. He's frowning slightly.

"Are you sure?" he asks, a little wearily. "Are you absolutely sure? You do know just how big of an opportunity this is?"

"No, I know. And I'm sure." Whiskey actually smiles. "Going to Houston this week has reminded me that I'm actually exactly where I need to be, right now. Their team is very good, and I did appreciate the ambition of the Aeros's organisation, but there are many places I could play that meet those exact requirements and Samwell happens to be one of them. Besides, there’s still so many things that I'm learning, here, that I honestly don't think I could truly develop anywhere else. I've come so much further with how I think about teamwork and leadership, but at the same time I feel like I've only just scratched the surface of all of that, and I just… I'm not done, here. No matter what comes next, I know I need to finish this chapter, first."

Whiskey falls silent. Coach Hall watches him for a moment, before he responds. He's smiling, now.

"As long as you're sure," he says warmly. "Obviously, we would absolutely hate to lose you. It'd be such a nightmare, trying to get this team to have some semblance of direction without you."

"Oh. Uh. Thank you, I guess." God, Whiskey is definitely not used to coach Hall looking so openly proud and emotional. At least not when they're not winning NCAA championships together. It's more than a little unsettling. "Jack Zimmermann says hi, by the way. He thinks I should probably start to consider getting myself an agent."

"Don't tell me those Falconers are after you, too," coach Hall says amiably. "Our dear Jack definitely makes a good point, though. You know, me and Murray could actually help you look into all of that. If you'd like us to?"

"Oh," Whiskey says again. Another possibility he's never once entertained. What was it Dex said at the beginning of this week, about relying on all of his support systems? "Actually, that would be so great."

"I'll make a few calls," coach Hall promises. "Right now, though, I believe you and I both have practice to attend."

"Actually, I'm going to need to sit out, today," Whiskey says quickly. "It's been a pretty rough week. But, uh, I'd really like to just speak to the team, first? Just quickly. I promise I won't keep them for long."

Coach Hall smiles again.

"Of course. That's perfectly fine. Go on, then, Connor."

When Whiskey enters the locker room, the ongoing conversation immediately quiets in a way that isn't exactly subtle. Pips is looking at him, and so is Louis, and when he makes no move to change into his hockey gear, he soon captures the full attention of at least half the room.

"Can I talk for a second?"

It's maybe a silly thing to say, given that most of them are clearly listening to him, already, but it still makes the energy change significantly. There's something expectant in his teammates's expressions as they all turn to look towards him. It's almost like they've been waiting for his moment of truth this entire week. Which, Whiskey belatedly realises, they actually might have been.

Well. Nothing else for it.

"I'm going to sit out practice, today. I've had a bit of a week, and I honestly just need to go and crash. But first, I really want to get you guys in the loop about something that's been going on, now that it’s all settled."

Whiskey pauses. Making the call to Houston was tough, but this is somehow turning out to be much more nerve wracking. Which doesn't really make any sense. This is supposed to be the easy conversation, the one where he doesn't need to deliver any bad news.

Whiskey takes a shaky breath. If he just gets this over with, he can finally get some actual fucking sleep.

"I’ve just spent four days training with the Houston Aeros, who have offered me the opportunity to sign a contract with them, which I’ve decided to decline. So, that’s that."

A few seconds pass as the entire team stares at Whiskey in silence.

"Wait," Joyo says slowly. "The Houston Aeros? Like, the NHL team?"

Whiskey has to bite back a smile.

"No, the other Houston Aeros," he says, just a bit dryly. "Yes, Joyo, the NHL team."

"What the fuck, man," Louis says. He looks oddly impressed. "That sounds pretty big."

"Yeah," Bully chimes in. "That sounds very big. Extremely big. Are you, like, completely sure?"

There's something of a murmur of agreement.

"I'm sure," Whiskey says firmly. "There are obviously a lot of pros and cons, but ultimately-"

"What if you regret it?"

It's Pips who's spoken up. He looks a little more shaken up than the rest of them, and there's a definite quiver in his voice as he continues.

"Playing in the NHL is what you want, isn't it? What if you stay, to play here with us, and we don't… And it ends up not being worth it, in the end? What if we're just holding you back?"

"Hey, no. No." Impulsively, Whiskey takes a step forward. "Look. I've never thought more about anything in my life, and I've honestly never felt more certain about a decision. Not ever. Please try to believe that."

Pips doesn't look like he believes that. He looks more like he's about to fucking cry. Whiskey desperately tries to recall everything he managed to tell coach Hall just minutes earlier, all those perfectly coherent thoughts and reasons he's settled on after a whole week of careful consideration. He fails. It's like those words don't even exist inside his brain, anymore, now that Pips is looking at him like Whiskey has just made his entire world fall apart.

The words that do come to Whiskey are a lot more vulnerable than he’d ever thought he might find himself comfortable with.

"You know, it's actually kind of funny." Whiskey smiles, helplessly. He knows he must be looking all soft around the edges, and there's a very poorly concealed tremor in his voice. He still carries on. "I've realised so much, this week, but it hasn't been about hockey, or even about the reality of going pro. Honestly, it's been more about all of you. You guys have all taught me so fucking much, and every time that I stepped out on the ice in Houston, I just… I felt that. It was like I was carrying that with me. Like I was carrying you with me. You guys make me better, always, and there are still so many ways that you're helping me grow. And the thing is, I'm not anywhere near ready to let that go. Maybe I should be, maybe it'd be smart or whatever, but I'm just not, and I'm the only one who gets to make that call. So, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying. I'm going to be a senior on this team, and I'm going to graduate."

He pauses briefly. It's not like his words have the exact effect he hoped for – Pips is actually crying, now, for one – but Pips has started to smile, too, and so have many of the others. Tango is wiping at his eyes, and Ford's got an overwhelmingly fond expression, and Dex is looking all sorts of proud and pleased and emotional. Fuck. If Whiskey doesn't manage to lighten the mood, somehow, this is definitely going to derail into some sort of collective crying session.

"And we're going to take this thing all the way through the fucking playoffs!" he adds, with as much energy as he can manage. "Right?"

There's a few whoops of approval and some much needed laughter. Pips is still crying, though, and actually, so is Jader. And suddenly, both Dex and Ford are getting up to give Whiskey a hug. Soon, there's an actual fucking line forming.

He’s not crying. He’s not.

"If you weren't already fucking locked in for the captaincy," Tango says under his breath when they hug, "This would've sealed the deal."

The team doesn't make it out on the ice for quite a while. Their coaches don't come looking for them, though, most likely because Hall probably had a hunch something like this might happen. He can be awfully perceptive, sometimes.

"I carry you with me," Louis quotes, grinning. They've all settled down a little. Emphasis on little. "Is that gonna be the new got your back, now?"

"Nah," Ford says. She sounds surprisingly confident. "It's just different words for the same thing."

"Is it, though?" Louis wonders thoughtfully.

"It is," Whiskey admits. He's finally managed to sit down. "It absolutely is."

"Dude," Hops says eagerly. He’s looking at Whiskey with something like actual excitement. "You've got to give us the scoop on the Aeros."

“Oh, yes!” Joyo agrees enthusiastically. “Oh my God. Start with everything.”

“What’s their usual practice like?”

“Are they even any good?”

“Think they’re gonna make the playoffs?”

“That signature play, when Ducky passes to Lacer as he's moving down the ice without as much as a glance over his shoulder. How the fuck do they time that?”

Whiskey smiles.

“They don’t. Time that, I mean. They just fucking shoot, and then pray, and somehow, it connects. But no, I don’t actually think we’ll be seeing them in the playoffs. They’re very good, and some of their defensive plays are really something, but their best forwards are gonna be out for a while and they’ve got a little too far to catch up. But, uh, maybe don’t tell Ducky I said that.”

“Whiskey,” Pips says admonishingly. He’s actually full-on grinning, now – finally. Whiskey is so relieved, his eyes almost water all over again. “When and where, exactly, did you imagine that we’d all be exchanging chirps with Ducky?”

“Um.” Whiskey hasn’t been sure of when he should mention this part. Apparently, there’s no time like the present. “At our next game? I ended up getting a couple of the guys tickets. And actually, I sort of already promised Ducky that I’d get him a signed Samwell jersey, so. You guys all better have my back on that.”

It takes about five seconds before the room collectively loses it.

ch. 23

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #will poindexter #louis #probably has a last name?#coach hall #makes an appearance #almost actual hockey #pips #here we go y'all #it's happening #evie writes #dance with somebody #fanfiction

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

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VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

“You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #steve rogers #modern AU #slow like honey heli0s #reader insert

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pabosontheloose · 5 years

Text

Words (Sehun)

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

Today was another day that seemed to keep dragging on no matter how much I tried to keep myself occupied. It was lonely in this apartment when he wasn’t here. It would’ve been deafeningly silent had I not put on some music to fill the space.

It was on these days when I wished that he was here so we can do nothing together instead of just me being on our couch, aimlessly surfing through the TV channels and wondering if he’s eaten yet. I worked in the mornings, from 5am to 1pm at a 24hr coffee shop. It had an above average pay which I was glad with. But then the afternoon comes and I find myself needing something to occupy the rest of the day with.

With this recent album coming up, I knew he wouldn’t be able to be home a lot, and I didn’t mind at all. I understood what his job required of him and I tried my best to support him through it; it was his actions that had me wondering if he really noticed my efforts or not.

I had cooked dinner for two, and ended up eating by myself, occasionally looking over to my phone when it lights up in hopes that it was a message from him. But it wasn’t. It never is anymore these days. The rest of the food was wrapped up and placed in the microwave so he has easy access when he came back.

I was dozing off at around 1 in the morning when the door opened. There was the sound of it closing after he had stepped in. His coat rustled as he placed it on the hook behind the door. As he walked further into the house, I heard his footsteps stop before a sigh left his mouth.

“Why are you still on the couch? There is a bedroom for a reason.” he shook my leg to snap me out of my drowsiness. I didn’t get to answer before he was making his way to the kitchen. A tiny beep came from the microwave before I heard him find the eating utensils. Slowly, I sat up and let out a yawn. My hands reached to move the small blanket from my body before standing up and stretching away the sleepiness. As soon as I reached the kitchen entrance, the microwave let out five beeps and Sehun went over to take out his dinner before sitting down at the table. I sat on the seat next to him and rested my head on the hand that was propped up by my elbow. I silently watched him cut into his food and bring it to his mouth.

“This is over seasoned.” was all he said, slowly chewing as if it was hard for him to swallow.

“Really? I thought it was fine when I tried it.” my eyes looked down at the plate in front of him. His eyes met mine for the first time since he set foot into the house.

“Well, clearly, you were wrong. This is overwhelming my nose. Would you mind if I made ramen instead?” he slightly pushed the plate further away from him. I could feel his words pinch at my heart. I stared at the plate as he got up to go turn on the stove and dig through the drawers to find the packets of ramen.

“But I made this especially for you...you’re just going to leave it here?” I asked his moving figure that was going back and forth in the kitchen.

“Well, I figured you’d finish it since you thought it was fine.” he shrugged, his voice low and held a hint of irritation. “Listen, I had a long day alright? Can we please not get into something that doesn’t have to happen in the first place?”

“Okay…” I mumbled before getting up and silently making my way towards our bedroom.

This was just one in a long line of things that I should’ve talked to him about. But there was always something that came up or it was just waved off. Next time I guess..

It was two days after that night. I had let it go for the most part when his half-assed apology came the next day but it was still picking at me. I didn’t want to make him feel guilty, but I can’t just let go of something that has been building up inside of me for so long. Keeping that aside, he told me he was going to be at a practice stage for the next three days and won’t be able to come home, so I decided to give him a visit at the dorm. I hadn’t seen the guys in a while too, so why not bring everyone something.

A couple of banana milk boxes were tossed into my bag along with chocolate bars and then I was off towards their building.

“Ahhh!! (Y/n)!!” Baekhyun’s cheery voice rang out through the security com before the doors were unlocked. I let myself in and looked around. I hadn’t gotten a few steps in before thudding footsteps were heard coming towards me. Baekhyun threw his arms around me in a tight hug before letting go and we walked further into the place.

“Hey, I didn’t think many of you would be here since promotions are happening.” I grinned seeing the boys spread out all over the living room. Minseok lifted his hand indicating a welcoming high five which I gladly gave.

“Yeah, we have about an hour before we gotta go. You looking for Sehun?” Junmyeon nodded, emerging from their kitchen.

“He’s just in the bathroom. What’s in the bag?” Baekhyun gave a cheeky grin, waving off my questioning glance towards the bathroom, as he plopped himself down onto the arm rest besides me.

“Oh, I thought you guys would like some refreshments.” I stated before opening the said bag. Head turned at the mention of food and I gave each of them their drinks and snacks. A round of thanks erupted before they dug in.

“What are you doing here?” my boyfriend’s voice suddenly asked as he entered the living room. I smiled before standing up to approach him.

“Hi! I just thought I’d pay you and everyone a visit since you won’t be home for the next three days.” His eyebrows furrowed before his hand came up to scratch at the end of his eyebrow.

“You should have called. Coming here was a hassle since we have to leave in a little bit.” he quickly remarked. My cheeks tinted pink at the tone of his voice.

“Well, it’s just you never answer my calls so I thought-”

“Well maybe there’s a reason I never answer your calls!” he snapped, making me back up a little bit in shock. My eyes widened slightly as I watched him start to fume.

“What? What do you mean?” I quietly let out. Not wanting the members to hear me or even be witnessing this right now.

“Don’t you ever think that maybe sometimes you can be a bit overbearing?” he questioned. I blinked at him and felt my cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

“Sehun.” a word of warning came from Junmyeon. No one else said a word. Although I wanted to speak, my throat ran dry. I just stood, staring at him, waiting for him to apologize or take back what he said; but his eyebrows stay furrowed and lips stayed a frown. When I didn’t say anything, he ignored his members' looks and continued, “I mean you are constantly around me, all the time. It’s always “have you eaten?” or “have you rested enough?”, come ON. I’m not a child, there is no need for you to be bugging me 24/7.”

“Oh Sehun!” this time, everyone was up. Those who rarely got angry were now suddenly raising their voice. Having been with Sehun for several years, I also knew a lot about the members. Sure, when Junmyeon raises his voice, everyone is cautious. But when it’s Minseok who raised his voice, everyone instantly shut up. I even noticed Sehun take a slight step back in surprise. I knew this was about to derail, and instantly held out my hands in hopes of getting everyone to settle down.

No one spoke a word. I stared up at Sehun before sighing.

“Fine. Enjoy your meal. See you guys.” I mumbled and turned around quickly. My vision blurred and my lids blinked to keep back the inevitable tears that will eventually come running down. I made my way towards the door, not wanting to stop for any of them who were calling out to me. My hands carefully closed the door before I made it all the way down towards the lobby and my car.

I wanted to fight back, and tell him off for his behavior, but I lost my energy. It was as if his words deflated everything that I wanted to discuss with him about and he left me there. I sat in my car for a little, just letting every tear go.

Buzz buzz...buzz buzz...buzz buz-

“Yeah, Baekhyun?”

“Tell me you aren’t driving.”

“No, I’m still here. I just need to calm down first before I leave.” I sniffled, wiping my tears as if someone were watching me. A sigh of relief was heard through the line before he started talking again.

“Good, I’m coming down.” and before I could even object, the line cut off. I sat there, waiting for his figure to show up and let him into the passenger seat. When he got in, we were silent for a good minute.

“Listen, that brat doesn’t mean it, you know that right?” he asked. I looked at him.

“I know, but it still hurts.”

“Yeah, I know it does. And trust me, he’s getting an earful up there right now. Damn, I can’t even imagine what Kyungsoo and the others will do when they find out after the stage.” he chuckled, his words contradicted his facial expression because I knew that that was exactly what he was doing.

“How are they going to find out?”

“Oh, because I’m gonna tell them.” he grinned as-a-matter-of-factly, his cheerful tone slightly enlightening my mood.

“Thanks Baek.”

“No problem, and hey, you should come by tonight for the show. If you’re too angry to go because of him, go for us.” he patted my shoulder. I looked down at my hands and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll see you all tonight.” he grinned. His hand came up to ruffle my hair before he said his goodbye and went back upstairs.

Several hours later, I found myself standing in front of their stadium. The lights were dim and Aeris were waving their lightsticks around in anticipation for their boys. I flipped the on switch of mine and held it up as well. Within seconds the lights of the stage came on and the performance proceeded.

The fanchant shook the roof, and the boys were amazing as they always were. As they were performing, I caught eyes with Sehun. I noticed them widening a little in surprise but he continued performing. And every once in a while, I’d meet them again.

I sighed to myself, hating the fact that I can’t even stay mad at him even after what he said. Here I was, proudly and happily watching him dancing on that stage. God I love him a lot, huh.

When the performance came to an end, their fans screamed louder than they already were. The boys took a bow, taking the time to thank the audience and saying goodbye before starting to move backstage. I decided not to go backstage since they might be rushed somewhere by the staff, so I started to make my way out of the venue and back home for the night.

-------

When I woke up the next morning, something felt off. The sun barely shone as I prepared to get ready for work. I made a move to get out of bed but found arms wrapped around my waist, keeping me in place. He released a groan in protest when I tried to move again.

How long has it been since we’ve slept like this? His hold got tighter as I wrapped an arm around his own.

“Sehun, I need to go take out the trash before the truck drives by. And I have work in 30 minutes.” I shook his arm but he still refused to let go. Instead, he gently moved to turn me around to face him before pulling me closer once again.

“You don’t have to. I took it out last night before I went to bed. And I also used your phone to ask your coworker if she can cover your shift today since you’re seriously sick.” through the dim light in the room I could see the sleepy smirk on his face. My eyebrow raised as I watched him. I could see the playful glint in his drowsy eyes.

“Seriously sick? But I feel fi-” his finger came to touch my lips, making me pause my words. “Yeah you are. That’s why we’re staying home together today. So that I can be with you, aaaallllll day long. And since you don’t have work tomorrow, we’ll get to be together even longer.”

“Sehun, what’s going on?” I asked him as he threw his right leg over my body, effectively keeping me in his hold. His warm, secure, embrace made me yawn.

“Nothing’s going on, babe. I’m just trying to make up to my beautiful, deserving girlfriend for my behavior the past few weeks. To let her know how sorry I am for making her feel so horrible.” he planted a kiss onto my forehead, trailing down to place another one on the tip of my nose and ending up at my lips.

“Hun, you don’t have to do that. Your schedule is so packed already, what are the members gonna say?” I whispered, before placing my head on his chest, my arms slowly coming up to wrap around his waist. He laughed before reaching back to open his phone and show me the messages he received from the boys. Most were threats which I knew were empty because they would never do that to their precious maknae. I giggled while reading Chanyeol’s messages about; ‘What it takes to keep a woman, dummy.’. What made my full out laugh was Kyungsoo’s short and simple message; ‘Do you want to die?’

“Yes I do. The members gave me an ass whooping after the show yesterday before I could even tell them I planned to be with you for the next two days. Thank you for coming to watch us last night…I was hoping you’d come backstage but I understand why you didn’t.” he gave my lips a kiss once more.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get longer than two days. I asked for a week but my manager said no and left me many...many..voicemails.” I giggled at him before shaking my head.

“Two days is great, Sehun.”

“Good. Now, let’s make the most of it by sleeping till noon.” he gave me another kiss before we were both dozing off once again.

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

I have no words :)

MASTERLIST

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

Text

03. OBSERVATIONS

my bella as a cullen & edward as a vampire fanfic inspired by an au from @bellasredchevy is now on AO3, so you can read the new third chapter here or the full work thus far here. also all of my chapters are now being tagged as #equinoxjw if you want to follow along on tumblr. i’m new to using AO3 as a user, so...bear with me. i feel like a boomer.

My stomach tightened in strange, foreign ways as if it could fall into my abdomen at any moment. There was a vague familiarity about the sensation, and after some thought, I realized that this was something like the faded memory of what anxiety did to my body as a human. It was an entirely different feeling in my unchanging form. Far more unnerving.

I felt silly and small walking directly behind Emmett and Jasper while Rose and Alice flanked me. We were positioned like some ridiculous protection detail, though the danger – myself – was in the center of the defense. I longed to curl into a ball on the floor of my room, but I was far too stubborn to spend another day at home avoiding school like a coward.

At the same time, I was not stubborn enough to have the confidence to completely sell my bravery to my overprotective siblings, so I allowed them to hover more than I would have liked. It felt unnecessary, but I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not I could trust myself yet.

Once we were a few yards from the old building of my first class, I halted our formation.

“Alright, I’m fine. Thanks. I’m sure that didn’t look weird at all,” I grumbled sarcastically, moving forward to step between my brothers at a slow, human pace.

They all held their positions, hesitant.

“This is getting ridiculous.” Their vigilance displayed no signs of relaxing. “I swear that I am fine! Alice?” Irritated, I snapped my head around to examine her vacant expression, hoping she’d foresee something that would support my claim.

“It looks as if...everything will be okay,” she smiled a brilliant, annoyingly over-encouraging smile when the light returned to her golden eyes.

I repressed a sigh of relief to keep from exposing my own concern and setting off any alarms as a result. “See? Another obnoxiously perfect, boring day.”

In case they continued their reluctance to move aside, I walked around rather than through the frontline.

“And I don’t require any further chaperoning. If Alice sees anything, I trust that she’ll take the preventive measure of biting my head off,” I whispered too faint and fast for human ears as I entered the classroom.

“Exactly,” Alice smugly agreed, making me smile for the first time today.

I had been wrong earlier. There was nothing obnoxiously perfect nor boring about this day. I spent the majority of my morning classes hyperalert, over-examining every noise from the clicking of ants on the aged tile to the trickle of a raindrop sliding down the rooftop to the sneeze of a student on the other side of the school grounds. I overthought every movement of air that brushed against my skin, nervously awaiting the circulation that would carry his irresistible scent and once again derail my self control.

Of all my ongoing polarities, I preoccupied myself with deciding between the choices of the simplest question: should I hold my breath or should I not? It would be irrational to think I could deprive myself of a sense of smell forever. Of course, I was physically capable as my body didn’t require oxygen, but I’d need to speak in school eventually. That would require inhalation.

And then the boy would die.

With how incoherent my resolve had been at first encounter with my unfortunate biology partner, was it worth the risk? On the contrary, would the memory of his scent allow me to anticipate the upheaval, and therefore equip me with the mental preparation to withstand more effectively if I did choose to breathe? Would the potential desensitization if I allowed myself this provide him a better chance to live?

I couldn’t decide, so I endured long stretches of both. Instinctually, I preferred the flow of air to my lungs, but with every breath, it seemed I was inhaling more apprehension and exhaling none of it. I was relieved that the air was diluted with the scent of the other students. Of course, if I wanted to, I could find him. I could track him down easily with the treacherously appealing aroma perfectly recollected in my mind guiding me towards him…

I decided against breathing again. I wished that I could decide against thinking as well.

In the duration between periods, I noticed that I could easily locate a member of my family lingering casually in my peripheral vision as I headed to my next class. Casually, if their schedules had qualified them to walk along the same route that I did. That was rarely the case. The distant escort was far more awkward than the tightly knit huddle from the morning.

Rosalie’s expression seemed embarrassed during her surveillance of me, and I hoped it was because she trusted that I could handle this and was simply fulfilling a duty asked of her by the remaining members of my family.

Who had been the one to ask the others to keep an eye on me? Esme?

I didn’t mind when Jasper had been nearby. I never saw him directly, but recognized his footfall and even felt grateful for the sudden deluge of peace that comforted me briefly.

Emmett was particularly irritating. Although I knew he felt concern for me, I also knew he found the situation slightly comical. I didn’t appreciate the suspicion that he may be mocking me as he watched me responsibly walk to my next class without any attempts to escape his supervision and hunt down any unsuspecting teenage children.

Alice didn’t care to conceal herself during her passing period shift, so she waited outside the door to walk alongside me to a lesson we shared together.

I hadn’t crossed paths with the boy yet, so when this morning’s bodyguard configuration began to form on the way to lunch, I said nothing, knowing that it would be far more prudent to have the guarantee that four other vampires would stop me if I made any mistakes when I first saw him again.

The bizarre sensation in my abdomen returned, intensified greatly by the certitude that I’d face the object of my avoidance soon.

Once we had purchased our lunch for appearances, I kept my head down and my lungs empty as we settled into our regular table, buying myself a few more moments of forced oblivion to his presence – as if I could ever be oblivious to his presence again.

I tried to build up my confidence as I studied the patterns in the plywood of the cafeteria table under the laminate. Surely, I would fare much better this time around now that I knew what to expect, wouldn’t I? I hadn’t succumbed the first time, so why should I the second? Besides, as an added measure, I was overly satiated from the hunting trip Esme and I embarked on once the boys had returned. The odds were far better.

I had stayed home a couple of days when Esme and I had finished. My conversation with Carlisle greatly encouraged me, and so my mood began to improve. It wasn’t enough for Emmett to feel satisfied when he easily overtook me in our rematch, suspecting that I wasn’t giving him my full attention, but it was still an improvement.

Today, it had been a week since I’d last seen the boy.

“Edward Masen is walking in,” Alice cautioned. I froze in place, halting the loop my pointer finger was tracing over the grain of the table.

“Nobody look at him!” I hissed with the air from my last breath, nearly inaudible. I halted the sensation of breathing.

“Why would we look at him? You know, you really insult our intelligence sometimes.”

I didn’t look up to see what repelling piece of food I hurled at Emmett’s head. “What intelligence?” I mumbled. I forced myself to continue tracing loops over the wood.

“Relax, Bella,” Rosalie laughed. “Oh, he’s looking this way.”

My eyes narrowed as I finally glanced up to see Rose turn her face away from the cafeteria back to me indulgently, her angelic face feigning innocence.

Some of my edginess began to ease. I eyed Jasper suspiciously.

His lips pulled into a guilty half-smile.

“I’m really growing tired of everyone acting as if I’m a sideshow today,” I sighed, releasing the last of my oxygen supply.

“You’re always a sideshow,” Emmett corrected, baiting me.

My siblings couldn’t resist laughing before the expression on my face silenced them.

Cautiously, I took a deep breath.

I was fortunate; the air near me hadn’t been tainted with any hint of his scent. I inhaled mostly the wonderful fragrance of my family and the slightly tempting aroma of high school students, though it now seemed far less mouthwatering by comparison to what I came across last week.

“I will commit murder today,” I promised, gritting my teeth. “Now, whether that murder results in your death or the kid’s is entirely up to you.”

My curly haired brother laughed. “Alright! Finally some action again!”

Rosalie’s features were apologetic.

“Em, I’d back off if I were you… she’s serious. I see…” Alice made a show of closing her eyes and placing her slender fingertips on either side of her forehead. “I see… a pyre…”

Even I couldn’t keep myself from laughing.

“Are you kidding me? She’s way too distracted lately. I could take her down easy today.”

“It says a lot that my distraction translates to easiness for you,” I taunted before suddenly feeling as if I was being watched.

“Then I correct myself. I could take you down easy any day.”

Not wanting to waste any more of my precious air supply as a precaution, I simply rolled my eyes.

“Bella definitely has an edge with her frustration lately. I wouldn’t be so confident,” Jasper warned, smiling wickedly.

“You willing to bet on Bella?” My brawnier brother challenged cockily.

“Absolutely.”

“Anybody else?”

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but Emmett rapidly cut her off. “You don’t count, pipsqueak. You cheat.”

He turned to face Rosalie. “What about you, babe?”

She bit her lip remorsefully to keep from giggling. “Bella.”

Emmett scoffed before a large, cocky grin spread on his face. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t need any of you.” He leaned back in his chair, his biceps bulging as he flamboyantly rested his massive arms behind his head. “Candy from a baby. Good luck, Bella!”

But I was no longer paying attention. I had already fallen victim to the first irresistibility I’d face today.

Following the suspicion that I was the object of a gaze belonging to the same eyes that had haunted me the past week, I turned my focus towards the cafeteria.

There he sat with some of the more popular students – though if recognition constituted popularity in high school, then all of the children in this lightly populated student body were popular – trying to appear deceptively over-interested in the sleeve of his beige, expensive-looking sweater. His jaw was tight, highlighting his prominent bone structure.

I guess maybe I could understand to some degree why this irrelevant boy had sent the male-interested student body into a frenzy. By their kind’s standards, he must be considered of above-average attraction. But with his strange shade of reddish-brown hair, wouldn’t that be considered a flaw? Didn’t humans have some kind of teasing prejudice towards gingers? Though it was ridiculous, I had the urge to apply the methodology of attraction based on the golden ratio to his face simply out of curiosity.

“Bella Cullen is staring at you,” the student next to him, Naomi, whispered in shock.

“So?” The boy dismissed.

I was taken aback by how flippantly he disregarded the mention of me. Had something in my leaving offended him? What would make him think my absence concerned him?

Emmett found his response hilarious.

“Damn! I’m glad someone can put you in your place!” He guffawed.

I turned to scowl at him.

“A pyre…” Alice teasingly resumed her poor fortune teller impression, her fingers again on her temple.

A warm smile spread across my face, and as a result of my family’s stupid banter, I found myself finally feeling calmer.

My smile dropped immediately when I heard the boy sharply breathe in.

“Relax,” Rosalie reminded me, her brilliant eyes reassuring.

I nodded, though I felt my face contort in pain and stress.

“You’re looking sick, Bella,” she accused.

“Do you wanna leave?” Emmett offered, his amusement having vanished.

Jasper raised an eyebrow, sensing my building emotion.

“No!” I snapped, exasperated. It took everything in me to keep from slamming my hands on the table. Now was not the time to destroy public property.

“She’ll be fine, really. No, great, actually. I’d say we’re not helping, but I wonder if her frustration with us is what’s strengthening her resolve,” Alice grinned. “Her future keeps getting clearer. If anything, maybe he’ll stay alive just so she can prove a point.”

Everyone joined my dark-haired sister in her melodic laughter.

I’d had enough of lunch for today.

I rose from the table, carrying my full tray.

“Oh, don’t leave, Bella! Where are you going?” Rose asked.

“I’m going-”

“-to the biology classroom,” Alice finished for me.

“You’re all particularly vexing today, so please don’t follow me. But if you hear a massacre of screaming children, feel free to join.”

“Shall I call Carlisle and Esme? It’d be poor manners to not extend an invitation if we’re slaughtering the townsfolk.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Let’s go out with a bang,” I frowned, speaking quietly enough to where only my family could hear, dumping my tray in the garbage can and exiting the cafeteria.

I felt his eyes on me the entire time.

I was fortunate that Mr. Molina wasn’t in his classroom during his lunch break. I had no desire to attempt civil conversation that would make the both of us uncomfortable. The door was unlocked, though that didn’t matter much.

I sat at my usual seat, neatly placing my books atop the lab table. Closing my eyes, I distracted myself for the remainder of the lunch hour by focusing on the flux of unchanged oxygen expelling from my lungs and the thrum of raindrops against the roof slowly becoming the feather-soft flutter of snowflakes.

Once my peers began to file into the room, I uncomfortably suspended my breathing once again. I listened to the rowdy sound of the footsteps, wondering which would be the boy’s, hoping to distinguish them from the rest as if they’d be any different.

Shortly after the cheerful whistle of the lively biology teacher sounded the room as he entered, I became aware of a sturdy footfall approaching my table.

Though I couldn’t smell him, I knew at once it was the boy as the heat of his body warmed the air around me. Nobody else in this classroom would dare get as close unless they were condemned to sit in the chair beside me as he was. Even the temperature enveloping my skin was enough to warrant venom to pool in my mouth.

I restrained myself from sighing aloud at the oncoming war that would rage within me, refusing to waste the oxygen I had stored.

Though the responsible and kind action to take would be to introduce myself as to not make myself even more distinguishable from the other humans with unwarranted ignorance and hostility, I continued to face forward with my eyes closed, my forehead puckering.

My eyes snapped open as he noisily settled into his seat, carelessly spilling his books across his side of our lab table.

After a moment, I decided I wouldn’t want to be held accountable for potential whispers about my family, so it’d be better to say something.

Just as I was about to speak, turning my head in his direction, he surprised me by speaking first.

“Hello,” the boy greeted me quietly, his smile charming and polite. His green eyes were soft and wise, full of some meaning I couldn’t decipher. I listened to the beating of his heart, trying to detect if the rhythm would expose any fear. I never needed to blink, but habitually my eyes fluttered rapidly as I processed the shock that this human had the bravery to speak to me first. Habitually, because of the years I’d adjusted to mimicry of human responses and expressions, but the action was still wrong. Much too fast. I wondered if he had picked up on the blurred motion. “You’re back.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply agreed. “Yes.”

I turned away again, forgetting that I had intended to share my name out of courtesy. My brain was much too full of distracting thoughts. Here my temptation was willingly conversing with me. Was he mad? Where was his innate sense of self-preservation? He should be recoiling away from the proximity as I was, though for different reasons. I could easily talk him into walking away with me to his death. For both of our sakes, it’d be preferable to keep our interactions to a minimum. How much acquaintanceship did biology partners really require?

As the teacher wrote out today’s objective on the chalkboard, it seemed it’d require more acquaintanceship than I’d like – or that the boy could afford.

“My name is Edward Masen.” He spoke with a calculated, inviting voice. “You’re Bella Cullen,” he continued when I hadn’t replied.

I nodded stupidly, refusing to look anywhere but ahead of me. It was both wonderfully and terribly warm next to his body heat. I swallowed the venom that did nothing to quench the ever-present thirst.

“I take it you’re not too enthused to have me as a biology partner,” he chuckled gently, his eyes intrusively still focused on the side of my face.

I frowned at this unpleasant assumption that was absolutely spot-on.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” I stated gingerly, trying to speak in a voice he wouldn’t find frightening.

“The expression on your face last week seemed a very personal reaction,” he pressed, an edge to his voice despite his attempt to say this casually.

He had noticed.

I hadn’t thought it’d be possible to feel any more uneasy.

“I was sick,” I defended myself lamely.

“And now you’re feeling better?”

“Not particularly.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his thick eyebrows slightly pull upwards at my response. His eyes continued to study me, full of that puzzling emotion.

Whatever his reaction meant I couldn’t focus on now even with my simultaneously thinking brain. I was out of air, and the fear that accompanied the thought of inhaling to speak again was overwhelming.

My body tensed for the brutality, my muscles frozen as I turned my head even further away to quickly breathe through my mouth so as to avoid his scent.

The potency was just as painful as it had been last week, a wrecking ball of desire desiccating my burning throat as the taste of the tainted air settled onto my tongue.

I was a creature of ice brimming with fire.

I wrestled for coherency, desperately trying to compose myself again as Mr. Molina explained today’s assignment, rescuing me from the agony of conversation.

Today’s lab required working together alongside your table partner.

I hadn’t experienced such a series of bad luck since I had been human.

The boy – or I suppose I should refer to him by his first name now that introductions had occurred – turned to face me again once our teacher finished instruction. He smiled a crooked smile. “Ladies first, partner?”

“Why don’t you begin?” I offered, utilizing all of my strength to uncomfortably half-smile in return.

He paused for a moment, his eyes suspended on my face. It was the first time he had lost some of his inexplicable coolness. The pace of his heartbeat – a painful reminder of his fragility – sped up. Had I done something to frighten him?

“If you wish,” he recovered, slightly shaking his head, his tousled bronze hair swaying with the movement. While I was mystified as to what his reaction meant, most of my thought was absorbed with relief that I had breathed prior to this action. I had no doubt that it would have sent the craving slamming into me like a wall of cement. I tried to ignore the appealing flush of a subtle, light pink that briefly colored the skin beneath his cheekbones.

He reached for the shabby microscope on the table along with a slide from a small cardboard box.

“Prophase,” he announced after a very brief examination. “Can I look?” I asked.

“You don’t trust me?” He smirked as he pulled his face away from the equipment.

“No,” I replied.

He laughed at my genuine answer, and instinctually, I reached to stop his hand from removing the slide.

It was an idiotic mistake. How many feelings of violence could I experience? This severity was different but no less overpowering. The heat of his skin burned mine electrically as if I had been struck by lightning. The sensation shot through my arm, and I was ablaze like a live wire.

“Sorry,” I blurted, grinding my razor-sharp teeth together. I didn’t want to see his reaction to the strikingly chilling temperature of my granite-like skin, so I buried my face in the microscope, looking through the eyepiece, allowing my long, dark hair to spill across the table as a wall between us.

“Prophase,” I whispered. He had been correct.

The thirst was ferocious and the charge in my body exorbitant. I concentrated very intensely on filling out the lab sheet, writing our answer along the first line.

He silently switched the slide to the next, and I cringed, wondering how my touch had felt to him.

“Anaphase,” I whispered again after a peek through the eyepiece.

“Do you mind if I look?”

Surprised, I glanced up to meet his expectant viridescent gaze.

“You don’t trust me?” I repeated his words from earlier. As if I could be incorrect.

“Definitely not,” he smiled wryly, humor lighting up his irises before leaning in to examine the slide.

I couldn’t help but smile too.

“You shouldn’t,” I joked, though partly I was unable to restrain myself – stupidly, as if I could truly be honest with him – from providing him a fair warning.

He paused, his hand on the tube of the microscope, turning his face towards me. His eyebrows pulled together inquisitively, but his lips curved upwards slightly. “And why is that?”

I glanced away, turning my attention back to the sheet of paper, desperately trying to think of anything other than his blood.

When it became clear I wasn’t willing to provide an answer, he resumed his observation. “Next slide?”

He reached for the following slide, and I dropped it into his hand, avoiding contact with his skin this time.

We continued the lab with minimal conversation, sliding the microscope between us and double checking the answers. I wrote the majority of the answers down, though he wrote a few at the end. His script was far more elegant than I was expecting from a teenage boy.

We were the first students to complete the lab while the rest of the class seemed to be struggling to properly identify the stages of mitosis. Maybe I should have hesitated longer in my examinations so we wouldn’t be left with so much remaining time for tension and uncomfortable silence to fill. I periodically took excruciating breaths, hoping to build up more resistance.

I noticed a sandy blonde student – I think her name was Sara – at a table diagonal from us overly engrossed in making continual glances back this way. I was shocked to catch her shooting me a dirty look, unaware anyone felt antagonistic towards me.

I wondered if she was interested in Edward. I found myself amused by the thought she could be developing resentment for that reason. If only she knew the kind of interest the boy held for me.

Mr. Molina made his rounds to check on the students’ progress. When he saw our lack of activity, he approached our table.

“Miss Cullen,” he began, looking over our answers through his glasses. “You didn’t want to share your microscope with our new student?”

I withheld a smile, unused to anything remotely related to chastisement in classes I didn’t share with Emmett, though even in those lessons we rarely got in trouble.

“Actually, Mr. Molina. She was very accommodating. We both identified the slides and double checked each other’s answers. Bella was just our primary scribe.”

“Ah,” our teacher nodded, still skeptical.

“I’ve done this lab before,” Edward shrugged. “I was always in advanced placement programs at my other schools.”

I processed this information, unsurprised by the confirmation of his intelligence. The assertiveness of his words also confirmed my suspicions that he was pretentious.

“Wonderful,” the man smiled, his tan face impressed. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s a good thing the two of you are partners. You should have raised your hand to let me know you completed the lab. Let me go grab the golden onion, so I can present it to you-”

“That’s alright. We don’t need the award, prestigious as it may be,” Edward chuckled. “You can let some other students have it. I don’t mind missing out on the bonus points.”

“And you, Miss Cullen?”

“I’m fine,” I smiled reassuringly.

“Very well. Good work,” he left to check on another table. As he turned, I took advantage of the fresh gush of uncorrupted air that flew in my direction.

After a moment, Edward spoke again, slightly leaning towards me. Was this stupid man lacking a sense of danger?

“The kids here have a lot of commentary about your family.”

Of course I knew that to be true, but I was taken aback with his bluntness. “I’m sure they do.”

“So what led you to move here?” He asked too innocently, clearly attempting to uncover secrets.

“I would have thought the students here would have provided you with satisfactory gossip.”

“I’d rather hear the story from you.”

My eyes narrowed slightly, trying to discern the motivation behind his interest. Was it simply curiosity or was there more? “Esme, my oldest sister, prefers life in a small town… Shouldn’t I be the one questioning your reasons for moving here?”

Despite my harsh tone, he smiled his crooked smile. “You’re the first student who’s not expressed much interest in me.”

I shrugged stiffly, returning my attention back to staring blankly at the front of the room.

“Well, other than your incomprehensible opposition to having me as a partner on my first day. I’d say that qualifies as interest.”

“I already told you I was sick.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he conceded, though something in his tone implied he didn’t completely believe me. “...You said oldest sister...I thought the other two weren’t your siblings.”

I froze.

“I consider Rosalie and my cousin Alice to be my sisters as well.”

He nodded, taking in the information.

“So, are you going to ask?” He asked after a moment.

“What?” I snapped, turning to him again.

“You’re not questioning my reasons for moving here?” He grinned.

“No,” I retaliated, growing irritated. I should attempt to be warm and pleasant the way a responsible Cullen would, but I was already too preoccupied with the terrible physical ways he was affecting me that I cared little for the mental ways.

“Oh,” he laughed softly. “Am I annoying you?”

I could tell he was used to being considered charismatic by the way my indifference amused him.

“No,” I lied and he chuckled again, not believing me. I turned to meet his gaze and found myself trapped there. His eyes were warm and captivating. My frustration nearly evaporated. “Though you are very much arrogant.” The grin didn’t leave his face at my words. He seemed appreciative of my honesty. “I’m more annoyed with myself than anything.”

“Why?”

“Okay, now, you’re annoying me.” I turned away to inhale, pausing to let the desire simmer until I could control myself once more.

“Then I’ll leave you alone. I should know better than to have bothered you when you were clearly in a bad mood.”

“A bad mood?”

“Yes, I saw you when you were at lunch before you left. It seemed your family was provoking you. You looked as if you were about to fight the bigger guy.”

“My brother, Emmett.”

“Emmett,” he nodded, trying out the name for recognition. “Something tells me you could take him,” he teased, and I surprisingly found myself smirking.

“I don’t imagine you’ll share what’s causing you to be in a bad mood...but can I ask why you were staring at me?”

“Are you always this direct?” I asked, exasperated.

“Not always. I just find you particularly difficult to read.”

“You must be a very good reader then.” If he considered me a difficult case to decipher but nevertheless made the astute observations that he did, he must be immensely perceptive, a factor that made this situation immeasurably worse.

“Usually.” He smiled his crooked smile again.

After a minuscule measure of time, I responded. “No, you cannot ask.”

“I didn’t think so,” Edward’s smile grew into a beam, revealing near-perfect, white teeth.

“Why do you care?” I demanded, the thirst festering around the edges of my resolve.

At this question, his face dropped into a thoughtful frown. “That’s a very good question.”

Though I unexpectedly found myself engrossed in the meaning of this response and the answer behind the question, I was interrupted as Mr. Molina called for the class’s attention. He over-dramatically presented the golden onion to a pair composed of a ridiculous class clown of a boy and his quieter female partner. The boy enthusiastically received the silly prize as the rest of the class hooted and hollered. Mr. Molina cut the boy off as the kid began to address his peers, notifying him that the award didn’t require an acceptance speech.

But my attention was absorbed in something other than the class shenanigans.

Suddenly, I was fascinated in the boy’s fascination. Of course, we were interesting. That was undeniable. Our kind was designed to draw in the curiosity of his kind. Everything about me – the sweet scent of my skin, the beauty of my features, the velvet sound of my voice – was intricately fashioned to bring him closer. It was enormously unjustified the abilities we were equipped with to trap and kill our prey. There was no abnormality in a human having interest in us. It happened often. When we moved to a new place, we expected the initial inquisitions, though eventually, they died down once our disinterest in fully assimilating into their community became clear. We became then simply a strange story about a strange family. Occasionally, a human would hold particular interest in us, overly intrigued in what we are. The differences between us were abundantly clear, but this particular human wouldn’t dismiss them for the comfort of preserving their carefully constructed world of normalcy like the others around them. It was a rarity for that kind of human to guess what we were correctly.

However, Alice would watch for us, and before they could, we’d vanish.

He might not be the particular human who guessed correctly, but what were the odds that this human, the human whose blood sang to me, would be the particular human who was too curious for their own good?

I was fascinated with this absurdity.

Must it be him who sees too clearly? Suddenly, despite his arrogance, his pretension, his invasiveness, I was curious about this human boy with too many questions.

The odds were towering above us both. Here was a human who unwittingly, perfunctorily threatened everything that made up the tiny niche of peace in this existence. Whatever the differential may be, I lusted more so for the blood in his veins more than I had for any blood. And because I refused to be a monster, this human boy would live. And because he would live, he’d be able to devote thought to his observations about me. Here was a human who was watching too carefully, noticing nothing consequential yet, but seeing enough to warrant caution about his surveillance. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was damned to expose us in some way. Either by taking his life or by being watched too closely.

And it was worse for him. If I made a mistake either way, we could clean up the mess left behind. After a few decades, the guilt would hopefully ease as it did for my siblings. But for him, here was a vampire whose previously impressively stable sense of self control was in incoherent disarray. Here was a vampire who had a desire seemingly tailored precisely for the scent he carried. Here was a vampire who had a sudden intrigue in why it was him, this intruding, annoying man of a boy, to be the one to weaken her. There’d be nothing for him if I made a mistake. No more life to live.

The best case scenario would be that I’d become a distant nightmare.

Why had we been placed on this earth if not to be a perfectly designed pair of predator and prey?

Perhaps it was kismet. Sickening, grotesque kismet.

Well, I would fight fate. I would not allow this boy to bother me any longer. He would not make a monster of me, and I would not be the cause for any suspicions that my family was anything other than what we portray ourselves to be.

He can ask all of his questions, but his scrutiny will eventually fade just as it did for most of the other humans like him.

His attempts to read and examine will be futile and disappointing.

I felt satisfied enough with my conclusions that I almost thought to smile victoriously and say goodbye to him, but the part of my brain still devoted to annoyance kept me still.

When the bell rang, I leaped from my seat and exited the classroom, leaving the boy behind.

Once I was a safe distance away, I thankfully breathed in the wonderful, clean air, even inviting the subtle burn from the students’ less appetizing blood that almost unnoticeably singed my nose and throat.

As I passed by the door of the Spanish class that was my next period, I yanked the arm of my brother Emmett, who had been waiting for me against the wall of lockers, dragging him alongside me, though no one watching would recognize my strength.

“How did it go?” He questioned as he began to freely follow beside me with no resistance.

I took advantage of his wariness.

“We have to clean up,” I whispered harshly in a low volume.

“Seriously!?” I sensed his body tense at the news. “Damn, Rose is gonna be pissed! I mean, I know she won’t be that upset with you, but-”

Before his light-speed prattle could go on any further, I cut him off.

“No, you dummy. I was joking. Do you smell a classroom of dead children?”

“Oh,” his nostrils flared slightly as he inspected the air. “No, but I thought maybe you really let loose and drained them all.”

I frowned. “I have to say this is one of our more morbid conversations.”

“We’re not going to Spanish class?” “No.” We exited the brick building into the grey, showery parking lot. The surrounding firs were heavily saturated in their shades of dark green against the clouded sky.

“Alright! I like when you break the rules! Where we going?” His right hand made a large fist that eagerly met the palm of his left hand as if we were about to embark on some adventure in which I required backup.

“The car?” I answered the obvious question as the rain poured down, soaking his curly hair, making it appear even blacker, drenching my dark hair into a slick waterfall against my back, and washing away the small amount of snow that had fallen an hour ago.

“The car?” He asked, confused.

The rain smelled wonderful – like pine needles, spearmint, and eucalyptus. The droplets massaged my skin as they slid across the smooth surface, warm against the similar temperature.

Although I was free from Edward for now, a small part of me was reserved with some caution, so I crossed the parking lot at a slow pace as if we were being watched.

Once inside the vehicle, I placed a new disc into the CD player, unwilling to wrestle with the sometimes fickle bluetooth that often refused to surrender its connection to Rosalie’s cellphone. I was too impatient to continue life at a human speed right now.

I leaned the driver’s seat all the way back, and Emmett mirrored me in the passenger seat.

“So how was it really?” He asked.

“It was...odd,” I hesitated. “Better in some ways than last week but worse in others.”

“How’d he smell?”

“Just as good,” I groaned, placing my hands over my face as venom collected in my mouth at the memory.

“Well, that sucks,” Emmett chuckled, his long fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the song against the door of the car.

“I actually spoke to him today. Well, I guess he spoke to me.” I sighed, removing my hands from covering up my expressions.

“Oh, yeah? Did he explain his weird apathy about you? I got a real kick out of that.” My brother turned to face me, his head laying against the headrest, beaming widely, his snowy teeth blinding.

“That’s the thing – he’s not apathetic about me. I’d do anything for some apathy! I don’t understand his reaction in the cafeteria, but that along with his line of questioning today-”

“Line of questioning?”

“Yes, he’s very annoying!” I huffed.

“Sounds like you.”

“Keep in mind I promised murder today, and so far the boy made it away from me without so much as a scrape. You might not be so lucky.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes, and facing the car roof.

“Anyways, he was far too...overly invested. He noticed my expression last week. I didn’t think he’d assume that the way I left the classroom had anything to do with him, but he’s seemed to have made the connection somehow. Maybe that offended him in some way, but I’m concerned he’s...noticing more than he should. I’m not sure, but I have a bad feeling.”

“Humans have wondered about us before. He’s the new kid, so I mean, it makes sense he has questions.” “We are an odd looking group,” I agreed. “Hey, speak for yourself. I think the rest of us look pretty normal. Now, you...you’re a little funny looking.”

“Every day, I mourn that I have to spend eternity with you,” I snickered with him.

After a moment, I nodded. “I guess you’re right. His curiosity will fade.”

“And will your thirst, do you think?”

To that, neither of us had an answer.

“Hey, nobody died today.”

“Yet,” I reminded him.

“Yet,” Emmett agreed tauntingly. “I’m impressed you’ve lasted this long.” “What choice do I have!?” I demanded. “What would you have done?”

He shrugged. “We all mess up. Sometimes a person just smells too good.”

“Your regard for human life today is really amazing,” I glared.

“Sorry I’m not the patron saint of human life,” he chuckled.

“Well, I’m not either,” I shrugged.

We fell into a comfortable silence, something unusual between us lately. This kind of moment was more common between Jasper and myself. With all the time we’d spent together in this eternity we share, we could of course spend long amounts of time quietly beside one another, but in the past few years, Emmett and I had been in another phase of mischief. Often, the quietness was a thing of suspicion, a warning that one of us was conjuring up some plan to mess with the other. But the two of us laid back in the car, entirely motionless, listening to the music and the rain.

An hour or so later when the bell signaling the end of school rang and students began filing out of the old buildings, I raised the seat back into its previous position and exited the car so that Rosalie could take her usual place behind the steering wheel.

Emmett remained in the passenger seat as I leaned against the car, the drizzling rain wetting my long hair again.

Alice and Jasper arrived at the car first. In addition to the excited after-school chatter, I could hear what was stalling my other sister in the farthest building: Rosalie was in conversation with her psychology teacher, subtly encouraging the educator to branch from the syllabus, suggesting that another day with greater focus on analyzing physiological, cognitive, and behavioral strategies to combat psychophysiological reactions to stress and trauma would be very beneficial for the class and interesting information to learn. As if someone with a doctoral degree in psychology had anything to learn from a high school senior level psychology class.

“I saw a vision of you and Em skip class just to listen to music. Very angsty teenage human of you,” Alice grinned.

“I’m all about upholding our image,” I winked.

“You’re in a much brighter mood,” Jasper remarked.

“Well, just like my angsty teenage peers, I’m very eager to escape the hell that is high school and go home.”

“Hell, indeed,” Jasper half-smiled, intaking one last shallow breathful of the students’ scent as he slid into the back of the car.

“How can this be hell when I’m in the presence of an angel?” Alice sang to Jasper while Emmett and I groaned.

“Oh, shut up,” she chortled as she joined my brothers in the car. She gently – as to not destroy the interior – kicked the back of Emmett’s seat.

“I’d have said purgatory prior to last week,” I sighed wistfully.

As Rosalie wished the teacher a good night and exited her classroom, I listened for the willowy sound of her feet against the rain-soaked pavement.

In waiting for the appearance of her otherworldly face, I watched as the boy exited one of the brick buildings into the rainfall that had become a mist. The droplets falling into his tousled hair made it appear darker than it had looked under the fluorescence of the biology classroom. The moisture didn’t seem to bother him as he strode across the parking lot, not concerned with rushing to reach his car. A small, leather-bound journal was clenched in his right hand.

His vehicle was sleek, black, and much nicer than the other students’ cars. I wondered if his aggravating self assurance came from wealth.

It seemed he sensed the intensity of my stare. Edward looked up inquisitively, glancing around him. He waved to one of the students that called out to him before his green eyes settled on mine. Seeing that it was me who was gazing at him again, his face lit up in a smile. I could hear the softness as he laughed, shaking his head, and ducked into the drivers’ seat of his car. Our hold was lost until he readjusted the rearview mirror, and once again I could see the half moons of his enlivened eyes.

“Are you ready, Bella?” Rosalie asked, already turning the engine on. I had barely paid any notice to her approach.

“Yes,” I turned, sliding into the seat next to Alice.

Despite myself, the fact that something about my stare was of some ambiguous amusing importance to him had a smile pulling at the corners of my lips as well.

i hope u enjoyed <3 and...i know, i know... we all love to roast edward. & we all love the idea of a nerdy little redhead. i KNOW. i'm sorry. but i think what we all forget sometimes is that our sweet, sensitive, easy to make fun of edward is also an annoying, smug, cocky know-it-all. and bella, even in her newfound vampiric confidence, is still a quiet bookworm trying to mind her own business. u can fight me in my ask box. pls be gentle. also, i have adopted mr. molina of the film twilight because we do NOT support pedophiles. green is what? good. having a crush on ur high school student is what? weird & u should be fired immediately & should have NEVER been in a position where u work with children.

#twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilight renaissance #equinoxjw #jasperwhitcock #the twilight saga #twilight saga #bella swan #edward cullen #jacob black #rosalie hale #jasper hale #alice cullen #emmett cullen #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn

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