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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love).

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. “Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

1K notes · View notes

malkumtend · 4 years ago

Text

Their Booth (part 3) - Human Squirrelcrow AU.

Crow has never found making friends easy. That wasn’t so much a problem for him because, until recently, he never really wanted friends. Too much hassle. His mother had a problem with it though. She used to try and set him up with other members of the track team. Pairings in class, setting up group work after school, even study meet ups with other teachers’ kids. Each ended with the same result. The disappointment lined her face like ridges on a mountain, and Crow found it hard to not feel terrible when he saw the look in her eyes.

“I’m doing my bit, Crow.” She’d said once as they’d walked away from a track meeting that had ended with half the team glaring at Crow as he left. “I can introduce you to people, but it’s your job after that.”

“I never asked you to do anything.” It was true, he hadn’t. He couldn’t look at her as he’d said it.

“I wish you would, maybe then you’d put in a little effort.”

Effort? Effort was just standing around people. Effort was pretending you didn’t notice when people looked at your height and rolled their eyes, smirking. Effort was hearing warnings about not talking to you and not ripping into them there and then.

Crow put in enough effort.

“I don’t want to.” Was all he had said.

Ashfoot just sighed and that, strangely, was just enough for Crow’s teeth to start chattering in the summer air. “Fine. Then you’re on your own.”

She didn’t interfere much after that. Not even a question. Crow had made his point.

She must have been hiding her dismay at his attitude for a while, because every time he came home nowadays Ashfoot was practically jumping with questions.

“What was she wearing? Where’d you go? Did she notice your new haircut? Why don’t you invite her here once and a while?”

Crow held up his hands as if he was protecting himself. “Mom!” He tries to walk by her, but she pulls him down excitedly next to her on the couch. “Seriously! Calm down!” He pats himself over but he doesn’t stand back up. It wouldn’t do much; Ashfoot had a good grip.

“Come on! Tell me! Tell me!”

Crow can’t help but laugh. She looks so bright now. “Mom, we were just studying math. It wasn’t like we were seeing the Moonstone monument or anything.”

Ashfoot rolls her eyes knowingly, “Crow, it’s ten, and it’s a Friday night.” She squeezes his arm so he feels a sharp pinch. “I’m a teacher. You were not just studying."

“What can I say? You raised me right.” He wants to leave it there. The TV is on, some nature documentary plays, he fakes being interested in it to ignore her interest in him.

Her hand leaves his shoulder, she sits back, crosses her arms, her eyes go hard. “One. Two. Three-”

“Oh, really? You’re going to do the-”

“Four. Five-”

“Mom, I’m not some kid any-”

“Six. Seven. Don’t make me reach ten.”

“Honestly, we were just-”

“Eight. Nine-”

The panic from childhood authority betrays him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s begun to sweat. “Okay! Okay! Stars above, fine!” He ignores the expectant smirk and the satisfied tilt of her head. “We headed around Highstone Street for a little while. There’s some media store that she likes to check out there. Also,” He’s ashamed when he feels his ears go hot. “She wanted us to visit the museum. She said there was some cool new sports exhibit there.”

“Oh, yeah I heard of that!” Ashfoot perks up, “Was it good?”

Crow can’t lie. “They have Wind Runner’s track shoes from when she won the state finals!”

Ashfoot’s jaw drops, “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“What colour were they?”

Crow’s grin broadens. It’s amazing to share an interest with a parent. “White with black streaks with grey soles.”

Ashfoot is already on her phone, typing feverishly into notes. “Remind me tomorrow to set up a class trip.”

“Sure.” Crow knows he’ll be recording his mother as she drifts into a fangirl state at the sight of so much sports history. He also knows he’ll be grinning the whole time as his teammates try to configure that the hysterical middle-aged woman is in fact the teacher who could easily take the role of a military drill instructor if asked.

Ashfoot is still typing when she asks, “Did Squirrel enjoy it as well?”

Crow squeezes the sidearm of the couch absently. “I guess.” He shrugs.

“Try to be more convincing.” An octave drop is all it takes to go from cheery to sullen.

He sighs. She probably didn’t enjoy it that much. It was no secret that Squirrel was not a fan of sports. Crow would be surprised if she could even guess where the last Olympics were held. She showed up at his track races, but it was only because they were friends, if they weren’t she wouldn’t set a foot near the field.

“I don’t know.” Crow chuckles. “I don’t really think she enjoyed it, except when we checked out the boxing section.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No. After we saw half the exhibits, I asked her if she wanted to leave. She said no.” Actually, she’d told him to shut up and enjoy himself, and that she wasn’t paying ten dollars to not even see the whole exhibit. Crow kept his mouth shut after that.

Ashfoot sets her phone down, “Well then maybe she enjoyed it. It was her idea, right?”

Crow nods, but he doesn’t believe her words. He’s suddenly worrying: Did he make her go through an hour of boredom? Did she waste her money and time over him? Did she get in trouble with her parents for coming home late? He feels his pulse rocketing and he wets his lips. Should he call her to see if she was okay? Should he apologise for making her act like she was interested.?

“I hope she didn’t mind.” Is all he says.

Ashfoot’s face scrunches up, “Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t have suggested going if she hated it that much.” She must not like the look on her son’s face. Her arms cross as she leans back in her cushion. “Tell me, how many times have you gone to that media store with her?”

The question catches him off guard. He feels exposed somehow. He thinks for a moment, blowing out air. “Um, three or four times, I guess?” It’s probably more but admitting that feels embarrassing and like he’s backing into a corner.

His mother waves her hand, “And I know that you’re no Leonardo DiCaprio. Did you care when she took you there? Were you annoyed?”

He doesn’t respond. It seems he doesn’t need to as his mother raises an eyebrow. “There you go.” She says, a teacher’s declaration giving her sincere command, but with a lightness only Crow can find some kind of comfort from. “I’m sure she doesn’t care that much. It’s what friends do.” Crow blushes at how it seems his mother needs to explain what friends actually did. “You do things you’re both interested in. It’s not some kind of drama; don’t turn it into one.”

Crow can swear his home life is some kind of soft detention. He knows it’s the teacher in her voice that sounds so convincing. Maybe it’s also that what she’s saying makes sense. There really had been no indication that Squirrel hadn’t enjoyed herself, but there was equally nothing Crow could think of that gave the impression she had.

Maybe his mother was right, that she didn’t need to do either. Perhaps tolerating interests was part of the description.

But he didn’t want her to tolerate these things. He really wanted her to enjoy them. If she didn’t it felt like she was only tolerating him.

He’s silent for too long. He does that when he doesn’t have an answer.

“Oh my stars,” Ashfoot says, her chin digging into her knuckle, “Crow, what’s the worst that could happen? Do you really think she’s going to hate you because she allegedly didn’t like some museum? I haven’t even met her and I know she isn’t that shallow!”

Crow lifts his head an inch. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He hates it when people talk to him like he’s an idiot. He hates it more when he truly feels like one. “It isn’t that. I just want her to enjoy herself, that’s all.”

“Again, you’re just thinking that she didn’t.”

“Well, do you know any better?”

His jaw tightens with instant regret. When Ashfoot doesn’t even budge, he feels worse. If she wanted to, she could tear him apart with words. Many students could attest to that. She just sits, thin lipped, a knowing arch over one eye.

He hasn’t shown her any attitude like that for a while now.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise why he’s suddenly defensive.

“Sorry.” Crow mutters.

“God.” Ashfoot crosses her arms, “You do like her, don’t you?”

Crow stiffens up, his heart racing as he turns to his mother. She’s practically convulsing with laughter. The sight of his jaw hanging as well as his burning face must be a hell of a change. There’s no point denying it. He was an open letter to Ashfoot.

“Don’t look like that. You were only ever this happy to have company when Feather was around. And that wasn’t so hard to figure out either.”

A letter that had never been closed to begin with, it seemed.

Crow just resigns, a hand falling over his face while his mother continues to chuckle with a growing delight. “You’re really not helping.” He says grumpily.

“You’re not helping yourself, I think.” She says, remarkably even. “You’re worrying over nothing, I don’t need to say it again. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just ask her out?”

Now Crow is spluttering, choking, trying to function.

His mother continues to laugh.

“I can’t do that.” Is all he says once he’s managed to keep himself from throwing up.

“Why not? All she can do is say no.”

“Oh, that’s just great! Then we can just forget the whole thing, can’t we?” His voice is poisonous with sarcasm. Enough that his mother’s eyes narrow.

“Watch it.” She warns. “You’re not big enough yet that I can’t treat you like a kid.” Her hand smacks her thigh to prove her point. Crow growls but he sits away with a huff. It feels like he’s going through loops on a rollercoaster. He hadn’t even admitted to Feather that he liked her when he had, not even when he didn’t anymore. He’d wanted too, of course. But just thinking about it was enough of a turn off.

He had always counted himself lucky to even be Feather’s friend. The idea of pushing that luck was like betting your fortunes after winning the lottery. She couldn’t just say no in his eyes. Everything after that would be them forcing themselves to act like it had never happened, that he didn’t feel the way he did. Soon enough, it would be too much for one of them and she wouldn’t even be able to look at him without tensing and turning away.

Those thoughts were a constant thunderstorm. And he didn’t want to risk leaving the safety of his silence.

Those thoughts were no different with Squirrel.

“Look, it would just get in the way. I don’t want to make it awkward between us.”

Crow expects it when Ashfoot rolls her eyes. But it’s smooth and alert instead of tiring. She’s nodding to herself, grunting like she’s heard some old joke for the hundredth time. “Oh, don’t make me hear another story like that.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just what your father said.”

It’s like a wasp’s net has been thrown into the room. Crow can’t keep his mouth shut. He hardly ever hears his mother talk about his Dad. He never brought it up either. He’d always assumed Ashfoot wouldn’t want to talk about him. He couldn’t imagine anyone who wanted to be reminded of their dead husband.

Crow’s never been the one to bring him up either. No one really did unless they were talking about him in general. He was a local hero after all. It would be surprising if there was one person who didn’t know about the great runner who had dragged himself, baton in hand, in the State relay just so Tallstar could win it for the region. Doing that had been what caused his early retirement after all; Crow knew what it was like to run with a strained tenon, nevertheless a snapped one.

That permanent limp had been what gave him his nickname.

A nickname he’d worn like the armour of a local hero.

Crow’s classmates hadn’t even known he was Deadfoot’s son before they found out he was Ashfoot’s.

They never talked about him around Crow. No kid hated him enough to rub salt into that wound.

Truthfully, whenever Crow had heard his father’s name, it wasn’t upsetting for him. It was just… strange. He heard teachers and students praise his father’s name, talking about how loyal he was, about what he liked and what he didn’t, and Crow couldn’t even tell what was the truth and what was a mistake.

The crash had happened only a few months after Ashfoot had become pregnant. Crow had never gotten the chance to meet this ‘credit to the city’. To hear all these things, when Crow would not even know his dad’s eye colour without looking in a picture taken before he was born, it just made him feel odd. Not uncomfortable. Just odd.

He was happy his father was someone respected, and he wished he could have met him. But how could he miss someone he hadn’t even known?

Really, the fact he only heard about Deadfoot from all these stories was just another reason Crow pushed himself in track. It wasn’t that he wanted to make his dad’s memory proud or anything, he just felt like it was something he should do. Besides, he enjoyed running. Whether he was as good as the ghost of a name wasn’t really a major concern.

But he’d always felt it was different for his mother. She’d loved him. She’d lost him. She was the only one who really knew who he was behind the highlights.

Crow didn’t dare bring him up around her. Who’s to say his name wasn’t an atom bomb in her mind?

He made sure to never cross that line.

But she’s sprinted over it so effortlessly.

“W-What?”

Her head rests against the cushion, eyes soft and sweet on her son. “Me and your father had been friends for years, and it was clear as day that he liked me. I made it pretty clear I liked him too. But it took him nearly a whole decade before he even asked me on a date.” A glitter of amusement sparkles over her. “I’ve had students sweat less after doing a circuit ten times.”

Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s so used to only hearing his father associated with terms like ‘legend’ or ‘hero’ that the idea of him being nervous, of thinking of him with emotions, is like being dunked with cold water.

“I said yes, obviously, but I still grilled him on why it took him so damn long. He said that he was worried of ruining what we already had. I could have punched him. We’d liked each other for that long and he wasted time over something stupid like that.”

He searches her face for some kind of regret, but she’s smiling passively, as if recalling an old joke. There doesn’t even seem to be a trace of nostalgia there. Just clarity. Just life. Suddenly, he feels embarrassed again. He must be obvious as his mother places a hand on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you ask him out?” Crow wonders out loud.

She chuckles warmly, “I did.” She assures, “Multiple times.” She starts counting on her fingers, “Trips to the bar, circuit meet ups, late-night parties, even bloody walks on a night. I think I was clear enough, thank you very much!” Her voice is rough but still on the verge of laughter. “He was lucky I had the patience of a saint.”

For a moment, even Crow is pulled into how much of an idiot his father sounded like. With all the effort Ashfoot says she put in he can’t get how Deadfoot would ever let those chances slip.

Then he remembers who he is. And he knows how his father felt. He understands it all.

They are more alike than he thought. “It isn’t the same.” Crow turns away. “You knew you liked each other.”

“Not at the start.” Ashfoot says, “I had to let him know.”

“And what if I do?” Crow asks, his voice hardening, “If she says no I’ll just look like an idiot.”

Ashfoot doesn’t avert her gaze, her hand remains on his shoulder. Crow can’t help but feel soothed by the touch. “That’s like asking what’s the point of starting a race when there’s a chance you’ll lose.”

The need to laugh out loud overwhelms him. “Really?” He splutters, “That’s your analogy?”

“It’s right, isn’t it? You’re giving up before you even start. That’s the jist of it all!” Her words sink in because she knows what she’s talking about. “You’re worrying over all this stuff Crow, but the truth is that you don’t have a clue that you’re right or not. Squirrel isn’t the one presuming all these disasters Crow, it’s you.”

“So what do you think I should do then, since you’re the expert?” Crow exclaims, his hands folding behind his head as he rests back, trying to not notice her sudden glare.

“Oh no you don’t.” Ashfoot scolds, slapping him on the shoulder like she was swatting a fly. “You’re old enough to drive! You’re not having your mother sort your messes out for you!”

“Thanks for the help.” Crow mutters, glowering to hide his wounded pride.

“Look, whether or not you want her to be your girlfriend is your own issue, Crow.” She explains, her knees rising up to rest on the cushion beneath her. Her body rotates so she’s looking straight at him. When her eyes twist with what Crow recognises as disappointment, his glare cows. “But after all the time you’ve spent with her, if you still think she’ll just abandon you because she doesn’t share one of your interests, I have to say that I don’t think you respect her as much as she deserves.”

If it was anyone else, maybe Crow might have gotten angry. Stormed up demanding how they dare presume that about him. That they don’t know him and don’t have the right to say how he feels about his friends. Maybe he might have reiterated the ways he trusted Squirrel, the ways the did respect her. On a bright day, maybe he may have listed some of the reasons he liked her so much just to clarify how much he does care about her.

But it isn’t anyone else.

Ashfoot knows who he is. She’s a teacher, and a good one, and there are many reasons for that.

She’s also an incredible mother. Especially because she was the one person who can shut him up when he’s acting like a moron.

And he shuts up alright.

He trusts Squirrel, he does. But he understands what his mother really means.

“You don’t need to worry over every little thing, Crow.” Now Ashfoot is tender and Crow allows her to edge closer to him so she can pull him a little nearer. “People aren’t made of glass.”

Squirrel certainly wasn’t. Is she was made of anything it was gold.

He thinks of what Squirrel would think of him. Her reaction to him so hung up over the thought of her not liking something.

He knows she would laugh.

Not to be mean. But because how couldn’t she laugh at such stupidity?

Crow thinks of saying sorry, people have often said that only someone like Ashfoot could raise a kid like Crow, he can see how right they are. Then his shoulder touches his mother’s as her hand squeezes his arm. They sit on the same cushion and it sinks beneath their weight.

Crow is relieved that he doesn’t need to apologise to let his mother know he’s remorseful. She didn’t want to hear that. She just wanted him to listen because that would be the only way she could help him. And despite how many of his problems still exist, he does feel better.

Like a little kid, he feels braver.

He looks at his mother with a kind of wonder. “Is it alright if I invite her here tomorrow?”

Ashfoot gives his shoulder a squeeze, “You don’t need to ask. I’ll be out trying to sort out a trip to the museum anyway. So, she can stay as long as she wants to.”

“I hope she isn’t busy.”

The hand falls off his shoulder and she’s glaring at him again. He smirks, “I’m kidding. I don’t care.” He lies.

She huffs and turns off the TV. “You are so much like your father. He had that kind of way with words too.”

“Is that a good thing or not?” Crow asks as she’s nearly out the room.

She pauses, turns, and shrugs. “Context is key.” She says with a wry smile. “Get her text!” She barks like ordering him to do another lap. Then she’s gone and her steps echo up the stairs like a countdown for him to finally grow some balls.

He finds it surprisingly easy to pull out his phone, and even more surprising when she sends the first text.

Yo.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t anything to be proud of.

The response is almost immediate, the buzz of his phone makes the skin on his neck spark.

Lol Yo birdboy to what do I owe the pleasure?

She doesn’t sound busy. That makes him a little more calm. Crow takes in a deep breath and types, trying not to picture her sniggering at his messages.

You sound unhappy to hear from me lol Are you busy tomorrow?

It’s kind of a stupid question. Nobody is really busy on Saturdays. And the next exams weren’t for another few months. Crow grapples to think that it doesn’t matter. But what did he know? Maybe she had plans with family or with Leaf or with her film team or-

The phone buzzes again.

Apart from struggling being the best undiscovered Hollywood talent, not much. Why?

Another wave of relief. Now’s the time to ask.

Now is hard to comprehend.

He knows the longer he waits, the worse it will be. For a moment he questions why he likes this girl to the point that one of his hands is shaking at the thought of asking her to hang out. He sighs. Maybe he can blame his father for inheriting his lacklustre performance with girls.

And it’s that that makes him calm down a little.

Thinking he’s alike his father, the man he’s heard so many people call a legend, the man he’s found out shook like him for ten years over a girl who he knew liked him. He doesn’t sound like a hero, but maybe that’s Crow’s fault. After all, who’s to say a legend didn’t have their own fears.

And maybe Crow has his father’s fears.

But he can make it so he has his guts as well. If just for when it matters.

Sounds terrible You want to struggle with that over at my place?

It goes quickly after that.

Ohh has Xmas come early?! I was beginning to think you were some hypochondriac!

Ha-inserted sarcasm-ha

;3 Sure that sounds good I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my parents to drop me off tho

Why?

My dads got a meeting over here and my mom is taking Leaf to look round some uni’s

I can pick you up if you want?

Can I drive?

Not a chance in hell

Booooo You’re lucky I’m bored

Is that a yes?

10:30, you show up any later I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re a stalker

Lol noted, I’ll see you then

(not joking) you better, I wanna check out Casa de Crow for myself

Say those three words again and I’ll block you

Casa De Crow

Blocked

XD ttyl

Ttyl

It’s over after two minutes. Crow’s never held a smile for that long before.

…

He makes it five minutes early, but he waits a little just in case. He knows how close to time Squirrel is, she only gets ready for the time she’s set. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t entirely ready a minute early.

It’s a nice day thankfully, crisp and warm, the sun kisses the street in long yellow rays. Thankfully, he’s able to park his car across the street from her house. The red sandstone gleamed under the summer sky, making it look even better than when Crow first saw it. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, just a two-storey house. But there had been care put into it. Windowpanes painted a glistening white and a garden entranced with flowers Crow couldn’t recognise, it was the effort that made the imagination.

On the drive here, Crow would admit that his head had spun a little. The worst ever possibilities still made up his head like a hornet’s nest. But now he was here, their buzzing had stopped. It might have been the summer air, sleepy and gentle, reminding him of the other days like this where he had hung out with his friend.

He guessed that was it. This was just another day in the end. One that he was looking forward to seeing through.

He didn’t need to bring anything, but he still has his wallet in the glovebox. It was better to be prepared in case of anything. (more than likely the idea that Squirrel hadn’t gotten to breakfast yet) Maybe they could head into the city for a bit before heading over to his. He checked the glovebox again, glad to see it still rested there.

When it gets to 10:28, Crow feels its fair to knock on the door. He exits the car, walking into the mostly empty street, save for one arriving car that Crow stops to let drive past. He crosses, feeling a strange smile on his face as he walks up to the door. He wonders if he should drop her a text to let her know. He decides against it. Probably too weird.

He knocks on the door, gradual but clear and pulls out his phone as he waits. He quickly decides to put it away in case he looked rude if her dad answered the door.

He can’t hear anything, so he knocks again, just in case.

His phone vibrates. There’s a text.

I’ll be down in a minute, just getting some stuff together Hold your horses

The time on his phone is 10:29.

Once again, she’s down to her time. Crow shakes his head, chuckling.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, but it seems louder on the empty street. Crow raises a brow, turning. The guy stands a few feet away from him. His hands are buried in his brown bomber jacket, and he looks at Crow with a puzzled, but even, unaccusing expression. He’s at least a foot taller than Crow, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to look big. His chestnut hair is smooth and wavy, and the only aura of threat comes from the broad curve of his shoulders.

Apart from that though, he looks friendly.

Upon seeing Crow, his eyes flare with realisation and what looks like a relieved smile comes over him. “Oh! I remember you! You’re Squirrel’s friend, right?”

His voice isn’t demanding or hostile, just natural and bright.

Crow almost finds it odd himself that he hates the guy.

Then he remembers who he’s talking to.

He doesn’t wait for Crow to respond. He’s come forward, “You might not remember me. It was a while ago.” His hand extends out, eager to shake Crow’s. “I’m Bramble. What was your name?”

“I remember you.” Crow says levelly, restraining the urge to growl. He takes Bramble’s hand and tightly shakes it. “And it’s Crow.”

There’s a unnerved flash in Bramble’s eyes but he keeps his smile level. “You got quite a grip, Crow.” He pulls his hand away and Crow muses on whether he actually tried to hurt the guy. Bramble looks up at the house as the sun fades, lingering over the two of them. “You here to see Squirrel?”

“Yeah.” Crow can’t help himself. “Why?” There’s an edge to his voice.

Now Bramble looks taken aback. His smile thins as he laughs dryly. “Just asking really.”

Crow stares.

“So, how’s she doing anyway? I haven’t had the chance to talk to her recently.”

He says it so casually that Crow wants to knee him where it will hurt. Chances? That was rich. She’d given him chance after chance when he’d broke promise after promise, and he had the gall to act like it wasn’t something he could control. Crow would believe the bastard was taunting him if it wasn’t for that dumb smile.

Crow wants to tell him to mind his own business. He wants him to piss off.

But he wants this day to go smoothly.

He shrugs, “She’s fine.” And he leaves it at that, even as Bramble’s smile twitches, hoping for something else that Crow wouldn’t give him.

To anyone else Crow would probably look like a jerk. Being hostile to such an openly nice boy. But anyone else hadn’t heard how Bramble had betrayed Squirrel’s trust. They hadn’t seen how Squirrel was affected when the one guy she wanted there on the most important night of her life failed to even leave a shoeprint.

Crow doesn’t have the time to worry about idiot’s feelings. He knew enough to know on what side he stood.

The awkward second is enough for Bramble to reach for another chance. “Yeah.” He coughs. “Well, uh, I’m just here to meet with Firestar.” He waits for a response. Crow doesn’t care enough to give him one. As far as he was concerned, this guy didn’t deserve to even speak to him. The taller boy shuffles on his feet, coughing again. “I’m part of the student committee, you see, every now and then we need to meet with the teachers to discuss plans.” He waves his hand. “You know, upcoming events and all that stuff.”

“Really?”

Bramble looks delighted that he’s gained a response. “Yeah.”

“So did you work on the culture festival last term?” Crow throws out the hook.

Bramble’s eyes widen, electrified. “Of course! I mostly worked with setting up the venues on that one.”

Crow’s fist tightens. Why did he expect this idiot to know what he meant? It was clear he hadn’t thought once about what happened that night. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”

His hand goes to his neck as he laughs. “Yeah, you wouldn’t. I actually had plans that night so I couldn’t turn up.” He grins. “But maybe you went somewhere I helped plan? What did you do?”

There’s consideration for a second in whether Crow thinks he should let this go or not. He didn’t want to make some kind of scene after all. This wasn’t a day he could waste on some moron like this.

Still though.

He wants to see if he’s too thick to understand what he says next.

“I checked out the student films for most of the night.” Crow watches as Bramble’s face slackens. The grin fades to a dry, only a little upturned, line and there isn’t as much life in his eyes anymore. He’s got him. There’s the recognition Crow had to see. Crow cranes his head; he can’t help himself. “You help out there?”

“No.” Bramble says, his voice isn’t weak, but it isn’t strong. “That really wasn’t an area I was a part of.”

Crow could have scoffed. “I see.” He’s playing with fire now, he realises, but the urge is so strong. He’s made some point to the idiot. He couldn’t stop now. “You missed some good stuff. It was a great time.”

“I’ll let the girl who managed it know you had a good time.” The older boy’s voice is different now, like it’s been sharpened with flint. Is he angry? Crow can’t tell, but if the fool even lays a finger on him, Crow’s aiming for the nose.

The thought of Squirrel’s disappointed face that night is enough to tell him he isn’t stepping over a line.

Besides, the guy still hasn’t mentioned the obvious.

But he’ll have to face it now, as Crow can hear the clack of keys spinning in the lock.

The door bursts wide and she’s there. She looks as vibrant as ever. Short orange shirt, bright blue jean shorts, knee high boots, and strangely she’s still wearing her usual green winter jacket despite the strength of the sun.

But Crow doesn’t say anything. He’s just happy to see her. He thinks she looks happy to see him.

“Hey!” She pipes, she pulls her coat tight on her shoulders, springing out the door. She looks ready to burst past him to the car when she sees the other boy on her doorstep. Crow is both unsurprised and scared when he sees the frown take over her expression. She stops right in front of Crow, just catching her feet like she thinks she’d catch something if she took another step. “Oh. Hey.”

Bramble’s an idiot, but even he can catch the way her voice drops. He frowns too. “Hey.”

“I forgot Dad said you were coming over.” She turns away, whipping her hand back to her house. “He’s out in the back garden. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?” Her voice isn’t hostile, but it’s low in a way that Crow knows isn’t her.

“Nah, that’s fine.” He’s beginning to take in the whole scene. His face goes between the two in front of him, his face unreadable. “You guys off somewhere?”

“Nowhere special, really.” Squirrel says quickly. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him. “I was bored and I got an invite to hang out, not gonna let it slide.” She looks back at Crow, and something instantly looks brighter on her face. “You parked nearby, right? I cannot be bothered to walk a long way because of you.”

Crow chuckles, pointing to the other side of the street. “Your lucky day then?”

“See, you can use your brain when you want to!” The inflection in her voice is so sugary it’s contagious. It’s also isolating to a select few. “Well, onward then!” She pipes at him before striding forward. When she passes the hard-faced boy, she mutters, “Have a good time.”

There was no way he could miss any of this.

Crow is split.

One possibility is that he’s happy. Happy because the way she avoids him, the way she has made her problem with him clear, it could be a signal that she is truly over him. That maybe she could move on when she was ready.

But the other, is one that makes Crow tremble. The idea that she’s making a point. Because seeing how he looks when he’s ignored, it’s clear that she truly has Bramble’s attention now. And maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe Crow was just a way for her to get back at him.

That thought doesn’t last long.

They hung out before Crow even knew he existed, it would be like saying that their whole group was made just to spite the idiot. Squirrel isn’t like that. They’d become friends because it was what they wanted.

Crow has to trust her.

He’s ready to follow her when Bramble speaks up.

“Squirrel!” He calls, some kind of desperation in his voice.

Squirrel stops, and turns back, she looks annoyed. The street goes silent again. This time it doesn’t feel natural.

Bramble sighs, he looks wrung out and caught. He meets the fiery gaze with a low stare. “I get that you’re angry at me. And I get that I deserve it. I was an idiot, okay? I know how hard you worked on your film, and I did want to see it.” He looks down and up like he’s searching for a rope. “I didn’t mean to get side-tracked.”

Squirrel looks uncomfortable, like this is the last thing she wants to talk about. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does! I’m sorry, all right?”

Crow can’t deny that he’s a little impressed. The guy didn’t try to twist it and make out like he wasn’t to blame. He could admit that he messed up. He stays quiet as he waits for Squirrrel’s reaction. It was up to her to forgive him or not.

She ducks her head as she looks away, her fingers tap over her crossed arms.

Bramble repeats himself, “I really am sorry. And I still really want to see your project. Could I?”

Squirrel shrugs, “Sure. Dad burned out tons of copies for his friends. He was probably going to offer you one.”

That’s more than likely not the way Bramble wanted that to be answered. He doesn’t look relieved. He rubs his eyes with a tight breath. “Okay, great. But, um, I was also thinking, do you want me to help out with your studies again?”

Crow flinches. He doesn’t want to panic at that, but he does. Because he knows that Bramble isn’t a head of committee for nothing, he knows more than him, he could help Squirrel more than he can.

Squirrel shakes her head. “Nah. I’m doing okay now, thanks. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

There is deep relief in Crow’s gut. Not just that Squirrel preferred him, but that she didn’t mention he was the one who was helping her. He wasn’t some leverage she needed to get something over the guy.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble.” Bramble says dryly, his face twisting. “I’m not that busy or anything.”

“I said it’s fine.” And now Squirrel is bursting back to grab Crow’s arm. She gives him a sharp look. “Are you trying to look like some emo garden gnome, come on!” She exclaims, pulling Crow away from her house.

It’s only for a moment but Crow can see the look of bewilderment on the boy’s face as they stroll past. Like he can’t believe that he’s the one being dismissed. Crow isn’t sure how long he watches after them as Squirrel drags him to his car.

“Are we going to go or not? Open open open!” She chants. She doesn’t even glance back at her house.

Crow thinks this means he shouldn’t either. They get into the car, and Crow watches her shuffle around in the seat, pulling it forward and back deliriously as she tries to get comfy. “Heh! You must have used air spray in here just for me!” She jibes. She doesn’t look phased at all.

Still Crow can’t help but ask, “Are you alright?”

She inhales to say something that looks angry, then she closes her mouth, inhales again and beams at him. “Of course, I am! Don’t worry about him! I’ve got thicker skin than that, Crow!”

“That wasn’t really what I meant.”

Crow falls silent beside her. They don’t speak for a moment. Crow looks aside and sees her porch clear now. The front door closed.

Squirrel seizes the silence. “Crow, you don’t need to worry about me.” She says, her voice soft, but sparking. “I appreciate it but, honestly, I’m fine. Okay?” Her tone implies that she really wants to sweep this brief encounter under the rug. Crow wants to as well. He can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t though.

“Are you sure?” He says, just to be safe. He watches her face closely.

Her smile broadens, “I always am!” With that decided, she swings her hands behind her head and she meets Crow’s eyes. “Now can we get going! I’m want to see if it’s the lighting in your house that makes your hair so dark!”

He lets it go now.

Because there’s a safety in her eyes, a relief, a happiness that she can let the bullshit go here. A happiness to see him and be in his company.

The idea that she can enjoy herself with him.

Crow’s chest warms and he smiles back at her, his muscles finally relax for the first time that day. “Alright then.”

Squirrel beams, but before she can open her mouth to say something else, a deep rumbling fills the car.

Crow grins and Squirrel blushes when they recognise where it’s coming from.

“No breakfast, huh?” Crow teases. A punch lands on his arm.

“Shut up! I was in a hurry this morning!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

She only mutters an angry, embarrassed reply.

Crow shakes his head, but he’s happy that he didn’t take his wallet for nothing. “So… pancakes?”

Squirrel nods behind her blush. “Please.”

...

#squirrelcrow #squirrelflight #crowfeather #human warriors au #human warrior cats #Warrior Cats #warriors au

42 notes · View notes

rokutouxei · 4 years ago

Text

only this wonder remains

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark isaac newton/reader | gen | 2948 | [ao3]

or: the 5 times isaac tried to understand, and the one time he realized he didn’t have to.

for my beloved friend @pathofcomets!

happiest, happiest, happiest birthday to the absolute kindest and most loving and most encouraging person i have ever met in my entire life! i may or may not have reread your isaac fics a billion times to get him quite like you like, and if i missed, at least enjoy the fact that um, i’m having apples today in (the both of) your honor? te iubesc, mama: thank you for joining me in this stupid crazy journey that is 19th century france with vampires.

(one)

isaac newton likes things set into order.

math, math is great—math is numbers and patterns and those things make sense and the order is there. physics too: everything in the universe has a set structure, and it’s all just figuring out what that structure is and what it entails. isaac newton likes things in neat rows in color-coded, labeled, square boxes in his mind.

and that is everything you aren’t.

which is why isaac doesn’t quite understand how he’s fallen in love with you so fast. emotionally, yes, sure, emotions, are, he supposes, a thing, but rationally? he doesn’t understand it. where he likes predictability, you are anything but. you are new dishes being served during dinners. you are excited squealing as you’re reading a book. you are catching his hedgehog (very nervously) from its hiding nook, after it was chased by the exponentially larger dogs. you are songs he’s never heard, songs from centuries in the future. you are wide eyes and open arms and isaac doesn’t understand.

but he adores it.

appreciates it.

the day after you’d decided to stay in the mansion, and the door had stayed shut throughout the rest of the fateful, crescent-moon night, vincent takes home with him a basketful of apple strudels, gifted to him by the lovely baker downtown.

you aren’t able to get one before dinner, but just right around midnight, you remember they are there. with a sudden burst of excitement, you pull at isaac’s sleeve until he accompanies you downstairs. your eyes shine like crystals in the kitchen light as you bite into the sweet bread—and isaac… isaac doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that fills him at the sight of it.

you turn to him quickly, offering him a bite. “you like apples, don’t you?”

the sound of dazai’s and arthur’s voices compound in his head, every single apple joke thrown at his direction over the past what-feels-like-a-million-years echoing in the caverns of his skull, taunting him.

but he doesn’t mind.

he doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind being unfolded like this, but he doesn’t.

he takes a bite of the strudel and sighs at the sweetness.

“it’s delicious.”

(two)

he tries, he absolutely tries his damnedest to sound nonchalant, but he fails. rather miserably, too. he’s still standing at the doorway of your room, hesitating to enter even when you’d already opened the door for him.

“where are you going?”

you finish twirling a lock of hair into place, before turning away from the mirror and toward him. “ah, comte’s taking me out dress shopping.”

again, he hears you nearly say; but then why are you still going? “don’t you have enough clothes?”

securing your earrings into place, you sit up from your dresser chair to approach him. “‘the most important of the labours of a high society woman in this late 19th century,’” you begin, “‘is to look beautiful.’ … that’s what le comte always tells me.”

“labours that you already fulfil,” isaac notes. the sudden admission makes you flush, so you pull him by the wrist and guide him toward the bed. now seated next to each other, you entangle your fingers with his.

“we’ll be back before dusk,” you try to appease him. “i’ll ask comte if we can do a detour at that bakery with the strudels we like.”

for a moment, isaac is silent; his hand twitches in yours as he considers. of course, he knows that comte means no harm. if anything, the worst is that comte is quite overbearing with how gracious he is at times. there’s no reason to be feeling this way, to be even doubting, he just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with him to the university library—he has to pick up a book he forgot to borrow, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of a picnic while you’re already out in the city, that’s all, you can always do that some time else, and so why is he—

he groans. by jove, why is this so hard. he turns and presses his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck; the fabric of your dress is in the way of the thrum of your pulse, but not quite thick enough so he still feels your warmth.

you laugh like it tickles, and he’s about to straighten up when you take his face in your small hands, holding him at eye level to you, your gaze so beautifully clear and bright. it’s as if no matter how hard he tries, with you he is see-through.

“i’ll make it up to you,” you say, pressing a little kiss at the corner of his lip, “…tonight.”

all at once, he doesn’t understand why the sour, sour feeling in his chest suddenly tastes so sweet.

(three)

you were radiant.

that was, to say the least. isaac wasn’t knowledgeable about fashion, not a bit. sure, he can vaguely tell what an “average” outfit is (cue the several lengthy discussions to alleviate confusion when sebastian had kindly gifted you with a few items of clothing to wear around the mansion that were, say, anachronistic) but trends and styles are beyond him. to him, if the clothes can protect him from the elements, they are enough, and doing their job.

but seeing you out there in the ball room? made him realize that maybe… maybe that wasn’t the only point after all.

he’s wearing the most fashionable get-up for the night (because, alas, comte would not let a single one of his residents leave without the best of suits) and yet he feels so… underdressed, looking at you.

which is probably just about right, considering this is the party to celebrate your first year spent at the mansion.

(the first of many, he hopes.)

isaac returns to memorizing the details of your outfit. a beautiful silk gown in this sort of matte gold, embellished with swathes of intricate lace. the cut of the dress is made to accentuate your best features, and oh, the low scoop of the neckline, revealing your shoulders, emphasizing the milky skin beneath, maybe, a place to sink his teeth…

you’re off to a corner of the ballroom across him, engaged in discussion with mozart and theo while you’re holding a glass of alcohol. (he knows you enough to be nearly entirely sure it’s probably a non-alcoholic drink in your glass, just the right shade to seem like so.) mozart says something that makes you laugh, hand flying to your mouth.

(isaac seethes inwardly, wonders what the pianist could have said.)

theo makes eye contact with isaac across the room, and isaac quickly turns away from the man’s pointed smile. and because he does, he doesn’t get to prepare himself for when you inevitably approach him—having been goaded by theo—bumping isaac’s shoulders lightly.

he takes half a second to curse that wily little brother-obsessed man.

“won’t the great professor ayscough honor me with a dance?”

he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why allows this—for him to be tossed and turned in a surge of emotions and thoughts and things he really hadn’t bothered to consider in the past, for him to be oh so irrevocably twined around your finger.

“what makes you think you can do this to my poor heart?” he whispers, and your laugh—oh, your laugh, fills him to the very core.

(four)

a part of him curses napoleon for saying it; another part of him thanks him.

the three of you were on your way back to the mansion after an afternoon teaching the kids in the city at the usual spot when napoleon had—rather absentmindedly, almost as if off-handedly—mentioned that the kids seemed to be more… obedient when you were around. you’d raised an eyebrow at him, explaining that you’re actually rather, say, awkward with kids. napoleon had shrugged the comment off, going on a tangent that they seemed to be more likely to follow instructions when it was you who’d call them out, as compared to him and isaac.

and then, the heaviest words in the world.

“maybe it’s because you’re like a mother to them.”

it was too early. you and isaac had never thought of kids and—you’d never really thought of anything, rather. there was only the now, and isaac found himself rather enjoying the pace. should he have discussed this with you already? was this of utmost importance? what if you didn’t want kids with him? what if you did? what does it mean—to do that? what changes? what stays? what—

“pfft,” you chuckle. “that’s only because the two of you are more like cheeky older brothers than teachers, you brats.”

after the corresponding laughter, the conversation soon swerved to other things. but isaac couldn’t leave it at that. instead, it lingered and clawed at his brain for the following days to no end, always making its presence known at the back of his mind whenever he’s thought it’s past him. he hadn’t thought of bringing it up to you because, again, it seemed like you’d taken the entire thing in stride, as you always do, with the grace and wisdom of someone literally beyond his time…

but most importantly, because he didn’t feel like he was ready to hear the answer quite yet.

alas, the universe does not wait for one to be ready for things.

the next time the three of you are downtown, you’re humming as you produce a little jar full of homemade candy as a reward for the children’s hard work of studying. (isaac huffs a little; it’s just calculus, it’s not so bad.) the enthusiastic children rush toward you, and you gently get to their level, squatting down and handing them two candies each.

isaac… is stuck into place, watching intently as you greet each child; you know them by name, know their nicknames; you match the candy appropriately to their favorite flavors, pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, pinch their cheek gently. you compliment the little flowers the girl has put in her hair, enthuse about how the three rag-tag boys look stronger than ever.

and isaac—well, he doesn’t understand why he knows but he knows: this, this is what happiness is.

your smile, the star-like shimmer in your eyes, the sound of your laughter intermingling with those of the children the both of you (!) are raising to be dreamers and thinkers of the future.

isaac is helpless; no science can explain this; unable to do anything but allow you to knock him to his knees like a beam of sunlight shot through the prism of his heart.

flooding his world in a spectrum of colors.

(five)

on one night you don’t feel entirely upright, you confide your deepest fears to isaac. these were fears he’d thought were to be expected—fears that made sense—but he hadn’t realized were actually hiding in your shadows. worries and frets about the uprooting from home, the time and the place of your existence. the weight of the knowledge of what comes in the future, the foresight of it. the instability—the unsureness.

isaac does not know what to do with all this. he cradles every word in his hands, holds them so carefully like they will shatter, feels each shaky intake of your breath sink underneath his skin like some sort of warning, some sort of premonition.

of the one day you might have to let her go.

of the one day you might have to do the right thing.

of the one day it will hurt.

of the one day. and you will never understand why.

but isaac is no longer afraid of them.

(he doesn’t know why yet, but he will soon.)

instead, he holds you in his arms in the silver glow of the moonlight, until your shaking stops. until you feel gravity settle you back onto the bed, just like all that isaac had written of it. until you press your face into his chest and sigh deeply. until your exhales feel lighter, like you’ve expelled all the thick fog that rested between your bones.

and isaac… isaac doesn’t know if he should ask, if he has the right to ask, if asking will make a difference, but the part of him that constantly wants to be able to understand things makes him, so he asks—

“what made you stay?”

and the answer is so simple, it’s rather silly how he doesn’t understand.

“because i have you.”

(+ one)

long before he had met saint-germain and had hidden away in the count’s mansion for silence, isaac newton was, ultimately, just a mere human: one that tried to make sense of the world around him, set them into categories and definitions that were easy to understand, and thus use. but a human nonetheless. and hundreds of years back, long before the turn of the century in paris, france, in the arms of the only woman he feels like he has ever truly known to really love, there was a little fairy tale he believed in: one that they’d called the philosopher’s stone.

a stone of ridiculous, preposterous qualities. it could turn simple metals into gold and silver. it could heal all and any sort of illness. it could make someone live longer. it could turn crystals into precious stones. it could revive the dead. it could make you immortal.

just by its mere existence, it could give someone the power to turn one thing into something entirely different.

and now, with the scientific development of the late 19th century—and even further, far into the future where you’ve come (he’d asked)—there is still no philosopher’s stone. the facts are in: it is not real, and centuries spent attempting to create this enchanted thing have led to not a single step toward proving its existence. it’s a powerful thing that is too great, it just isn’t allowed to exist.

that was what isaac thought, except as of late.

because maybe… maybe the power is already in human hands.

after all, what else would have given you the ability to make him like this? how else to explain all the miracles you’ve done: to fill the parts of him that used to be hollow; to heal him of the wounds he’d been putting aside; to revive the portions of his heart that he thought—and he’d kept—long dead?

to turn him into gold?

it is morning now, just past sunrise of september 1st, and you’re lying next to him on his bed, still fast asleep. just the sound of your even breathing fills him with a breathless joy it makes him feel rather stupid. the sheer fabric of your nightgown is not enough to hide the pink, red parts where he’d kissed and marked you last night. he wants to run his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t, lest he wakes you up.

he’d pledged his humanity aside for silence, and a space to think, and oh, have you given it to him.

this is what peace feels like, he thinks.

gently, he takes out of its hiding spot a rectangular box. opens it and takes out its contents: a pair of earrings (which he’ll give you later), and a lovely golden necklace studded with pearls; little flowers and suns down to the middle, where a hefty ruby glimmers deep blood red.

just like a philosopher’s stone.

he tries not to wake you, when he strings his little gift around your neck, but the movements jostle you, and just as he clasps it closed at your nape, you wake.

you turn to face your lover with “good morning” halfway out your lips when you feel the cool of the necklace on your bare skin. you look down at the intricate piece of jewelry, the smile uncontrollable on your sweet, still sleep-hazy face.

“isaac—”

“la mulţi ani,” he says—or, well, tries to say, as his tongue curves awkwardly around the words. he does sound rather close though: he must have practiced, and practiced, and practiced.

“thank you,” you say, sitting up to face him properly. “it’s beautiful. i’ll treasure this.”

isaac’s brain is on high speed—i’m glad she liked it, i was worrying, what if she didn’t like the design, then what about the earrings, should i have given her a ring instead? no a ring is too early, this necklace is just right, also fashionable for the times. i asked comte about it—it was so damned embarrassing but i asked him, and—but he silences it, quiets it down by taking her hand in his, presses a kiss on the knuckles gently with his lips.

and, as he always has been, and always is, and always will be—he stumbles for words, clumsily trying to make sense of the thunder-lightning rumbling in his chest, how he’s supposed to say thank you for all that you have given him, all that you have made him.

so instead, he presses your hand against his warm cheek that is a fresh apple red.

“my favorite merișor,” you tease, brushing the stray hair off his face before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace. and, well, he’d wanted to ask what that meant, but he quickly realizes it doesn’t matter, as he tucks the unfamiliar syllables of your language in his heart.

it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand.

and maybe, just maybe, there are things that he never will really comprehend.

but it’s okay.

he can be that merișor.

as long as he is yours, he can be anything.

--------

[title came from could i love you any more by jason mraz & reneé dominique]

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp isaac newton #ikevamp isaac #ikevam isaac #ikevam isaac newton #uwus #only this wonder remains

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sparrow-flies-south · 5 years ago

Text

Ten Things [2]

Fandom: Sanders Sides Pairings: Anxceit, Royality Intrulogical Summary: Ten Things I Hate About You AU When Roman Prince learns that Patton Foster isn’t allowed to date until his older brother, Virgil, is, Roman is crushed. Roman’s twin brother Remus, however, comes up with a plan: find someone who is willing to date Virgil. And who better to ask than Janus Verona, who according to rumours is willing to do anything for the right price? Taglist (ask to be added!): @someone-idk-is-here

Notes: Been awhile, so have an extra long chapter to make up for it! I want to switch to updating every Saturday now this is my main project. I've switched to using Janus instead of Dee, so I edited the first chapter and summary to reflect that. There's no other differences to the first chapter. Also *pokes tags* there's intrulogical in this now.

AO3 Link - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Roman cleared his throat and looked over the ragtag group of students he’d gathered before him.

Luc Edwards, Scott Brown, Tyler Ellis, Pete Campbell and Alex Swift. Three of Virgil’s friends, and two boys Roman knew sat next to Virgil in class. He and Remus had spent all of Monday spying, making notes of who Virgil spoke to, who he sat by, who he ate lunch with. After much debating, and a fair dose of stalking on social media, the two had come up with a shortlist.

That morning, he and Remus had both ended up late to their first class because they’d been delivering notes to each of the five, telling them to meet in one of the maths classrooms that Roman knew would be empty at this time.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I brought you here today,” Roman began.

“Who are you?” Alex Swift, a gangly boy with greasy hair and acne covering his face asked.

“That not important,” Roman dismissed. “What is important is that one of you is going to take Virgil Foster out on a date.”

“Who?” asked Tyler Ellis, who Roman knew ate lunch with Virgil every day.

“That weird emo kid,” Scott Brown answered.

“Why do you want one us to date Virgil?” Alex asked.

“As a part of a scheme to allow me to date his brother,” Roman replied. “But that’s not important.”

“Question,” said Luc Edwards, who, unlike the others, was perched on a table. “What’s in it for us?”

“Uh, the joy of Virgil’s company?”

Luc snorted. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

Okay, Roman was beginning to hate everyone in the room. Weren’t they supposed to be Virgil’s friends?

“Quite sure,” he said through gritted teeth.

Luc shook his head. “He’s a freak. He never even speaks.”

“I heard him speak once,” Pete said timidly. “He asked how often the school tested the fire alarms.”

“Probably planning on burning the place down,” Scott muttered.

Roman stared at him. He knew that outsiders judged his friendships for the friendly insults he handed out like candy, but even he had limits, and talking about someone like that behind their back broke all of them. He was beginning to get the urge to defend Virgil’s honour.

“Do any of you actually like him?” Roman asked.

“He doesn’t speak,” Luc repeated. “We let him hang around with us because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Honestly, it’s kinda pathetic.”

Roman looked from person to person. None of them met their eyes.

Luc sighed. “Look, good luck with your search, but honestly? Don’t get your hope up.”

With that, Luc jumped down from the table and left the room. Roman looked at the four remaining boys, but his hope was dying. Luc had seemed to be the unofficial leader of Virgil’s group, commanding their attention. He’d been Roman’s favourite, though Remus had disagreed.

The other boys exchanged glances. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Sorry,” Pete said at last, “But he’s not my type.”

“He’s a loser.”

“Forget it.”

“I still don’t know who that is.”

One boy one, the boys left the classroom, until Roman was alone. He groaned, and thudded his head against the wall. So much for that idea. So much for Virgil’s shitty friends.

He sighed, and then went to find Remus.

***

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Logan said.

The two of them were sat at their favourite table in the library, hidden away among the stacks. In front of them was their homework, which Patton was currently face down on, bemoaning his current romantic status.

It had been the fifth time they’d had that conversation since Friday. Logan had kept track.

“Maybe,” Patton mumbled into the desk, which was an improvement on the last four conversations, when he hadn’t been willing to listen.

“It will give you more time to study,” Logan pointed out.

Patton lifted his head and pulled a face. “Okay, I get it.” He sat up fully and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate French.”

“Just be glad you didn’t take Spanish,” Logan said, drily.

Mischief suddenly danced in Patton’s eyes. “Oh? Why’s that, Lo?”

“Because-“ Logan stopped himself. “No. You are not going to distract me like that.”

“Like what?” asked a new voice, and Remus Prince slid into the third seat at the table.

Patton and Logan exchanged glances, and then looked back at Remus, who looked as if sitting with them was the most normal thing in the world, even though they’d never had a conversation together.

They knew who Remus was, of course, even outside of Patton’s crush on his brother. Everyone knew who Remus was. It had taken him less than a year at Padua High to reach a level of infamy most students could only aspire to. Patton still shuddered every time he saw a duck.

Remus looked between them. “Are you guys having a stroke?”

“No,” Logan said. “We’re merely… surprised you chose to sit with us.”

Remus shrugged. “Gotta keep an eye on who my brother’s dating,” he said, and grinned at Patton like a shark.

Patton swallowed. “Roman and I aren’t dating.”

“Right,” Remus said, and then muttered something that sounded like ‘yet’. “So,” he added cheerfully. “What are we talking about?”

“Spanish,” Patton said sweetly.

Logan glared at him. “No, we’re-.”

“Ugh,” Remus threw his head back. “Spanish is the worst. Mrs Richards has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “And her pronunciation-,”

“It’s awful!” Remus finished. “Like, has she ever seen a native speaker?”

Logan nodded, and then narrowed his eyes. “How would you know? Don’t you sleep through most Spanish classes?”

“Yeah, but it creeps into my dreams and gives me nightmares.”

“No, I mean- how do you how bad she is if you don’t pay attention to what she’s teaching.”

Remus looked at him like he was stupid. It was not a look Logan got very often. “I… speak Spanish?”

“You do?” Logan asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Remus said. “I grew up speaking it. You guys didn’t know that?”

“We don’t exactly know you,” Patton pointed out. “And you are taking it as a class.”

“Yeah, because it’s an easy A.”

“Of course,” Logan muttered.

Patton gasped and clapped his hands together, making the other two jump. He glanced around guiltily at the noise, but there was no one nearby to get annoyed.

“Remus, you speak Spanish!” Patton exclaimed.

“That’s… what we were just talking about?” Remus said.

Patton turned to Logan. “Remus can tutor you!”

“What?” Logan and Remus asked at the same time.

“Well, you’re always talking about how you wish you had someone to practise with! Here’s your chance.”

Logan and Remus looked at each other uncertainly.

“I don’t think Remus wants to do that,” Logan said.

“You don’t know what I want,” Remus protested.

Logan narrowed his eyes. Remus gave his biggest shit-eating grin.

“I wouldn’t want to presume-,”

“It’s not presuming if you just ask me.”

“I don’t have the money for a tutor.”

“I’ll do it out of the goodness of my heart!”

Logan and Remus stared at each other. Remus’s smile took on a slightly sinister nature.

“Unless,” Remus said, “There’s some reason you don’t want me to tutor you.”

It was a challenge and a game all wrapped into one. Remus was watching Logan carefully, waiting to see what he’d do, if he’d admit to not liking Remus or come up with an excuse.

Logan had never backed down from a challenge. Not when he was eleven, and his teacher had given him advanced work and not bothered to explain it because ‘other people need my time more’, which Logan had taken home and researched until he understood. Not when he was fourteen, and his teacher had asked if he’d like to teach the class instead, and Logan had snapped back ‘I’d probably do a better job than you’. Not when he was fifteen and the history teacher had dismissed his comments with ‘you don’t know more than the textbook’, so Logan had compiled a ten page list of sources that showed the textbook was wrong.

He certainly wasn’t going to back down when Remus Prince was staring at him with those infuriating brown eyes.

So he changed the game.

“In that case,” Logan said, forcing his face into a smile, “I accept your offer.”

Remus gaped at Logan, and Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to tutor me?”

Remus burst into laughter. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Patton, whose eyes had darted back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match, now smiled as if everything was fine. Remus suspected that Patton hadn’t understood what was happening. Logan knew better.

“What the hell are you doing in the library?” someone called, and the trio turned around.

Roman stood there with his arms crossed, looking exasperated at Remus. It was a common look on Roman’s face.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I not allowed to be a good student?”

“Not when it means I have to search the entire school looking for you!”

Patton cleared his throat. “Is… everything okay?”

Roman jerked when he noticed Patton sitting there. “Ah, Patton! Yes, everything’s fine, I just need to borrow my brother here.”

“Smooth,” Remus commented.

Roman’s only response was to grab Remus by the arm and pull him out of the chair.

“Ow! Hey! Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later, Nerdy Wolverine!”

The librarian glared at Roman dragged Remus past her desk. Roman gave an apologetic look. Remus grinned and blew a kiss.

“You’re not very subtle,” Remus pointed out when they were standing in the corridor outside.

“Shut up,” Roman snapped.

“Ooh, grumpy! So how did the meeting go?”

Remus began walking through the halls and Roman did too.

“How do you think?”

“I think Operation: Get Virgil Foster Laid has hit a wall.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face. “We are not calling it that.”

“But fear not!” Remus continued. “I have a solution.”

Roman narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What solution?”

“I’m so glad you asked! See, there was one big flaw with your plan-,”

“It was your plan!”

“-And that’s that you lacked incentive! No one’s going to do things for the goodness of their hearts!”

“So what do you suggest?” Roman asked.

“Use money! What else are you going to do with it- use it to pay for dates?”

“Okay,” Roman said. “Let me get this straight-,”

“Hah!”

“-You want me to pay someone to date Virgil Foster.”

“Not just anyone! It’s all about finding the right person.”

They had reached the cafeteria now. Remus pulled open the door with a flourish.

“Fortunately, I know exactly who that person is.”

Roman followed Remus’s gesture to a table near the back of the cafeteria, where a boy was sat wearing a black leather jacket over a yellow shirt. A hat hid most of his face, but Roman could just about make out a large burn scar from underneath his left eye to his jaw.

He sat alone, attention on the book in front of him. The crowd at the tables near him seemed electrified. Everyone was aware of his presence, but no one dared look over.

Roman shook his head. “Isn’t that Janus Verona?”

When Roman and Remus had first joined the story, Janus had become an urban legend in his absence. The boy with the strange name and scar on his face, which should have made him the perfect target for bullies, but instead he became something else. Everyone had a friend who’s sibling or cousin had messed with him, or who he just hadn’t liked, and had their lives ruined for it.

If you wanted dirt on someone, he probably already had it. If you wanted a fake ID, or alcohol, or tickets to a sold out concert, he could get it for you. He’d do anything you asked, if you had the money.

He hadn’t shown up what should have been his senior year because he was in prison for murder. Because he’d quit school and joined the mob. He was in prison, but it was extortion, not murder. The murder part was true, but he’d fled the country because of it.

Roman had wondered whether he’d even existed in the first place.

And then Janus had come back, and started his senior year one year late.

Janus had become ten times more powerful through not being there, and the school had its resident bogeyman back. Roman had seen him a handful of times in the halls, and had always kept his head down and stayed away.

Whatever the rumour were, Janus Verona was clearly trouble.

“It’s perfect,” Remus said, cutting off Roman’s thoughts. “We pay him, he takes Virgil out, you and Patton get to be together and I don’t have to listen to your whining.”

“It’s Janus Verona,” Roman hissed, because clearly Remus was not getting how insane that was.

“I know,” Remus said, starry eyed. “Isn’t he great?”

Roman did manage to resist the urge to scream, but it was a near thing.

“Look,” Remus said. “We tried it your way. It went down like the Hindenburg.”

“That doesn’t mean we should resort to hiring a criminal!”

“Got any better ideas? I’m all ears.”

Roman opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glared at Remus.

“Great!” Remus said, and dragged Roman over to Janus’s table.

Janus did not look up from his book as the two of them approached. They stood at in front of the table. Janus still didn’t look up. Roman glanced at Remus, who shrugged. He cleared his throat.

“Roman and Remus Prince,” Janus said, his eyes still on the book. “Why ever would two model citizens like you come to someone like me?”

Remus took this as an invitation to pull out a chair and throw himself into it. “I just want to say, I’m a big fan of your work.”

That was enough to get Janus to look up from his book. He had the same confused and mildly horrified look most people got upon meeting Remus. “…Thank you?”

Roman sat down. “Ignore my brother, he’s morally deficient.” Remus kicked him under the table. “We want to hire you.”

Janus hummed. “I charge extra if you want it to look like an accident.”

“What?” Roman exclaimed. “No! We don’t- are you offering to kill someone!?”

Janus met his eyes and raised an eyebrow for a moment, the most terrifying one of Roman’s life. Then he threw his head back with loud, cackling peals of laughter. Remus beamed.

“Oh,” Roman said, laughing nervously. “You were joking. You- you are joking, right?”

“Certainly,” Janus said. “You wouldn’t be able to afford my fee.”

“This is the greatest day of my life,” Remus whispered.

“So.” Janus leaned back in his chair, “What can I do for you? Don’t bother getting all embarrassed, I promise, I’ve heard it all before.”

Roman glanced at Remus, who nodded. “We’d like to hire you to date Virgil Foster,” he said.

“Okay,” Janus said after a moment’s silence. “I haven’t heard it all before. You do realise I’m not an escort, don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to have sex with him,” Roman cried, then ducked his head, blushing, when he realised everyone had probably heard that. “I just- look, I want to date Patton Foster, okay?”

“Whatever you’re about to tell me, I assure you I don’t care,” Janus drawled.

“So I asked Patton out, and he was like, ‘I’ll have to ask my dad’, but then his dad was like ‘not unless Virgil dates’, which apparently is impossible. So Remus and I came up with an idea-,”

“I came up with it,” Remus interrupted.

“So Remus came up with, and I improved upon, an idea: we find someone to date Virgil.”

“And how did that go?” Janus asked, looking mildly interested despite himself.

“Terrible,” Remus chimed in. “So we figured we’d ask you.”

Janus tilted his head, considering. “Alright,” he said at last.

“Seriously?”

Janus smiled, and spread his gloved handswide. “Who am I to get in the way of true love?”

“Well, great.” Roman was suddenly transported to a reality where Remus’s plans worked. It was not a pleasant experience. “Uh, so how’s ten dollars sound?”

Janus gasped, and placed a hand on his heart. “Roman. Are you suggested that I take a fine young man like Virgil on a date that’s worth ten dollars?”

Roman gritted his teeth. “Well, what do you want?”

“Well, let’s see,” Janus mused. “Say we go to the cinema. The tickets cost, what, fifteen dollars? And then, of course, I’ll be buying him popcorn. And then there’s the price of gas…”

“How much?”

Janus smiled. “Let’s say $75.”

Roman balked. “No way.”

Janus shrugged. “All right then. Plenty of fish in the sea, after all.”

He turned his attention back to his book, though Roman got the sense he was still watching them.

“Roman,” Remus hissed.

Roman glared. “I can’t afford seventy five dollars a date.”

“It only needs to be a couple of times,” Remus pointed out.

Roman groaned. “Fine,” he spat, and Janus looked up from his book and smiled. “But I don’t pay you until after the date.”

“Half up front, half after,” Janus said. “Otherwise there’s no deal.”

Roman considered. He didn’t seem to have much of a choice. “I’ll pay the first half once Virgil agrees to it.”

Janus nodded. “Deal.” He reached out a hand, and Roman shook it. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Prince. Now, if you excuse me, it appears I have a boy to seduce.”

Janus pushed away from the table, picked up his book – Kant, something he’d read before but which gave him the opportunity to watch the cafeteria without anyone noticing - and swept out of the room.

People scurried out of his way as he walked through the hallways, but their whispers and dirty looks trailed after him. He was not well liked in this school, and he knew it – had known for a long time that he would never be liked, and so he had become something else.

Janus Verona did not need to be liked to be powerful.

He arrived at his destination- a corridor that contained only a set of toilets, a supply closet, and a side door that led to a set of steps down to the parking lot, hidden behind rows of cars. For years, it had made the best spot for smoking without getting caught.

Virgil Foster did not smoke, but he did hang around with people who did.

Janus leaned against the wall of the corridor and opened his book again, pretending to read but really watching Virgil through the window in the door. He was sat on the top step with his head phones on, but he was watching the other boys, even though presumably he couldn’t hear the conversation. At the bottom of the steps Luc Edwards stood, waving his eyes as he spoke. The other boys alternated between listening to him and paying him no attention.

The group was a scattering of losers and outcasts, the kind that banded together not through any shared friendship, or even through liking each other. They were there because there was safety in numbers and nowhere else to go.

In another life, Janus might have been one of them, keeping his head turned away so no one saw his scar.

In this life, the bell rang, and the group outside got up, and started heading to class. Most of them barely glanced at Janus as they passed, safe in being too low in the hierarchy to be bothered. Luc Edwards shoulder checked him as he walked past.

Janus narrowed his eyes at Luc, but before he could do anything, Virgil came inside, his head down, hood pulled up. Janus pushed off the wall, and fell into step with him. Virgil glanced over at the movement in the corner of his eye, then did a double take when he realised who was next to him.

“What?” Virgil asked gruffly, pushing one headphone away from his ear.

“Janus Verona,” he introduced, holding out one hand. Virgil looked at it suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

“We have English together,” Janus explained. “Why not walk together?”

Virgil shook his head. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” Janus asked.

“I can think of a few,” Virgil snapped, and sped up.

Truly, it was shocking that Roman and Remus had been so unsuccessful.

Virgil was already in his seat by the time Janus entered the classroom. He didn’t look up as Janus sat down, didn’t even glance in his direction, which meant he was putting in the effort to seem as uninviting as possible.

The teacher- Mr Williams- began his lesson as the last stragglers had taken their seats, introducing the Shakespeare module they were about to begin and handing out copies of The Taming of The Shrew. Janus payed attention only enough to know what was happening. Nothing interesting would be in this lesson, and he wanted a chance to review what he already knew about Virgil.

He’d never had much to do with Virgil, before. Virgil had been in the year below, and even if their paths had crossed, Janus had never had much reason to pay attention to the emo boy at the back of the class.

He knew that Virgil had a younger brother, Patton, and that their parents were divorced. He knew that, if Luc Edwards was anything to go by, he had terrible taste in friends.

He was also, Janus noticed when he snuck glances at Virgil, not bad looking.

“Before we get started,” Mr Williams said, “Why doesn’t everyone share their thoughts on Shakespeare’s works?”

Janus rolled his eyes at the pointless attempt to make the lesson interactive.

Mr Williams made a show of scanning the class. “Virgil Foster,” he said, announcing both names as if there was another Virgil in the school, let alone the class. “What are your thoughts?”

And that was one other thing Janus knew about Virgil: Mr Williams hated him.

Janus didn’t know whether Mr Williams had convinced himself that he was helping to bring a shy boy out of his shell, or if he admitted that he just wanted to torment someone and went for the weakest option. Janus hoped it was the latter, because it would take a lot of denial to believe that calling on him every lesson was a good thing. Either Virgil would stammer out an answer, face pale and voice shaky, or he would say nothing, and Mr Williams would tell him to pay more attention and threaten him with detention.

It made Janus’s fists clench, that a man would go through such efforts to feel like he had power over someone he already had power over.

Still, it gave Janus a chance to look at Virgil, shoulders hunched and head down.

“He’s fine,” Virgil muttered.

“Fine?” Mr Williams echoed. “William Shakespeare, the greatest poet in the English language, is fine.” A smattering of giggles, not because Mr Williams was right, but because there was someone for the class to laugh at. Virgil’s shoulders tightened. “I’m sure you can come up with something better than that.”

Virgil said nothing.

Mr Williams sighed dramatically. “We don’t have all day,” he said. “Really, you must have some original thoughts in that head.”

Virgil lifted his head, glaring fire at the teacher. “I think people should stop putting him on a pedestal,” he said. His voice was shaking but the foundation was steel. “I think there are a lot of aspects of his works that people don’t talk about.”

“Care to give an example?” Mr Williams asked.

Virgil tapped the book in front of him. “Guy abuses his wife for the whole play and he’s supposed to be the hero?”

Mr Williams hummed. “Thank you for your feedback, Virgil. I’m sure Shakespeare would be devastated to know you don’t approve of the play he wrote in the sixteenth century.”

Laughter from the class. Virgil flushed and ducked his head, shoulders tense, fists clenched.

It was obvious Virgil hated Mr Williams, but he had never done anything about it before. Somehow, the boy in the back of the class had managed to surprise Janus Verona.

Virgil stayed with his head down until the bell rang, when he was the first to dash out of the classroom, stuffing his books back into his bag as he went. Janus didn’t bother trying to catch up.

He sent a text to Roman as he walked through the halls, asking for more information on Virgil. The first response came back almost instantly, asking how Janus had his number. He ignored it, and pulled up Google while he waited for Roman to get back with something useful. Excitement rushed through him as he typed, the kind that always came in these early stages of a plan.

Virgil was more than he seemed, which meant that this was going to be interesting.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #anxceit #royality #intrulogical #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #my fic #ten things

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parkeraul · 5 years ago

Photo

→ boyfriend • 1 | t.h. & s.m.

prologue | part 1

author’s note — hello, girlfriends. first of all, i really wanna apologise for the lack of writings lately & for this shitty moodboard. plus, i wanna give the hugest shoutout to @itrocksmysocks who’s been sending me pictures and stuff to help me get inspiration to write this series [thank u so much, latina neighbour!]. for now, i’m gonna update this series once in a week, then the next i’m gonna reserve the next one to write, then update on the following week and it’ll go on and on. enjoy!

pairing: tom holland x shawn mendes x reader college!tom | college!shawn

masterlist ┊add yourself to my taglists ┊give me feedbacks.

words — 3,4k; warnings — flirting, cursing, mentions of alcoholic drinks.

“People on the very back: Listen!” Mrs. Edwards shouts, banging against the board twice with her pen. “This graphic is very simple, okay? If you keep on talking and talking, it’ll become your worst nightmare and there will be no help during the final test.”

The white board had been completely taken over by lists of informations, numbers, theories and graphics in at least 3 different colours. It’s been an hour or almost two since she started crossing the entire board with red, green, blue & black and Tom feels amazed by how well she manages to understand the entire system she’s been writing for so many time. As a class he signed for just to have some more complementary hours, he can straight tell you he’s not exactly caring about it that much. It’s way too fast and too mathematic for his mind.

All the people sitting around him in the classroom are already letting the tiredness consume them. Some are sighing and dropping their pencils; some are rubbing their faces repeatedly; some others are actually paying attention and probably trying hard not to freak out. Considering the white walls with white tables and chairs, if no one said that this is a math class, people would probably walk in and think it’s a sanatorium. All faces exhausted and it’s clear to see that at least 90% of the class can’t wait for the summer break to rescue them all — the 10% left is filled with the boys that have been sleeping for the past 30 minutes.

“Next class we’ll get back to the basic analysis to freshen up a bit, I recommend you to bring one or two books to do some research as well—“

“Hey, dude,” Jacob whispers close to Tom, sitting on the chair in front of him as he turns his head — far enough to see Tom leaning in through his peripheral, but not far enough to lose sight of Mrs. Edwards giving further endorsements. “Match tomorrow at 5?” “Sure,” Tom agrees, keeping his ‘attentive’ on the teacher in front of the class. “Have you guys picked the entire team already?” He says nonchalantly. It’s typical: In Fridays, after everyone’s last class, friendly football match with the boys from the athletic team of the Empshire University.

“Ian, Ryan, Heather and Matthew: You guys cannot miss the next class at all. You guys have been bailing for a long time and one more skip it’s deadline for the four of you—“

“Same thing,” Jacob says and Tom starts to close his books, pulling his backpack up to tuck them inside of it haphazardly. “But we’ll add John Mayer to it because Kevin’s not coming.” “You don’t have to say John Mayer, his gang’s not here,” They both look around the classroom, failing at being discreet as they search for any friends of… Well… ’John Mayer’. Tom zips his bag close and Jacob turns around to do the same while everyone else’s already prompting themselves up to leave. “And you better put him in the defenders, far away from the frontline.” “I knew you’d say this!” They laugh under their breaths, also getting up to finally inspire some fresh air outside.

“See you next Thursday.” Mrs. Edwards says almost quietly, arranging her stuff while the room starts to get empty.

The corridor had never felt this comfy before. It’s crowded and a little bit loud but a lot better than Classroom number 9. As students from all courses starts talking to each other, Tom takes a look across the wall and spots new posters.

This wall is known as The Great Wall of Empshire —or Wall–E for the intimates. The Wall–E is a large blue wall that stands out from the regular white & grey ones of the building. Also, is where students pin folders and posters to warn the whole college about whatever seems to be relevant. It mostly holds notices of people looking for roommates, lost & found stuff, a special space painted in red for teacher’s announcements and messages from the secretariat of the university. As the results of the finals and classes stuff starts to fade away, the posters to summer parties slowly take over the big blue rectangle in the exact middle of the corridor to one of the two buildings that build the Empshire University.

Coming closer, Tom watches Missy climbing tiny–trembling stairs to glue a folder about Musical Theatre auditions. She’s sure struggling and, although he feels bad, he laughs in anyways as low as he can. Obviously, he doesn’t come out as subtle as he planned and gets a very–stressed Missy Langford slicing his entire being in two with the mad look in her blue eyes.

“You’re being very helpful by laughing,” She huffs, tapping the big poster repetitively to make sure it won’t fall for the next week. “Asshole.” “Oh, Miss, come on,” He teases, smirking like the asshole she just called him. “I thought we were over that part. Asshole! – Idiot! – Douche! Get outta here! You know? Last summer’s business, love,” Tom brings up a memory they both shared some time ago, knowing how pissed she’d get with the dialogue all over Tom’s charming accent in a playful tone, which sure has nothing to do with the atmosphere of the moment itself. “I swear to God that if this thing was any stronger, I’d jump onto your face right now.” After rolling her eyes, Missy spits at Tom and sees his smile widening stupidly. “Anyways,” Crossing arms, Tom steps closer to the Wall–E and leans against a blank space. “What’s that?” “We’re doing Hairspray,” She answers flatly. “Not that you’re allowed to subscribe, of course.” “Who said?” Tom frowns and squeaks way louder than usual. What now? Is she going to forbid him to audition to an open–invitation? “Jesus.” Tom’s jaw falls dramatically, “Oh! Swearing to God… Talking to Jesus, apparently,” He quirks an eyebrow, faking surprise. “Didn’t know you had friends outside college.” “Will you shut the fuck up and help me get down?” Missy gives the poster one last strong tap — probably thinking about slapping Tom’s face instead — and stretches an arm towards him. “Not that you deserve it, but–“

Tom goes silent at the moment he gets his back off the wall to help Missy, noticing Jacob coming closer suddenly with someone else.

“Is it here?” The person with Jacob asks, holding a big orange poster. “Yep,” He confirms. “We call it Wall–E!” The answer to his information is just a laughter that makes Tom immediately forget about giving Missy a hand, bringing him to step closer to the conversation. “Hey man, where were you?” At the moment Tom asks, Jacob instantly gets what he’s trying to do. Not that Tom wasn’t kinda nosy sometimes, but they’ve been hanging out enough for his moves to look predictable. Way too predictable. Jacob says nothing, only squints his eyes and the silence suiting the four of them is slightly uncomfortable. “Uhm… I asked him for help as he was waiting for people to open some space so we… Could… Walk until here.” The voice is hesitant and sweet, although, while Missy eyes the person — The person looks at Tom, then looks down — Tom looks back & Jacob watches Tom prepare a whole scene inside his mind. “There’s some tape upon that tiny cabinet that you can use,” Jacob points to the front, past Tom and Missy Langford, “And if you can put it wherever you want as long as it’s in the blue area.” “Thank you so much! I’ll help myself with anything, don’t wanna take more of your time.” “No worries,” Giving a smile, Jacob walks to the side and then to Tom, offering his hand to a high–five. “I think you’ll be okay.”

As he feels the deep gaze of his friend as he passes by, Tom understands the second intentions of the phrase as if Jacob had just said “very smooth, my friend, shoot your shot” and left. It’s not that Tom Holland is a complete womanizer — the term Prince Charming fits him better, he says —but everyone who knows him decently is aware of the fact that he has no time for bullshit. No ceremony, no playing around. If Tom Holland likes someone, he’ll sure let this person know and try a move. If it goes right then awesome! And if it goes wrong he won’t go bitter about it longer than two or three seconds. He’ll eventually forget even though he doesn’t want to.

The british boy watches another struggle. Tiptoeing, the other person lifts the poster to see if it’ll fit in the only larger space left on The Great Wall as Missy climbs down the stairs by herself, analyzing the entire scene with squinted eyes.

“Here, luv,” Tom gently moves closer and takes the poster in his hands. He tiptoes as well and reaches the blank spot easier. “I think it’ll fit, don’t ya?” “It sure will!” The answer comes out in a chuckle. “I don’t believe we met, actually,” With feet back on the floor, he holds the banner while he looks directly to the owner. There’s this stupid beautiful smile adorning his face kind of shyly, but surely threatening to widen more as his fingers run through his brown hair. “I’m sorry. I’m Y/N,” She says, smiling back at him and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and Tom notices the delicate pair of earrings shining through the locks. “Beautiful! Beautiful name,” His brows frown quickly, listening to her voice like his favourite band’s singing his favourite song of all time. His mouth wants to say ‘beautiful face too’ with ‘beautiful lips’ and a ‘beautiful eyes’, but his brain works harder to keep his dignity safe somehow. “And your name is?” Suddenly, his throat goes dry. He tries to clear it, eyes blinking rapidly and he stretches an arm to find support on the wall. The jeans on his legs goes tighter, the white t-shirt for summer weather feels hotter than a thousand coats and the backpack on his shoulder heavens like he’s carrying a bag filled with rocks. What the heck? “My name?” “No, idiot,” Missy says behind Tom. “My name.” Rolling eyes, Tom slightly turns around and clenches his jaw, looking at Missy Langford’s sarcastic face with everything but appreciation. “Will you shut the fuck up?” He mumbles through gritted teeth. “I’m tryna get lucky in here,” And this time who rolls eyes is Missy, fixing her yellow shirt and putting it back inside her blue jeans. “I’m Thomas, darlin’. You can call me Tom.”

Or future ex–boyfriend, Missy thinks to herself feeling a tiny bit of heartache annoying her chest. It’s been around four months since she argued with Tom, which led to their break–up. Well, Missy calls it a break–up. For Tom, nothing’s been broken up because what they had was just a thing, a sudden meeting of feverish hormones boiling through their bodies. No one ever kneeled down and asked gently, no one ever posted pictures online or introduced the other to their parents. He notices the way she’s still bitter about it, but after a thousand conversations and discussions, Tom had just decided to let her be until the ache goes away eventually, since his words were apparently not helping at all.

“Tom,” Y/N confirms, nodding along and looking at him. He reacts with a smile, coffee eyes drinking her in. “Thank you, Tom! I should probably go find that cabinet where the tape might be at—“ “I’ll show you!” Tom interrupts, prompting up his body and fixing his shirt. “By the way, what are you announcing? Do you need a place to stay or share?” “Oh, no! Not at all,” Y/N warns as soon as she drinks in the way Tom’s tone of voice fell worried. The boy looks down at the poster, trying to find the main information of the paper. “It’s just a party. You’re both invited, actually! It’s gonna be at my place… Tomorrow afternoon.”

Tom says nothing, just removes his eyes from the folder to look at Y/N’s charming smile. He didn’t need any more reasons to say something rather than yes — the other words slipping out of her mouth were soundless to him, his eyes were too hypnotized by the way her lips were moving; hypnotized in a way his ears stopped working for a moment but his head managed to nod along to whatever she proposed. Yes, yes and yes. A thousand times yes to whatever she just proposed.

“Well, I’ll find the tape to hang it on,” She comments, eyeing the couple as her feet start to plan their way to the middle of the corridor. “I hope you can make it.”

Her sweet smile makes it hard for Tom to think twice — not that he even considered doing this, but it’s new to him how the entire surrounding seems to slow down the pace and noise when Y/N simply breathes and smiles sweetly. This is not right, not one bit, he thinks. His heart never raced this fast before; his mouth never craved other lips as it’s doing at the moment but one thing is certain: this party’s going to ease down his thirst one way or another. Tom only realizes that Y/N went away when the frame in front of him becomes Missy. She’s got a smirk on her face and two of her fingers travel across his collarbone, right next to where his white shirt ends. She feels the warmth of his chest increasing underneath the pad of her index and middle fingers, eyes traveling across his softened expression.

“Pick me up at 2 o’clock tomorrow?” She asks rhetorically, melting slightly when he takes her hand to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

By the hand, he drags her body closer so he can murmur next to her ear the same word he’s been saying repeatedly for these past months.

“No.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you were going to ditch us for that party tomorrow, you bitch!”

Shawn rolls his eyes, smiling widely as he manages to carry his backpack, water bottle and guitar case towards his car. Brian, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like smiling back.

“Answer me!”

“Dude?!” Shawn stops, putting down his case to grab the keys inside his pocket. “It’s just a football match, we do this every fucking week.”

“Exactly! We do this every fucking week—“

“Man, Y/N’s gonna be there,” He smiles again, pressing the button to unlock the doors. “You know how much I’ve been waiting for this day to come over.”

“Wasn’t she in London?” The redhead asks, walking beside his best friend as he bends down to get the guitar case once again.

Things are heavy in Shawn’s hands and back, but the thought of finally seeing Y/N again after a semester of torture shots a wave of numbness through his nerves. The blue shirt feels hotter and the black jeans are surely tighter, but the way his heart floats around his chest makes him feel light like a feather.

He misses her.

Misses her smile, her eyes, the sound of her voice and her laugh when he first talked about his feelings for her. Shawn noticed that she didn’t believe him at all, but that impression didn’t last long in his mind — the way Y/N got close to his lips to mumble sweet nothings had sent him to cloud 9. Then his trip flew down to hell just as quickly when she pulled away to walk past the door, leaving Shawn’s pout kissing the air and the side of his bed empty. Next thing he knew, Y/N was on a plane ready to spend half of the year exploring the british airs of South West London. The song he wrote about her ended up staying inside of his second drawer, but the long-sleeved jersey of his favourite Hockey team went away with her — making Shawn’s hand itch to find home on that body, taking back what’s his and what he wants to be his.

“Exactly,” He imitates Brian’s words. “Was.”

Brian says nothing, feeling defeated. His brows only lift while his eyes close, knowing that he can’t fight Shawn when he’s like this. Obsessed.

“You should come too,” He invites, putting the tip of his bottle inside his mouth to hold it while he pushes the door open. “Heard–Djulia–iths–gonha–be–ther’.”

His guitar case flies to the backseat along with his backpack, Shawn stepping to the side so Brian can tuck his stuff into the car too.

“I have no fucking idea of what you just said,” Brian tosses his bag while pointing one finger to Shawn. “But I’m not leaving my mates behind because of some girl.”

This time, the one to lift eyebrows is Shawn. His gaze narrows Brian as he hangs the driver’s door open.

“First, you know she’s not some girl,” He corrects. “Second, Julia is gonna be there. It’s a pool party, dumbass.”

While Brian walks to the passenger’s door, it’s like magic. Julia is out there, walking–dancing outside the campus with her friends around her, singing whatever song that was. His blue eyes can’t drift away from her until she’s disappearing behind the cars parked.

“Pool party?” He asks distractedly. “See, that’s the part I hadn’t understood before. I mean, I love football but you know I never say no to a party.”

Message from +44 20…: Hi!! You left before I could even ask for your number…

Y/N gets out of the shower to immediately find her phone buzzing and ringing. The screen doesn’t show the entire text, but she doesn’t need to think that much to figure it out. Opening the app, she finds a second message popping up right after.

+44 20…: I got it from the party poster, I hope you don’t mind

Her bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth, a stupid smiling drawing her face as the profile photo loads. There he is. Messy damp curls atop of a babyface, glasses in front of those chocolate eyes and bare chest. Whew. Typing, feeling like a teenager as her stomach gets butterflies, she can notice the way her breathing goes unpatterned.

You: hey, london boy. there’s no problem! i’m glad you did 😇

It’s fun to Y/N how the text got instantly seen, the ‘typing…’ showing up below the new saved contact’s name in seconds.

Tom (Empshire): 👀👀👀 Hahaha That’s good to know. I’m really looking forward to your party tomorrow

You: you’re gonna make it? that’s perfect 💓

Tom (Empshire): Of course I am! Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling

Unconsciously, Y/N’s legs clench together just to the imagination of his accent speaking these words loud and clear to her. Even with the dripping hair and body wrapped by just a towel, she jumps on her bed before she falls to the floor.

Tom (Empshire): Do I need to bring something?? Like beers and stuff

You: not really. unless u wanna drink something specific but as long as you’re here… just don’t forget your suit, darling 😛

If she only knew that Tom was exactly how she was picturing… Bare chest, wearing glasses, damp hair and thrown onto the sofa with a boyish grin. Tom honestly couldn’t think about smooth ways to flirt with her, he felt too intimidated — almost like Tom wasn’t Tom. Who would’ve guessed that Tom Holland could watch his moves to talk with a girl?

Tom (Empshire): I won’t haha

Then he couldn’t resist.

Tom (Empshire): Anyways, can’t wait to see you again… It was lovely to meet you earlier today. Good night, pretty one!

With burning cheeks and racing heart, Y/N twists in bed as she holds her phone for dear life. Coming back to the Empshire University fell flat at first, but with the taste of London still stuck in her life somehow, this looks as interesting as being in the United Kingdom itself — with a summertime way more catching than the winter. Her limbs couldn’t stop pulsing and the anticipation ran along her most sensitive spots mercilessly, making her thighs tighten even harder with a big smile tilting up the corners of her swollen lips from all the biting.

You: good night, t. can’t way to see you too. it’ll be awesome.

taglist of girlfriends: @lostinspidey – @goldenmndes – @shawnsunflower – @jawnjendes – @itrocksmysocks – @emilyxkate – @tell-me-when-ur-ready – @particularnervous – @grayxzabdixfer – @shawnssongs – @arypesanchez – @shawnmendes-s – @shawnsheaven – @mylifeisafxingmess – @perfectywrong – @whysparker – @blairscott

tagging mutuals [if you wanna be untagged, please sorry in advance & let me know]: @mcuspidey – @devilmendes – @snowflakeparker – @strangertingle – @honeyrosemuffins.

#tom holland #shawn mendes #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #mine #ficsofmine #series

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swimmingnewsie · 5 years ago

Text

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 2)

I’m glad to see everyone enjoyed the first chapter! I’m having a lot of fun writing this AU, getting to explore these characters in a new way. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it.

Enjoy!

Link to Chapter 1 Link to AO3

—

When Elsa was working, she could ignore many things. She had missed many a visitor because she was focused so intently on a research article. Many phone calls and texts went unanswered in the swarm of working on her dissertation. Anna had always told her she was jealous of her focus, but in reality it was easy to get swept up in it all. If she was working, she wasn’t worrying, and that worked well enough for her. But there was one breach in that focus.

Well, three breaches actually: Olaf, Marshmallow, and Bruni.

Like she could everything else, Elsa could ignore her cats whines and meows as they played with one another, desperate to distract their owner. Anna kept them occupied during the daytime before she went to work, but nighttime was all her responsibility. But there was only so much she could take, before she could give into their pleas. So, Elsa usually went to Anna’s work for her lunch break, dropping off food often forgotten in their fridge and set up shop in the cafe for a bit to work, leaving her small friends to do their own thing until she came back from working. Then it was playtime, much to the delight of her small friends.

Today, however, the stars had aligned in Anna remembering to bring her lunchbox and Elsa having a breakthrough idea for her latest project, leaving her to work uninterrupted for five hours after her lecture. Well uninterrupted until Olaf decided he had enough and that it was supper time, pawing at Elsa’s legs meowing for attention.

“All right, all right,” she murmured, her annoyance gone when the white cat crawled up into her lap. “I guess it is dinner time, huh,” she said looking up at the clock, stroking his fur. 7:28. Certainly a productive evening for sure.

“Come on. Go find your brothers. “ Elsa dropped Olaf and sent him off while she went to the kitchen. She was surprised that they hadn’t whined earlier for food. Unless, she had ignored it. And now her cats were actually starving and it was all her fault and-

“Breathe,” she told herself, catching the thought pattern. “They’re fine. They aren’t going to starve because I fed them an hour late.” Elsa shook her head and got back to the task at hand, opening the bag of dry food. All three of her cats ran at the sound of their food, Bruni and Marshmallow swatting at her legs. It gave her a good laugh. “Settle, you two. I can only pour so fast.”

All three cats content in eating, Elsa wandered to her pantry to figure out what she needed to do for her own food. She ended up settling on a simple pasta meal for her and Anna, a bit too frayed to get into cooking like she normally would. Then it occurred to her to check her phone, see if Anna was doing okay at work.

Three new messages. That was odd.

Two were from Anna telling her about her day and reminding her to eat at some point and give their cats a snuggle for her. “Already taken care of that,” Elsa laughed to herself. She was grateful for her sisters messages.

But the third message was odd.

Hi, thank you for getting my coffee today! I had a really rough one and needed it. Maybe we can talk again sometime?

It was an unknown number, and she hadn’t stepped foot in the cafe today. Maybe it was a wrong number?

I’m sorry I think you might have the wrong number? I didn’t buy anyone coffee today? Sorry.

She responded and was ready to move on until her phone vibrated once more.

Is this not Elsa? I’m sorry, I’m reading the phone number off a coffee cup it’s hard to read.

She was ready to kill Anna when she got home. She dialed the familiar number on her phone, ready to demand an explanation.

“Mermaid’s Siren on 5th and Oak, this is Kristoff. How can I help you?”

“Hey Kristoff, it’s Elsa,” she said trying to keep her composure. “How long until Anna’s last ten?”

“I’d guess about thirty minutes? What’s up? Is everything okay?”

Elsa subconsciously nodded. “We’re fine. It seems my sister is quite the trickster and I’m going to kill her.”

“So she texted you?”

Elsa huffed. “So you knew about this?”

“I didn’t see the phone number until after I handed it out. Sorry, Els.” She could hear him sigh over the phone, just as exasperated as she was. “So are you going to text her back?”

“What am I going to say? ‘Sorry my sister is playing matchmaker and even though you’re really pretty this is not the way to go about it.’?”

“So you do think she’s pretty.” Elsa could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Look, maybe you should talk to her. You’ve certainly got your foot in the door. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Elsa sighed. “You’re no help. Get back to work, I’ll bug Anna in 30.”

“Alright, talk at you soon, Elsa.”

I am. It appears my sister Anna has been meddling again. Sorry about that. She thinks I don’t socialize enough. But I hope your coffee was good!

Friendly, but not too serious. Secretly, Elsa hoped the woman texted her back as she turned back to her stove. And sure enough, a small buzz went off, making her heart flutter.

Well it’s nice to meet you regardless. I’m Honeymaren, but my friends call me Maren. It was actually tea and it was delicious! Well even if your sister is a trickster maybe we could get together and talk some time? Always nice to have more friends.

Elsa felt the blood rushing to her face, infinitely glad she was home alone at the moment. Honeymaren- no Maren- wanted to be friends? This was not how she was expecting this night to go. She was still certainly irritated that Anna had given her phone number out without telling her. But maybe this was worth pursuing.

I teach MWF until 3:00 but after that one day? Or TR my schedule is a bit more flexible.

She sent out the message before she could chicken out. Why was she even nervous? It was just an offer to hang out. “Because you’ve had an anxiety disorder since you were 12, stupid,” she mumbled. She called herself a name, she noted. “Not stupid. Reframe the thought. You’re just feeling bashful. It’s okay to have nerves.” Recovery was annoying to remember sometimes.

The buzz took her attention again.

I teach everyday haha. How is Tuesday at 4:00? Maybe we could grab a coffee and take a walk?

It made her smile. Anna would probably tease the poor girl relentlessly, but they wouldn’t be in the shop long even if she did.

That sounds perfect.

Elsa was still going to yell at her sister later. But maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

—

“Mare, you’re going to get coffee and go for a walk. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Maren sighed as she drove them. She had decided to drive Ryder to the gym so that she had an out if need be. “It just feels this way. I don’t know, something just feels different.”

Ryder rolled his eyes, situating himself. “You’re a math teacher, not an English teacher. Stop reading too much into this and enjoy yourself.”

Maren stuck her tongue out at her brother. “You only say that because you haven’t been on a date since we were 16.”

“Low blow.” He dramatically turned away from her, staring out the window.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she teased affectionately as she pulled into the gym’s parking lot. “Get going, you bum. Your boys are waiting. See you around 6:00?”

He gave her a light shove with his backpack. “Yeah. Let me know if you all need a little longer. Or a hotel room.”

Maren shoved her brother right back. “Now who’s reading too much in things?”

“Always be prepared and remember a condom!” Ryder laughed as he left the car. He blew her a kiss, and she flipped him off. Traditional parting words.

Maren knew she was overthinking. Like her brother had said, it really was just a cup of coffee and a walk. Even if she hoped that perhaps this could become something more. She barely knew anything about Elsa. She was her favorite barista’s sister. She spent an inordinate amount of time reading about microbiology and glaciers. She was the most gorgeous woman Maren had ever met in her life. That wasn’t much if anything to build a relationship on. And yet, she still felt that desire to know more.

Before she knew it, she had pulled into the parking lot of Mermaid’s Siren. It was packed as always for the time of day. Perhaps it really was better that they were going out instead of enjoying a cup in the cafe. They’d have more privacy to say the least.

Entering the cafe, she couldn’t see the girl’s signature platinum blonde hair anywhere. It had always fascinated her, she had never seen someone with hair like that that seemed natural. Perhaps it was natural, it just seemed odd in contrast to her sister’s vibrant red hair. Taking a deep breath, she headed to the register and gave her order to the barista- it was one of the younger kids today. She thanked the young girl, paid, and went to a table to wait.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Elsa ran into the cafe a few minutes later obviously a bit panicked over her lateness. “Elsa?” she asked cautiously.

“Hi- um- Hi, Maren,” Elsa said, clearly out of breath. “I’m- I’m sorry I’m late. Were you waiting long?”

“No, not long at all,” Maren gave a small laugh. Elsa was cute when she was flustered like this. The few stray strands falling out of her braid only exaggerated the feeling. “Go ahead and order. There’s no rush.” Elsa hurried off with a silent thanks. Maren couldn’t wait to see where this would go.

—

“So you’re a teacher too?”

“Sort of. Graduate student, teaching assistant, researcher, somewhat a professor? It’s a big mess when you get to the doctoral level as far as what your actual job is. But it pays enough for the apartment and the cats, so who am I to complain?”

Elsa could feel herself truly relaxed as they walked, something she hadn’t felt with a stranger in quite some time. Maren had suggested that they went to walk over to a nearby park and there couldn’t have been a better idea. The leaves were just starting to change color as the early autumn breeze brushed by them. It was quiet but not silent and everything just felt right.

Elsa’s thoughts on her employment made Maren laugh. It was such a beautiful sound, something she wished would never vanish. “Well, at least they pay you better than me. Teaching 150 eleven-year-olds does not pay as much as I put in. But like they say, you don’t get into education for the money.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Elsa agreed. “If you take out the tuition remission, I’d say it’s a lot closer than you think.” The worries started to creep in the back of her head. You weren’t supposed to talk about things like wages and pay on a first date. No no, that establishes some power dynamic. Wait was this even a date? It felt like a date. But she didn’t even know-

Maren nodded oblivious to Elsa’s worries. “I’m sure I’ll know soon enough. I wanna go back and get my masters soon. I just- I love it so much and want to know even more, be that about math or about teaching. Did you have to take the GRE?”

Elsa sighed, happy the topic had changed to a more neutral topic. “Unfortunately yes. I’m a biologist! I shouldn’t have to go and take a vocabulary test there is no list to study from!”

Maren laughed again making Elsa’s heart warm. “Precisely! I’m just having so much trouble studying for it because of that. It’s stupid. They should just keep the argument and math sections. Those are the important ones. Or at least weight them differently based on your programs.”

A lightbulb went off in Elsa’s mind. “Well, I could help you study if you want? I did pretty well, 165.” Shit. Power dynamics again. She needed to stop this before she came off as some arrogant-

“Seriously? I would love that!”

Thank goodness. The anxieties melted as Elsa smiled and nodded at her. “Absolutely. Maybe this weekend? We could meet up at the cafe again, get some things started? I’m sure I’ve got my notes still.”

“Perfect. The only thing I have going is brunch with my parents and Ryder- shit!” Maren’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I just, what time is it?”

Elsa waved her hand. “No no, don’t worry. I’ve said far worse before. 6:05. Got somewhere to be?”

“I was supposed to pick up my brother at 6:00. I’m sorry to cut this short,” Maren said, embarrassment evident. “But yes, let’s plan on this weekend. I’ll text you tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” Elsa said, calmness in her voice. “We’ll talk tonight.”

Honeymaren smiled and reached for Elsa’s hands. She grabbed them, bringing them close to her face before pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. “I can’t wait. Until then, m’lady.”

“Good- good night then,” she sputtered, stunned by what just happened.

Elsa stood in awe watching as Maren walked back to her car, her mind playing the afternoon over and over again. She analyzed every interaction from how Maren had grabbed her hand running to look at the lake to the way she listened to her talk about microbiology. She was too anxious for this kind of thing. Or too gay. Or both.

Her phone buzzed bringing her attention back to the present.

Mermaid’s Siren 1PM Saturday? I’ll buy your coffee

She smiled.

Perfect.

#frozen #elsamaren #frohana #snow sisters #ice bros #christ i wrote 2300 words #i love these nerds #my fic

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years ago

Text

Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 3

For those of you who read the manga - or Vigilantes - this story does NOT have Shirakumo in it and Aizawa's backstory is completely different regarding U.A. and his school career. You'll really see that in this chapter. (I hope to one day write something about Shirakumo, but as of yet, I am not ready for that emotional roller coaster.)

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Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself.

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

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Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

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Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

Read and follow the story on AO3!

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<<Previous Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Three

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This was something he hadn’t prepared for, Shouta thought to himself as he stared at the stacks of papers that were scattered across his desk. While he had been expecting the intense workload that would come from being in the Heroics Department once he transferred, he hadn’t expected so much of it to feel so much like paperwork. He had a feeling that their homeroom teacher, Nezu, was fully aware of the fact, however, and simply used it as a tactic to weed out the weak.

Hizashi seemed to be of the same mind, groaning loudly and dramatically from where he was ‘on’ Shouta’s bed, trying to help by reading a stack of spread out papers himself. “Shouta, this is hard. Do you know how much written language has changed between our times? I’m only so good, Shouta!”

“This coming from the one who bragged that he could defeat the entire class without my help,” Shouta snorted, shifting the sword he had casually propped up against him. He could still work on his papers as he needed to, but there was always a small part of the sheath pressed up against bare skin so he could hear and see Hizashi clearly. “Maybe I should have just gone without a hero name…”

“Aw, what, no way!” Hizashi cried at once, Shouta trying to remain unaffected and not laugh as Hizashi fluttered around him in distress. “Eraserhead is such a cool name! I worked hard on that you know!”

Alright, Shouta couldn’t stop his snort at that one, shaking his head as he tried to ‘push’ Hizashi away from him. Hizashi, as always, obeyed the gesture even without the touch. “You spent five minutes muttering names under your breath and then shouted about that one until I said it just to shut you up.”

“Yeah, but you must have liked it at least a little if you actually went with it,” Hizashi pouted and huffed, looking dramatically distressed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “What’s all this paper even for? This is more paper than last year when you first transferred and were catching up!”

The sad thing was, Shouta thought to himself, that wasn’t an exaggeration. His request to transfer had been met with approval after the Sports Festival, but that still meant weeks and even months of work to catch up on. He had managed, and he was almost certain a large part of his success was due to Hizashi cheering him on, but it still wasn’t a time he liked to think too heavily on. Second year, though, was starting to prove more difficult than his first year.

“I already told you and so did Nezu for the last three classes. All of this is for proper internships to get us ready to work within the professional world of heroes. It isn’t about just swinging a sword around and showing off, anymore.”

There was a noise of deep offense, Shouta unable to help his snicker at Hizashi’s screech of, “I have never shown off!” It was the biggest lie Hizashi had ever told with a straight face and it was hilarious. “Oh, shut up! C’mon, you’re supposed to be picking a mentor, aren’t you?”

“So, you were paying attention,” Shouta snorted, dragging a few packets of paper closer to look over them. After his success in the Sports Festival in the last two years, Shouta was in no way short of internship offers from pro heroes. It seemed that many, rightly so, knew how rare and unique Erasure was as an ability; and how powerful it could be in the right circumstances. “There’s a lot of choices is all.”

Too many choices, if Shouta were being honest, and a lot of them came from top name heroes who were often in the public eye and were seen on the news almost every day. Shouta wanted to help people, sure, but he had never put thought into how he would have to be involved in the media circus that surrounded pros. The rising fame that was All Might was only making the spotlight even brighter, as well.

“What about Swift?” Looking up at Hizashi’s question and the unfamiliar name, Shouta looked to where Hizashi was back on the bed, hunched over one of the papers. When he looked up at Shouta, it was with a serious expression that reminded Shouta of how much the other really did care about Shouta’s future. “Says here he’s an underground hero, primarily, and deals with night patrols and the more local crime rates rather than the whole super villain thing.”

“Underground, huh?” Shouta, if he were being honest, had forgotten that underground heroes were really a thing. They hardly learned about them in school and Nezu was the only teacher to have ever mentioned them in length, and even then the information on them was limited.

Pushing himself away from his desk, and sidestepping a few piles of messes scattered across his room that was mostly abandoned homework, Shouta leaned over to get a better look at whatever hero had caught Hizashi’s eye, scanning the paper with a considering hum because, well, this one did sound perfect.

An underground hero would be out of the public spotlight and that would mean Shouta would hardly, if ever, need to deal with the irritating force of power that was the media. The pro, Swift, was an established hero who had been working at his own agency for over a couple decades if Shouta’s math was correct. The hero himself didn’t seem all that bad, either.

Shifting to sit on the bed properly, and idly noticing Hizashi shuffled away to free up more room even though he didn’t need to, Shouta grabbed the packet and started flipping through, scanning for more information about the hero.

He had a simple quirk that was short range teleportation, it seemed, hence the name Swift. The ability to use it seemed to depend how long he could hold his breath, which, really, it seemed stupid, but most quirks did these days. This Swift, however, seemed to know how to use his quirk well if he had been an underground hero for so long. The part that caught his eye, though, and what had probably caught Hizashi’s eye, was that Swift fought with a sword.

“Says here he fights with a sword,” Shouta pointed out, mostly to watch Hizashi squirm. “Something about being a trained sword fighter, too.” The squirming was even worse and Shouta was having far too much fun watching Hizashi try not to break. “I don’t know, there was that other hero-”

Hizashi’s whining, loud and pathetic, had Shouta trying to fight off more laughter. “Shouta, this guy is perfect for us! You get to stay out of the spotlight, I get to interact with a sword fighter by your world’s standards, and you get to learn from someone else on how to fight with a sword! You can have a sparring partner!”

“And here I thought you were my sparring partner,” Shouta teased, flipping through the papers again and looking at the address for the agency Swift owned. It would only be a single train ride away from where he lived, which, well, that was a sign if there ever was one, really. “Hm… I’ll think about it.”

It took another week before Shouta was really able to finalize his choice on who to internship under, but Hizashi had been right in pointing out that Swift would be the best for them and their training; and he really was.

Swift was strict, had a gallows sense of humor, and smiled like he was planning on how to kill whoever he was talking to. He quickly became Shouta’s favorite hero even if he would never admit it unless he was tortured by the man himself. Hizashi had also been right in how good it was to spar with someone who used a sword, as well.

There was a difference between practicing repetitions and movements with Hizashi guiding his movements versus actually fighting against someone. It was as thrilling as it was exhausting, and it was more than once that Shouta fell asleep while leaning against a wall waiting for whatever cruel torture he would be shuffled off to next.

It wasn’t just fighting and the pro hero world that Swift taught him about, either, but the man seemed to know a little bit of everything, gravelly voice pointing out bits of history and knowledge and information that Shouta might have never known otherwise. Even Hizashi was caught off guard with some of what they learned, which made Shouta as satisfied as it did wary.

Swift was an incredible hero, as the countless scars that he had screamed, peeking out from under the edges of black tactical gear and a ridiculously long red scarf, but he was also aged and grizzled, and something in his voice, deep and crackling as if he was always on the verge of entering a coughing fit, had Shouta constantly on edge. It didn’t help whenever the man would quietly stare at Hizashi, the sword part of him, at least, with a look that was less than reassuring.

It was a few months before Shouta realized why the look set him so on edge, and it reflected in his tone as he thought over the latest question he had been asked while hunched over his bag and making sure he had everything before he left for the day. “‘Cursed blades?’”

“So, you don’t know about them, then,” Swift - or rather Shukuchi since he had told Shouta his first day that he hated being called by his hero name - was looking down at him with a look that Shouta couldn’t quite decipher. If he were to guess, it meant he was about to be told something he wasn’t going to like. “Tell me, Aizawa, where did you get that sword that you wear so religiously?”

“Hizashi?” Shouta blinked, glancing to Hizashi who was leaning against the wall while waiting on him, surprised by the dark look on his face. “My grandfather.” Shouta had told Shukuchi of Hizashi on his first day with him since Shouta knew Hizashi was annoying enough that one way or another Shouta would yell at him to shut up. It was only logical to avoid any possible confusion and make sure his mentor knew Shouta wouldn’t be shouting at him.

“Grandfather, huh…” The man trailed off, gaze going from the sword to Shouta himself. “Cursed blades are just like they sound, although no one these days believes they’re real. They’re said to be swords that gained souls of their own after killing enough people, warping and carving their own soul together with the pieces they stole.”

Shouta forced himself to snort, standing up casually before throwing his bag around his shoulders. “Sounds like a story parents made up so their kids wouldn’t play with sharp objects.” Beside him, he heard Hizashi’s soft snort, something in Shouta slowly relaxing and uncoiling at the sound.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Shukuchi looked like he was smiling, but Shouta could tell it was anything but. “They were said to be able to give people the knowledge and power to wield them, possessing them into giving them all the strength they could ever want before taking over their soul completely.”

“Scary,” Shouta drawled, trying to sound bored and disinterested even as his heart sped up because that… Hizashi had told him the first day they had met. He could increase his strength and give him the knowledge and instincts on how to fight with him, but that same day he had also proved that he could possess Shouta. He hadn’t done it since that first time, but with how close their bond was, Hizashi could take him over whenever he wanted, couldn’t he?

“They are.” Shukuchi said it so calmly, yet so seriously. It was as if he was telling Shouta that a tsunami could kill him. It was a fact. “Let me guess, when your grandfather gave you that sword there was a sealing tag on it and it was bound with a red cord.”

Shouta felt himself freeze, unable to hide his shocked expression as he blinked at his mentor before glancing to Hizashi. Instead of wide-eyed surprise or shock, Hizashi had gone cold and blank, staring at Shukuchi as if he were a threat instead of the man who had been training them to get stronger. For a moment, a moment he hoped he imagined, Shouta felt heat coming from the sword.

“I… yeah, actually.” There was no point in lying when he knew the other man would be able to tell, and, besides, Shouta wanted to know how he knew. As far as he knew, he had never told anyone about how Hizashi had appeared to him, his sword lying on the bed sealed and bound and unable to be drawn. “How do you know that?”

Shukuchi pushed out a long, slow breath, as if realizing he was right and hating the fact. “Let’s just say cursed blades have their reputation for a reason.” The man turned his back to them, walking towards his office and giving out a half-hearted wave. “Go home and get some rest, kid. Think about getting a different sword while you’re at it, too.”

Shouta barely even realized what he was doing as he adjusted his bag and walked out of the agency, thoughts too overwhelming to even hear as he followed a long-ago memorized route to the train station. He was on a train home before he even knew it, his only clear thought that Hizashi was quiet enough that Shouta could almost forget he was there. It was all the ‘proof’ he needed to know that Shukuchi’s words weren’t just an idle warning that didn’t apply to him.

He wasn’t quite sure how, but between one second and the next Shouta had made it back to his silent home, everything dark and quiet as he sat on his bed with Hizashi’s sword - with Hizashi - lying across his lap, the physical manifestation of him, if it was even that, sitting in front of him with a small, weak smile. “Told you that Swift was terrifying, didn’t I? Gave me the chills the first day we met him.”

Shouta didn’t laugh like he would on any other day, only staring at Hizashi as all of his thoughts screamed, but when he finally spoke, he winced at hearing how much his voice sounded like a whisper. “Hizashi.” Shouta paused, swallowed, and took a breath, “Are you a cursed blade?”

There wasn’t even a beat of silence before Hizashi answered, a firm, but reluctant, “Yes, I am.” Which meant that, no matter how many things had been false and how many things had been true, Hizashi was dangerous. “Shouta?” At the soft, hesitant call of his name, Shouta opened his eyes, surprised he had even closed them, to see Hizashi looked scared.

It was that expression, coupled with the past year of friendship and teamwork, that allowed Shouta to take a calm breath and tighten his grip on the sword in his lap before meeting Hizashi’s sad gaze. “I don’t know what I think yet because I don’t have all the information. It’s not logical to make a decision until I hear your side of the story.”

There was a quiet sniffle, Shouta feeling embarrassment prickle at his skin as it always did when Hizashi was overly emotional. “Shouta,” Hizashi mumbled, looking ready to cry before he was laughing and shaking his head. “You Aizawas and your logic, honestly…”

It took a few minutes before Hizashi seemed to get control of himself and get his thoughts in order, breathing out heavily as he nodded to himself more than Shouta. “Okay. I am a cursed blade, but not in the traditional sense, and definitely not how Swift was tellin’ it. Yo, I’m serious, that dude is terrifying.”

“So you’ve said,” Shouta responded dryly, trying to dredge up the fear he had felt when he started to realize what Hizashi really was. It was hard to do that when he went around talking like he was a punk. “What is the truth, then?”

“It’s…” Hizashi trailed off, tilting his head side to side as he shifted and squirmed on the bed, trying to ‘get comfortable’ before he was sighing and letting his head drop. “I’m the same as a cursed blade in the way that I can give you strength and knowledge and even possess you and others if I wanted. I, uh, kind of possessed you at first…”

Hizashi trailed off into a guilty silence, Shouta not sure whether to give in to fear or anger. He chose annoyance as a nice alternative option. “You did. Was that supposed to be a test? Find out how easy I’d be to take over if something went wrong?”

“Uh, well, honestly I just wanted to prove a point about how I could fight for myself and junk,” Hizashi admitted, his expression so much like a child who had been caught stealing sweets. It made it hard to hold onto any fear; or anger. “I also just wanted to see how strong you were. Most people at least try to push me out, you just let me in even more, if anything!”

Shouta settled for a neutral response of flipping Hizashi off, trying to keep his expression blank as Hizashi burst into wild laughter. “Shut up, Hizashi.” The words had never worked before, Shouta mused, and he supposed it was only fair they didn’t work now, seeing as Hizashi was laughing even more than before.

“Sorry, sorry, just- Okay, so!” Hizashi drew himself up, leaning forward so his hands were resting on top of the sword, Hizashi smiling as his hands almost brushed against Shouta’s own. “I am a cursed blade, but… I’m different in that I had a soul from before I was a sword. Swift was right in saying that cursed blades sort of grow their own souls after they kill enough, but I…”

Hizashi was still and silent, Shouta almost scared that Hizashi would disappear from right in front of him before he started talking again. “I was human, once, you know.” The news didn’t come as a shock, exactly, since Shouta had assumed as much, but judging by the way Shukuchi had been talking earlier that night, he had a feeling this was a revelation not common to most cursed blades.

“Cursed blades grow their own souls, but I already had one from where I had been human - although I don’t really remember what I was like,” Hizashi admitted, voice quiet as he leaned back and dragged a hand through his hair. “Did I look like I do now? Did I sound like I do now? I don’t know. I don’t even remember a family if I ever had one to begin with. I don’t even remember when I lived. I just-” Hizashi cut himself off, closing his eyes as he sighed softly, the sound trembling as much as his shoulders.

“I was human, and I was always getting into trouble. Too curious.” Hizashi opened his eyes slowly, meeting Shouta’s gaze with such a scared smile. “I have a talent, or maybe in your words a quirk, for attracting and getting into trouble. I was… I was just at the wrong place at the right time, and, well. Here we are.”

Shouta nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. His mentor had been right, then, in saying that Hizashi was dangerous, but with his eyes closed, all Shouta could remember was Hizashi’s soft, awed expression from when they had met each other’s eyes after he had first started meditating.

Hizashi didn’t try to get his attention or interrupt his thoughts, only staying quiet. It was that quiet that allowed Shouta to stay calm as he opened his eyes with a shuddering breath, managing a soft, “Give me time?”

“Oh, Shouta…” Shouta saw the hand that so gently cupped his cheek, but anything he felt he knew was nothing more than his imagination. “Take all the time you need, Shouta. I’ll wait.”

⁂

In the end it took six days before Shouta managed to get his thoughts and feelings in order. Six days of not meditating, of Hizashi fading from his sight, of Shouta looking into every scrap of information he could find on cursed blades, and six entire days of Hizashi absolutely silent and not saying a word.

It was the silence that had been the most difficult, Shouta had found, and it was like weight sliding off his shoulders when he managed to clear out a spot in his room to sit and enter into his usual meditative thoughts, sword resting across his lap and one of Hizashi’s favorite songs, so far, playing quietly from his phone.

When Shouta opened his eyes after he felt like he wouldn’t shake himself apart, it was to see Hizashi looking at him with an expression of what Shouta would only ever call despair. “I take it this is goodbye, then?” Ah. What an idiot.

“Yes, Hizashi, I put on your favorite song and spent an hour meditating because I wanted to tell you goodbye. Use your brain for once, idiot,” Shouta grumbled, forcing down a smile even as Hizashi’s own smile began to appear again.

“But- But I’m cursed. Swift was right in saying I was dangerous! Shouta, you’ve felt me during fights, you know I can get…” Bloodthirsty was probably the best way to finish that, but Shouta didn’t see how that mattered as long as Hizashi kept himself in check when he needed to.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head to truly prove how much of an idiot Hizashi was being, Shouta relaxed his tense posture and leaned back. “You were cursed the day I met you, too. That doesn’t mean everything you’ve ever told me is a lie, does it?”

“Wha- Of course not!” Ah, back to his usual loud volume. Shouta almost regretted his actions. “I would never lie to you, Shouta! You’re…” Hizashi trailed off, loud voice dropping off into what was almost a whisper, expression as soft as his words. “You’re so important to me, Shouta.”

“And you’re my best friend,” Shouta said, words slipping off his tongue easily even as he tried to figure out why Hizashi’s own words, a soft declaration of care and trust, had him feeling so off balance. “That makes all the difference, don’t you think?”

There was a moment where Shouta was utterly content and satisfied that everything truly was going to be okay before Hizashi was sobbing his name and trying to hug him, Shouta almost glad that Hizashi could in no way manage the task. It was still good, though. This was their first real ‘fight’ since they had become friends and Shouta had a feeling that it would only bring them closer, in the end.

He soon regretted that thought, too, however, when not even days later Hizashi possessed his body and then immediately used it to make friends with his classmates. Shouta’s only saving grace was that when he told everyone he had been possessed by his sword, which many of them hadn’t even noticed he had, they had immediately left him alone to his peace and solitude.

That was not the case for all of them, however, and Shouta soon found himself forced to deal with Iida Tensei and Kayama Nemuri every day of his foreseeable school career. It was only made worse when Kayama managed to get her hands on Hizashi and the two bonded to a worrying degree after Hizashi taught both her and Iida how to meditate, clear their minds, and forge a connection with him.

His worries were all proven right when Kayama tackled him in a tight, crushing hug not long after he had settled down at his desk a few weeks after his and Hizashi’s conversation about being a cursed blade. The hug was made terrifying when she cried out a delighted, “Shou-chan! You’re so soft!”

Iida, sane person that he was, looked as shocked as Shouta felt, clearing his throat before speaking, “Er, Kayama? Did you just… call him Shou-chan?” The disbelief was more than warranted because Kayama had yet to even call him Shouta, even though Shouta had insisted he didn’t care and he had been badgered to call her Nemuri more than once.

“Of course, what else would I call him?” Kayama asked, hug tightening as she laughed in a way that he had never heard her laugh before. “Shou-chan is Shou-chan!” With that bright, loud declaration, Shouta felt as if he had been hit by a bolt of lightning half a dozen times over.

“Hizashi?” Shouta squirmed in the tight hug, looking up at Kayama’s face and studying it intently before he saw the spark of mischief and delight and noticed, now that he was fully and completely awake, the sword strapped to her - his - back. “You possessed Kayama?”

“Possessed is such a strong word, Shou-chan,” Hizashi pouted, finally letting go to sit up on Shouta’s desk, bright smile reappearing. “She gave me full permission!” Of course she did. “Especially when she found out we had never even hugged!” Of course she did.

Iida cleared his throat, Shouta glancing over at him to see he looked nervous, “So, uh, that… You’re Hizashi, then? Right now?”

“Yep! The one and only!” Hizashi chirped, wiggling around in delight. Now that he was looking for it, it was so easy to see Hizashi’s mannerisms shining out of Kayama’s body. “It’s only for a few minutes since Kayama-san and I don’t have too strong of a bond, though.”

“You can only possess people for a few minutes at a time?” Shouta frowned, looking up at Hizashi. “Really?” From the way Hizashi and Shukuchi both had talked, it sounded as if it could have been for much longer.

Hizashi himself blinked, caught off guard before laughing. “Oh, no, I can possess people for days at a time, if I wanted to!” Ah, mildly terrifying, then. “Kayama-san isn’t used to this type of bond, though, and possession like that could hurt her. That’s the last thing I want!” Mildly terrifying, and yet far too kind.

“Well,” Iida said with a clearing of his throat and a clap of his hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly! Or, er, well, I suppose we did technically already meet, and this is probably stranger than simply holding a sword and talking to you, but-”

Hizashi’s laughter mercifully cut Iida off, his - Kayama’s? - feet kicking back and forth in the air as he used Shouta’s desk as his own personal seat. “I know what you mean, Iida-san. It’s nice to meet you, too!” Hizashi looked to Shouta, staring down at him for a long moment before reaching out and lightly patting at his cheek, beaming when skin touched skin. “I had almost forgotten what that feeling was like…”

Shouta felt a ridiculous swelling of emotion as he quickly looked away, trying to focus instead on the oddity of hearing Hizashi’s laughter with Kayama’s voice. He was, once again, saved by Iida speaking. “You know, this possession thing… Could you use that on villains in the future?”

All of them fell silent, Shouta looking to Hizashi and sharing a look with him before he felt the smile breaking through, the expression mirrored on Hizashi’s own face, wiggling around again before laughing loudly, “Nezu did tell us to come up with a way we could fight when outnumbered, yeah? I’d say evening the numbers sounds like a good way to do it.”

“Wouldn’t Aizawa need to find another way to fight, then?” Iida asked, Shouta nodding at once as he leaned back in his seat, already thinking over the possibilities of what the future could bring.

“I would, since the sword would need physical contact with a villain in order for Hizashi to possess them. Although…” Shouta trailed off, looking to Hizashi. “I think I might have an idea when it comes to fighting without you helping me.”

Hizashi grinned and Shouta suddenly felt a lot more confident in the future that was to come. After all, he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #a gift of sunshine #original

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 6 years ago

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Run Devil Run [Chapter One] Digging Up Bones [Karma Akabane]

“Just look at you; undeniably flawless. Don’t you agree?”

Yukie stared at her reflection in a full body mirror, pivoting her slim hips from side to side – the wispy fabric of the skirt glided with her movement and brushed against her knees. Without question, she was gorgeous, but this kind of thing was not her style.

“I like it,” she replied politely. Honestly she did. The short flutters sleeves on the blouse made her appear rather girly, but the ensemble was cute and rather fashionable. She certainly didn’t have anything this nice in her closet at home. With one final pivot, Yukie glanced over and smiled at the pretty woman beside her. “Thank you for allowing me to model it for you, Miss Shiota. I think you’ll look very casual in this.”

Hiromi laughed softly. “It’s not for me, but I certainly am grateful for the compliment. Actually … I wanted you to have it. Nagisa can’t wear it, and since I so wanted a daughter, I kept it.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Yukie argued. “It’s very pretty and must have cost a lot. Accepting it would make me feel bad.” She bit her tongue between her teeth once she saw the woman frown. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Hiromi turn dark – it mostly occurred whenever Nagisa chose to defy her. Zany, black swirls consumed her eyes, and Yukie knew she had to defuse the situation before it became much worse for her.

Faking a smile, the buoyant teenager pivoted her hips once again. “Oh but I really do like it. If you’re sure I can have it, I’ll gladly accept.”

Again Hiromi laughed. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around Yukie’s shoulders. “Consider it yours. It’s the least I can do for someone like you; someone from A class who is nice enough to acknowledge Nagisa. I only hope your determination will rub off him.”

“We’re neighbors, so I really don’t mind at all. Besides, Nagisa is a good friend. He helps me with homework whenever I need it.”

“So modest,” Hiromi chirped. She gently hugged the honest girl, then released her, taking a few steps back to look her over once again. “I shouldn’t interrupt you two then. Go back to studying and help my Nagisa do better. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Yukie bobbed her head in agreement and followed Hiromi from her room, moving hastily down the hall towards Nagisa’s room. She was there earlier, before the eager woman pulled her away, but to be polite, she knocked on the door anyway. With his consent, she moved inside and shut the door behind her.

“That was a long bathroom break,” Nagisa joked. He eyed the new outfit and frowned. “Hey, I’m really sorry about my mom. She’s really persistent sometimes.”

“It’s no problem. If not me then you.”

Nagisa shuttered at this. “There’s no way I’d pull that outfit off. The neckline is too low and I don’t have the chest to fill it out. But I’m surprised … you look mature with it on.”

Yukie puffed out her cheeks and placed her hands on her hips. “I always look mature. You’re so mean, Nagisa.”

He paled, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … no one has ever seen you in a dress before. Honestly, it’s kind of weird.”

She agreed; it was weird. Most of the time Yukie wore shorts, even to school – they of course were dress code appropriate. She was a tomboy, so anything other than her usual made her feel uncomfortable. Dresses and skirts never bothered her, but raised by two fathers, she never experienced what it was like to be a girl; she learned to pitch a ball before she learned to put on eyeliner. Huffing a sigh, Yukie leaned against the door. “I’m not mad, you know? Even I don’t recognize myself like this.”

“It doesn’t suit you,” Nagisa stated. “I think you look nice, but you being you is much better.” She made him feel less nervous when she dressed boyish. Seeing her in a dress or a skirt only brought him unease; it made him realize that he was close friends with a cute girl. His face warmed up, but he ignored it and cleared his throat.

“Are you planning on staying late?”

Yukie again bobbed her head. “Math is my worst subject. I honestly don’t think I’ll understand the lesson in just a few hours. Why do you ask?”

“Just thought you’d feel more comfortable in shorts,” he answered.

“Is this an offer? Because I’d love to borrow some clothes.” Yukie clapped her hands in front of herself and begged him, puckering her lips.

The gracious teen agreed and let her have free reign of his closet. She often did this whenever she came over – borrowed his clothes – because she said that Nagisa had the snuggest outfits. He kept his back turned as she searched the hangers. Yukie didn’t have much shame when it came to changing in front of people, but Nagisa never dared to look. Still, it was hard to ignore the fact she was naked behind him, and he was in fact a male. To keep his mind busy, he thought back to why Yukie had come to visit him; he’d asked her for help on his homework. It seemed much easier to have someone tutor him in science, then try to understand it himself.

“Hey … Yukie.” He waited for the lively girl to respond to his call before continuing. “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to tutor me, you know?”

She puckered her brow as she slipped on a T-shirt with a shoreline and palm trees on it. Did she hear him right? “What was that?” Yukie gathered her previous outfit and stepped out, sitting in a clear spot on the floor beside the blue haired teen.

Nagisa gave her a nervous look. “I said you didn’t have to help me out, but thank you for accepting.”

“As if I wouldn’t,” she said. Her blue eyes narrowed. “We’re friends, Nagisa. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

Sometimes he wished he’d never met her though. She risked her reputation at school by socializing with him. Nagisa didn’t want her to be ostracized by her friends, but Yukie seemed not to mind. She once claimed that she enjoyed his company, so Nagisa chose not to push his worries on her, not today anyway. He forced a soft smile and picked up his worksheet, handing it off to her.

“I need help with this; science is my worst subject.”

Yukie took a glance at the paper. It focused mainly on questions relative to general science, but some A-level questions were written on it too. She found it strange that unlike her worksheets, his were hand written. It wasn’t something she was use to seeing a teacher do.

“This Korosensei must be one heck of a teacher. He added the major branches of science to your worksheet and even suggested what reading material you should review. It’s amazing that he took the time to do this for you.”

“He does this for everyone,” Nagisa replied. It was interesting to see just how excited Yukie had become with this. If only she knew the truth about his homeroom teacher. He was sure that she’d be stunned. “He’s a really good teacher.”

She pouted. “I wish my homeroom teacher was this nice. Guess I should let my grades drop, so that I can join you in E Class.”

“I wouldn’t suggest that, but you’d like him.” This brought another memory to mind; one that Nagisa wasn’t sure Yukie would want to hear, but needed to. He cleared his throat and just blurted it out. “Karma is back, you know? He got dropped to E Class with me.”

Yukie frowned, staring down at the worksheet between her fingers. She tried to seem impassive, but part of her was happy that his suspension was over. They parted on bad terms. It left her feeling guilty.

Faking a smile, Yukie pulled herself onto her feet and stretched. “You know what this study group needs? Snacks and cold drinks. Do you have any in the kitchen?”

“Sorry, no. Mom doesn’t usually buy junk food,” Nagisa answered. He knew what she was doing, but also knew that she probably didn’t want to talk about Karma. “But there’s a store right down the road. We can go there and buy some.”

“I’ll go,” Yukie offered. “I could use the exorcise.” Honestly, she was afraid that Nagisa would bring up Karma again, and she really wasn’t in the mood to dig up bones.

Hesitantly, the blue haired teen agreed and helped split the cost with her – his mom let him keep the extra yen from his last run to the market. He watched her stuff the money into her shorts and leave. Nagisa truly felt bad for making her uneasy.

—

Successfully making it out of the apartment undetected, Yukie rushed down the first set of steps, counting fifteen as she did. The second flight led to the ground floor and onto the sidewalk. It had a smooth, metal railing that Nagisa and she often slid down whenever they were running late for school. She took it without a second thought, loving the adrenaline rush it gave her.

The landing she stuck with ease, falling into a quick walk as she moved out onto the street. Her mind was racing with so many thoughts – mainly about what kind of snacks she was going buy – that she almost failed to catch the sudden flash of a camera as it went off near her face.

Yukie shut her eyes out of habit, then squeezed them tight. When the bright spots were clear from her vision, she glanced over to the person who took her picture and gasped in surprise.

“Karma, what are you doing here?”

The bright haired teen smiled. “What’s with that look? Thought you’d be happy to see me.” His menacing gold eyes widened in liveliness. “I see; you are. I’m flattered.”

Before she was able to reply, he interrupted her again. “Hold on a second” – he paused to snap another picture of her – “That’s a good one.”

Yukie felt her heart thump in her chest as Karma stepped around her, taking more pictures. Her cheeks warmed up, hearing him whistle. She was honestly unsure of what to say, much less of what to do. He was embarrassing her.

He moved back in front of her and stared at the screen, puckering his brow. “You know … that shirt looks strangely familiar. I feel like I’ve see it before.” Widening his eyes again, he smiled – Yukie was rather cute when she blushed.

“I borrowed it from Nagisa,” the timid girl spoke. For some reason she felt like she shouldn’t have told him this; his smile only seemed to broaden. “Why are you h-here? You don’t even live down this street.”

“Can’t I take a stroll whenever I want to? I happened to just be passing by when I noticed you coming down the stairs, so I waited. What makes you think I want something?”

Yukie frowned; she really didn’t want to go down this road with him. It wasn’t going to end in her favor. “Just leave me alone, Karma. I told you before that I was sorry.” She bit her tongue between her teeth as he moved closer and wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

“Oh, I’m not mad about that anymore … but you should be more careful the next time you go out. If someone from your precious A Class were to catch you socializing with an E Class student, they might cast you out.”

Liar.

He meant to pay her back for what she did.

Karma turned his phone and lined them up for a picture, tugging her closer so that he could lean his cheek against her head.

“Now say, Karma is a bitch.”

#karma akabane #korosensei #assassination classroom #nagisa shiota #class 3-e #gakushuu asano #hiromi shiota #tadaomi karasuma #irina jelavic #prank war #teen romance

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19umbrellas · 6 years ago

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The Great Escape || Ben Hargreeves x Reader || Chapter 7

Description: After the death of your childhood sweetheart you began to have very gory and horrific nightmares that lead to your drug and alcohol problem. After your family found out, your sister admitted you to a rehabilitation facility you begin to see glimpses of your old lover walking about the hallway. Have the nightmares finally drove you insane or is your beloved Ben Hargreeves really back from the dead?

Read and find out uwu

Word Count: 2905

Index: uwu

CHAPTER 7

This chapter is split in to two parts since it's too long.

Part 1/2

It was a Saturday but you were still required to go to school for some event you didn't really care about. You're parents dropped you off outside and told you to call them as soon as the event had ended. You nodded but had your fingers crossed behind your back. When they drove away you walked up the steps leading to the door and as soon as you pushed through the door your friend was there waiting for you.

A few hours later, you were placing your pencil down on the long crevice on your desk, you picked up your the test paper filled with mathematical equations and passed it to your friend who was sitting in front of you. Your teacher collected everyone's paper before asking everyone to stand up and do our closing routine. As soon as everyone said their farewells and said their amens you were quick on your feet and rushed outside the door.

You jogged to the park and you could already see Ben waiting patiently for you on your usual spot. You called his name and he turned to wave at you. When you arrived next to him and sat down you were a panting mess with beads of sweat rolling down your forehead. "'Sup?" you greeted with a brief nod of the head, still breathing heavily He chuckled and mimicked your actions. He pulled out a bottle of (f/flavor) juice and offered it to you. You accepted and thanked him. You opened the bottle and let the sweet cool liquid run down your throat. After a few gulps you already feel refreshed, you closed the cap on the bottles and turned to look at him.

You still had some sweat on your nose and forehead so Ben took out his handkerchief and wiped your face. "Thanks." you said and smiled as he folded the piece of cloth and placed it inside his pocket. "Can I ask you something?" you asked and he nodded with an, "Of course."

"Why are you still wearing your uniform on a Saturday?"you looked at his black and red blazer and his adorable school boy shorts. Ben paused and hummed before answering, "We have Saturday classes." he said and you raised an eyebrow "For home school?" he nodded and you believed him. "Man, your teacher is the worst if he makes you wear your uniform on a Saturday." you told him honestly and he chuckled and looked to the ground. "He kinda does to be honest." he said and you both laughed.

He asked about the activity in your school and you just shrugged. "It was just a test to see who could go participate in this Math competition next week. I think all the schools are participating. Not really my cup of tea." you said and he tilted his head. "But I thought you love math?" you shrugged again "I do, I just hate competing for a trophy I can't even keep." Ben nodded, he understood your point of view and he can agree on that.

The two of you continued to talk about random things, mostly comic books, and recent movies you both watched all the while holding each other's hands. At this point it's already been a year since you met Ben. An entire year of you sneaking into the park just to meet up with him. You had to admit, after a few weeks of knowing him you already developed a crush on the boy. Imagine your excitement when he asked you to be his girlfriend a few months ago. You, of course, said yes and gave Ben the second tightest hug he's ever had. The first being his oldest brother, Luther, you remembered his name was.

Right now you were telling Ben a story about you and your friend getting trapped in a warehouse that looked exactly like the one in Reservoir Dogs. After mentioning this, Ben stopped you. "What's Reservoir Dogs?" he asked and your eyes grew wide as you looked at him in shock. "What's Reservoir Dogs-" you mouth went wide. "It's only the greatest movie of all time directed by the greatest director of all time! Don't tell me you don't know who Quentin Tarantino is." Ben shrugged and you went on a long ramble about the plot of the movie as well as your own analysis on it's certain plot elements.

Ben just nodded as he listened, the movie you were describing sounded a little too bloody for his taste but you looked so excited about it and he didn't want to spoil your fun so he pretended to be excited too. Eventually, at the end of your little rant you suggested that you and him should go watch it in the Cinema tomorrow night since they were doing re-runs of all of Tarantino's best films. Ben agreed, he was more excited at the thought of going on a proper date with you than the movie in general.

The two of you talked about your plans for that evening, where you were going to meet, who's buying what, and how you were going to sneak out since you both knew your parents would never let you go outside that late. Your parents didn't even know about Ben and Ben's father had no idea who you were not to mention your relationship. You both agreed not to tell them right now since you both know that everyone is going to freak out or something.

"The theater isn't that far from the park. We could just meet here and walk together." You suggested and Ben nodded with a faint tint of pink on his cheeks. He had to admit, he was glad you suggested to go together from the park because even though he's been living in this city for as long as he can remember, he still doesn't know his way around even if his life depended on it. He was too embarrassed to tell you this, however.

"I'll pay for our tickets and you'll cover the snacks. Does that sound fair?" you looked at him and he nodded again. "Snacks. Got it." he said. "Should I get you some (f/chips) and (f/juice)?". You looked at him with a smirk and said, "Yes. That is a great plan. You know me so well Hargreeves." he blushed and laughed at your enthusiasm. You continued to share your plans for your date while Ben just stared at you. As you talked, Ben suddenly decided that it was a great time lean in but, before you could notice his advances you turned to your bag. "Oh, before I forget." you said as you rummaged through your bag and pulled out a shiny new (f/c) Nokia flip phone and showed it to him. "My parents finally got me a phone."

He sat up straight, feeling a bit flustered, pretending to be shocked as he stuttered out a "Wow." When you looked at him from behind your new phone you noticed that his face was turning beet red. "Are you okay?" you asked him, feeling concerned. "You're face is getting really flustered." you placed hand on his forehead. "You don't feel that warm for a fever." the red on Ben's face became darker at your touch but before he could stutter our an excuse your phone suddenly rang.

"Hello." you answered. Ben could hear a deeper voice from the other line. It was your dad. Ben watched as you hummed and glanced at him. "We'll probably be done in 15 minutes, we're still checking our answers." you made a face at the lie and Ben laughed, his face slowly returned to its normal hue. "Alright, love you too. Bye." you hung up and pressed your lips onto a smile as you looked at Ben. "(y/n) (m/n) (l/n), don't you know it's bad to lie to your parents?" he said as he mockingly shook his head. You gave him a sly smile as you gave his shoulder a light push. "Shut it, Hargreeves". The two of you laughed together for a bit before you turned back to your bag.

You took out a pen from your pencil a case and held your hands out for him. "Do I have your permission to write on your arm?" you raised an eyebrow. He asked what were you going to write as he gave you his arm. "My number." you said as rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to do so. "I saw someone do this in a movie once. I always wanted to try it." Once you finished Ben pulled back and looked at the digits with a smile until he realized something. "I don't have a cellphone." he said and you laughed. "That's okay." you said "It's for emergencies then." you gave him smile just as another ring came from your phone. You checked the caller ID and you stood up. "It's my dad. He's probably going to come early. I should go." You looked at him. " See you tomorrow? 8-ish?" Ben nodded and smiled before saying, "I'll be here." You smiled before saying good bye and ran back to your school.

"You're going on a date?" Allison squealed as she jumped on Ben's bed. Vanya was quietly sitting at the edge as she watched her sibling get riled up as the other one awkwardly rubbed his arm. "Yeah, tomorrow night. We're going to go see a movie." Allison squealed even more, screaming into a pillow. "How are you going to get to the theater without dad knowing?" Vanya asked and Ben gave them an weary smile. "Actually, that's why I called you guys here. I was hoping you could help me sneak out?" he said more like a question. Allison and Vanya looked at each other for a moment before nodding. "What do you need?"

The next night you were scrambling around your room, throwing clothes out of your closet as you tried to find something to wear for your date. You huffed and crossed your arms when you couldn't find anything that you'd want to wear. You looked at the clock, 7:49. You cursed under your breath when you realized you were going to be late if you didn't find something to wear right now. At least your sister knew what to wear for her dates. That's when an idea struck you. You're sister might kill you for this but you had no choice. You quietly opened your door looked down the hallway to look for any signs of your parents or sister walking about. You saw the faint television light coming from downstairs and concluded your parents whereabouts when you heard them talking to each other through the movie's sound.

You quietly tiptoed out of your room and into your sisters room and you stopped when you saw her back facing you as she wrote on her notebook with her music blasting through her headphones. You looked at the the clothes hanging from the back of the door and spotted your sisters dark green cardigan turtle neck sweater at the back of her many jackets. You unhooked the piece of clothing before sneaking back to your room without your sister knowing and tried the cardigan on. You stood in front of your mirror as you twirled and posed in in satisfaction. The green wool ended down at your knees and you decided to wear it as a dress with black tightly fit leggings underneath. You put on your brown boots and grabbed the cash you were going to need for tonight and stuffed it in your pocket.

Before climbing down the window you checked on the accumulated pillows under your sheets and a teddy bear poking out at the head wearing a (h/c) wig. You pursed your lips and decided to arrange the pillows more accurately to be more deceiving. When you were satisfied you grabbed on to the vines growing on the side of your window and climbed down. As you passed by the living room window you took a last peak at your parents who were still watching TV before sprinting down to the nearest bus stop.

When the bus pulled away, you waved at Ben with a smile. You ran towards him and gave him a suprise hug. He smiled and hugged you back. You noticed that he was still wearing his uniform only now he wasn't wearing the vest or the jacket. Just a white polo shirt and his usual school boy shorts and shoes. You decided not to say anything about this and instead asked, "You ready?". He nodded. The two of you held hands all the way to the theater as you both told each other how you had to sneak out of your own houses. Of course, Ben had to hide some details but all of the things he said were true. You laughed at the part about him daring his brother to wear their mothers heels and tripped down the staircase. Once you two arrived you waited behind a short line of people before you payed for the ticket while Ben was at the snack bar buying some chips and soda.

The two of you sat together at the theater. There weren't a lot of people there but that only made your movie experience even better since you could sit wherever you want and have a lot of privacy. As the movie dragged on, Ben tried his best not to flinch too much at all the bloody scenes but you were able to catch on his awkward reactions when Mr. Blonde cut off poor Marvin's ear. As you sipped on your drink, you placed your hand on Ben's tense ones as soon as you entangled your fingers with his he relaxed into his sit. Once the movie was done and you were walking out the dark room you turned to him and said, "Guess bloody movies isn't really your style, huh?" Ben looked at you with wide eyes as he tried to tell you how much he loved the movie but you stopped him, "You don't have to lie." you laughed. "It's just a movie. You don't have to like the same things I like just for me to keep liking you."

He smiled in relief and nodded at you. Feeling more comfortable around you than before. "Maybe we can watch Disney next time? I haven't seen Bambi before." he said and you chuckled as your fingers curled around each other and you both made your way down the empty street. "Well, get your tissues ready, Hargreeves because that movie is going to drown your soul in tears." He laughed at your description and the two of you continued to laugh and joke around as you walked.

When you passed by a dark building a sudden crash could be heard from the alleyway next to it. You and Ben stopped as you watched a figure emerge from the dark. The figure was tall, pale, dark hair and droopy eyes. The mere sight of him sent shivers down your spine. He was dragging a busted baseball bat behind him as he turned to you and Ben. "Ohhhh." the man slurred. "Look at what we got here boys. This little calamari's on a date. Ain't that sweet?" As he said this, three other men jumped out of the shadows as they all looked down at you with a sinister look. "What pretty hair you have there, love. Why don't you play with us for awhile? We could use a new... Friend to play with." one of the men smiled crookedly, he had an odd thick accent that you found a little unsettling with his tone. "Leave us alone, Kane." Ben said as he pulled you behind him. "'leave us alone, Kane'" The first one mocked. "Not so tough without your siblings, huh, you freak?" they all barked out in laughter as you felt Ben's grip on you tighten. One of them was about to approach you but Ben was fast and he kicked a rock onto the man's face making him scream as it smashed onto his eye.

Ben pushed passed them when they were distracted and ran to the direction of the park with you in tow. You could feel your heart beat painfully inside your rib-cage as your thoughts raced inside your brain faster than you could run. The men weren't far behind as they yelled curses at the both of you and howled at you to stop running and they'll make this quicker. Once you reached the familiar sight of trees and the fountain Ben quickly went to the public toilets shoved you into the girls bathroom and told you to lock the door and stay inside. "What about you?" you asked holding the door before the lock could click. "I'll be fine, (y/n)." He told you and you shook your head grabbing a hold on to his arm. "No! stay here! We can call the police!" you tried to reason with him but he didn't listen he kissed you quick on your forehead before he forcefully slammed the door shut and pushed a trash can in front of it. "Stay safe." he prayed as you banged on the door the men finally caught up to Ben and they all took their knives and brass knuckles.

AN: I can finally use my laptop again uwu. I’m staying at my dad’s place for a whole month which is kinda fun but I barely have any time to draw and write huhu.

Taglist:

@purple-alien-monkey @sweetkenzo @rougemme @padfootz-princess @k3nz-doodl3

17 notes · View notes

yallreddieforthis · 6 years ago

Text

Believer

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language and Richie being Richie)

Words: 7k

Soulmate AU. Takes place in 2004. Humor, banter, first meeting, first date, first kiss.

And wow. Wow and a half. Richie couldn’t have even dreamed up a guy this cute, although admittedly he’d been picturing some dude in baggy jeans and a beanie with a hacky sack this whole time. Which couldn’t be further from this...absolute snack of startled, prep-school perfection.

Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.

Y’know, Richie has seen worse. Some girl in his English class has damn, how you fit all that in them jeans? so really, anything after that is an improvement.

And it’s not like the soul mark is constantly on his mind or anything. It’s on his back—literally, he can’t see it without two mirrors and he had to have Bill read it out to him when it first showed up—but every once in awhile he remembers that someday he’s going to hear oh my fucking god, I hate that song and he’ll just know. Well, maybe more than every once in awhile. It’s kind of like a recurring daydream. That, and what he’d do if he suddenly became Cyclops from the X-Men.

Fifteen year old Richie was positive it was going to be like some punk-ass rocker chick standing outside Hot Topic and reacting to 98 Degrees over the loudspeaker. At least, that was his first thought. And it’s not like it’s going to be a problem if that’s what ends up happening—because no matter what or who else he’s into, Richie is positive he’ll always have a deep-down internal hard-on for punk-ass rocker chicks—but lately he’s had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that… Well, it could just be like, a memory of a dream or some shit. And Richie certainly does not believe in dreams coming true, but it wasn’t until well after he got a soul mark that he admitted to himself that his secret thing for Chad Michael Murray is not going anywhere anytime soon.

Richie thinks it would’ve been easier to admit to being The Bi-est if it hadn’t been goddamn Chad that forced him to realize it. Like if it had been Orlando Bloom in Pirates or something when he’d been like alright, time to fuckin’ fess up . But he explained away his crush on Orlando as like, well, Orlando is cool as fuck. Duh. Who doesn’t want to blow him?

Same with like, David Boreanaz. Richie is convinced that even the straightest of straight guys fell desperately in love with Angel when they watched Buffy. He could stick his stake in anyone and they’d thank him.

But Chad...mm. Richie is the only guy he knows who watches One Tree Hill. He’s sure about that because every joke he’s ever made about Lucas Scott has been met by blank stares by Bill and Bev and even Ben, who, though ostensibly straight, would totally love One Tree Hill if Richie ever got the balls to ask him to watch it with him. The only people in the whole world he has to discuss it with are the group of girls who sit next to him in Physics. So actually, Richie blames One Tree Hill for his D in Physics. If he hadn’t started talking to those girls—and he probably wouldn’t have if they hadn’t been discussing the show—he might’ve been able to learn about science instead of playing Fuck Marry Kill every period. So even though it truly is the worst show he has ever watched on purpose, once a week, like clockwork, Richie sits his ass down in front of the computer to jerk it to Blondie McKenDoll because...what are you gonna do.

It ended up being a blessing in disguise because he decided to let his friends know he’s bi and a One Tree Hill fan in one fell swoop. He only got shit on about the One Tree Hill thing, especially because he was the one who used to give Ben shit about Dawson’s Creek. So really, that was only fair.

Still, that was nothing compared to the shit he got for having a soul mark that’s like...inches from being a tramp stamp. Secretly (and also not-so-secretly), Richie loves it. It’s deliciously tacky, the handwriting is almost as bad as his; really, he couldn’t have asked for something trashier. He might’ve died of shame if he’d gotten delicate, loopy cursive around his forearm like Bill it’s lovely to meet you, finally Denbrough. Anyway, anybody who writes that nicely would never be compatible with Richie. And god help whatever poor guy has a soul mark in Richie’s handwriting somewhere on his body. Richie can only pray it’s somewhere unobtrusive.

The messy printing is only a small part of what has convinced Richie his soulmate is a boy. It’s mostly just a gut feeling, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge because he can’t explain it. It feels stupid to bank on something like that.

Richie is low-key disappointed by the fact that he's never seen the handwriting from his soul mark crop up in any of the school graffiti. He's even gone and tagged the bathroom stalls a couple of times, in the hopes that whatever guy it is will see it. And deep down, Richie knows he probably wouldn't have done that if he'd thought his soulmate was a girl.

They're all reasonably convinced that Bill's soulmate is British, based on the whole lovely thing, and Richie has taken to mimicking the kind of accent he thinks she might have. Bill keeps being like I'm not gonna match with the qu-qu-queen, Richie, but if she's the kind of girl who goes around telling people it's lovely to meet you... Richie's not saying she will be like some kind of aristocratic socialite, just that she might be. He thinks Bill should probably be taking steps to prepare for that sort of scenario, although he's not sure what those steps might be. Cotillion? Cigar smoking? Tea making?

Either way, Bill has time. There aren’t any British girls in Derry. No way is he going to meet her until at least college.

In any case, thinking about what song he and his soulmate can hate together to be a lot better pastime than whatever the fuck Mr. Shulman is writing about on the whiteboard. Richie feels like he can't take a hundred percent of the blame for failing to pay attention. The green marker Mr. Shulman is using is frayed, fading, and praying for the sweet release of the trash can, and it's not like Richie can really see the board from the back of the room on the best of days. His parents have suggested, well, more like insisted he sit up front but like...Bev sits in the back, and sitting up front would put a damper on the bubble gum blowing contests they have when Mr. Shulman isn't looking. Tragically, his parents probably wouldn't agree with his reasoning. But whatever.

Richie has a list in the back of his notebook, which he relies on his inscrutable handwriting to protect from prying eyes, of every song he's ever heard that he immediately disliked. He started it on his fifteenth birthday with a list of past horrors and adds on every time Creed releases a new single.

Titanic song—My Heart Will Go On

I Hope You Dance

Hero—Enrique Iglesias (although Richie has admittedly crossed out and rewritten this one several times because, you know, Enrique)

Soak Up the Sun—that chick that’s dating Lance Armstrong

Summer Girls

I Knew I Loved You

Your Body Is a Wonderland

I’m Like a Bird

Anything that has ever been on American Idol

And so on. He's got 37 entries so far, and it's been two and a half years in the making. He's just in the process of deciding whether A Thousand Miles deserves a spot on the list when Bev nudges his shoulder and hands him a note under the desk, written in Ben's even, exacting printing.

Tuesday: Circle one

- National Treasure

- Mean Girls

- The Passion? (probably not, I know)

- Saw

- Troy

Richie truly sees no point in reading further because Bev has only circled National Treasure and Mean Girls and there is a zero percent chance Ben won't side with her , but he'll be damned if he's not going to give his opinion anyway. He scribbles a big fat line through The Passion, because although he knows Ben's AP history class will give him extra credit for seeing it, but he's not sure he loves Ben (or rather, Ben's history teacher) enough to sit through three hours of Jim Caviezel getting whumped.

Apropos of nothing, a song begins playing in Richie’s head; a good one, thankfully. Richie has very little control over his internal radio and sometimes it gets stuck on Radio Disney, so some Weird Al is a welcome reprieve.

And the guide... Richie mutters while tapping on his desk.

Said not to stand

But that’s a demand

That I couldn’t meet

I got on my feet

And stood up instead

And knocked of my head, you see

Tell meeee…

From Richie’s other side, Bill’s elbow collides with his ribs.

“You’re doing the th-thing again,” he mutters under his breath. Richie rolls his eyes. He doesn’t understand why anyone— his math teacher included—would not be delighted by a surprise rendition of a Weird Al song, regardless of where in the song he happens to start singing.

Back to the movie list. Everything else...hmm. Troy looks badass—and stars Richie's one true love, Orlando Bloom. There's a good chance he's gonna be naked in it too. Richie draws a dick next to Troy as part of the decision-making process. He knows Ben only put Saw on the list because he thought Richie would like it. There's no way Ben actually wants to watch Wesley from Princess Bride get chopped up. Richie scratches Saw out and writes you're not fooling me next to it.

He's heard good things about Mean Girls, but still... Bev probably only circled it because she knows it's Ben's first choice. Sometimes being best friends with a couple makes Richie want to spray them with projectile vomit. But, you know, in the best way. He has no particular objections to Mean Girls himself, except that National Treasure promises to be amazingly, spectacularly adventure-y and ridiculous, and Richie is always down for that kind of action. In fact, he would just as soon use the advantage of a half day where his parents are at work to watch Jumanji on the big TV in the living room, but...

Fuck it. He's feeling generous today, and he kind of wants to witness Ben vibrating with excitement when he sees the note so...he circles Mean Girls and passes it back.

Ben's gasp upon receiving it is worth it.

Apparently, Derry High isn't the only school having a minimum day because the mall is fucking packed with teenagers. The concession stand line is super long, but where else is Richie supposed to find a nauseating selection of overpriced candy and a bucket of popcorn that could feed a small village? After dousing the popcorn with butter to the point where Ben almost gags, they make their way into the theater to find seats. Which are shitty almost-front-row ones because it took them so goddamn long to get snacks that those are the only four seats together by the time they get in there. Lucky the guy sitting in front of Richie is super short. Bev and Ben aren't so lucky—the curls of the guy to his left are almost as impressive as Richie's, and the guy in front of Bev is just obviously really tall.

The previews haven't even started yet—it's just the shitty like don't talk in the theater ads and dumb TV trivia questions.

Richie feels incumbent to entertain his friends at all times, but especially in moments like this, where nothing else entertaining is forthcoming.

Uh huh, he whispers, starting up a beat on his thigh. Uh huh. Extra Cheese.

Bill sighs in a long-suffering sort of way beside him.

Uh huh. Uh huh. Save a piece for meeeee…

He turns to Bev and starts whispering the rest of the lyrics directly into her ear because he can’t not.

Pizza party at your house

I went just to check it out

Nineteen extra-larges, what a shame

No one came

We sat eatin’ all alone

You said, take the pizza—

“Shh!” Bev puts a finger over his mouth. “You’re going to get us kicked out again.”

That’s fair. Although, in Richie’s defense, it’s not like they missed out on much last time. The Village was supposed to be shitty anyway.

Mean Girls is, as it turns out, almost as interesting as the antics of the people in the row in front of them. Curly and the tall one are a couple, clearly, and Richie feels for Shorty The Third Wheel, whose face he has yet to get a good look at. His hair is as neat as Richie’s is messy though—the kind of perfect where Richie can’t tell if he tried to make it look like that or if that’s just how it is. It’s just long enough to sweep over the tips of his ears and to almost touch the back collar of the polo shirt he’s wearing. He sits with his legs crossed in front of him, which Richie hasn’t been able to do since eighth grade.

The couple is cute, like stupid cute. The tall one is black and like, easily a ten no matter what your taste is; Curly is white with defined cheekbones and a cardigan. Tall has his arm around Curly, who has leaned into his neck. It makes Richie at least ten times gayer than he was before he walked into this theater.

Halfway through the movie, Richie has finished his monster popcorn and started in on the Milk Duds. He’s getting intense gay vibes from Aaron, who is supposed to be hot but is a little too Mister Muscles for Richie’s taste. Of course, Richie also likes Chad Michael Murray so… Even Richie’s taste doesn’t match with Richie’s taste. Whatever. At least his mouth and brain are in agreement on the subject of Sour Patch Kids, which is what really matters in the end.

But anyway, Richie prepares to come away from this movie a changed man with a new appreciation for Jingle Bell Rock by the time the credits roll. He’s definitely going to have to see this at least four to sixteen more times—or however many he can get away with before his friends threaten to kill him—because he missed a lot of the jokes being distracted by the way Shorty was craning his neck to look up at the screen. Richie pops the last of his Starburst into his mouth without unwrapping it. If there was an Olympics category for unwrapping a starburst with your tongue, Richie would be a gold medalist.

“Did you finish all that?” Ben gasps, leaning over and gaping at the graveyard of candy wrappers across Richie’s lap. Richie nods, burps, and rubs his belly like a proud expectant mother. He spits out the Starburst wrapper and hands it to Ben with a wink because he knows Ben’s too polite to drop that shit on the floor for the ushers to clean up.

“Well,” says Beverly, taking a final, bubbly sip of her Icee, “when you give birth to that thing later tonight, don’t call me to cry about it.”

And because she gave him such a perfect opportunity—and because he absolutely will be calling her from the bathroom later tonight—Richie decides to finally finish his song.

Why’d you have to go and make me so constipated?

This really is a—

He doesn’t get any further because a sharp voice cuts in from directly in front of him.

“Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.”

And then Richie’s back is attacked by a thousand mosquitos at once—or at least that’s what it feels like. He overheard a guy on the quad once say that the sensation from his mark when he met his soulmate gave him a boner, but apparently it’s different for everyone because all this does is make Richie want to light himself on fire.

Which is why when Shorty in the J. Crew polo wheels around to look at him, Richie is awkwardly shifting, trying to find a way to itch his back on the seat. Maybe not the first impression he was going for, but just then, Shorty’s eyes lock on to Richie’s as he locates the source of the song, so yeah. There it is.

Before either of them can say anything else, Shorty yelps and grabs at one of his legs. That’s when he seems to regain the power of speech.

“It’s you?” he says, glaring sharply at Richie. “You’re the reason I haven’t been able to wear shorts for three fucking years?”

People are starting to leave the theater, which Richie hardly registers because he is having a full-on, swear to god Disney moment. This guy is like a...a bear cub. Not like hairy— he’s actually noticeably not hairy—but in the sense that he’s small and huggable-looking and Richie wants to pick him up and squeeze him but would probably get mauled if he tried to do so.

“Do you even—oh, sorry,” Shorty says, apologizing to the person who is trying to scoot past him. Then he turns back to Richie and flicks his eyes over him; just like a quick once-over. It’s impossible to tell if he likes what he sees. Richie notices he is still rubbing his calf.

“Itches like a motherfucker, doesn’t it?” he says, giving up on his seat-wiggling and reaching behind himself to scratch at his soul mark. Unfortunately, it turns out to be one of those itches that hurts when you scratch it, so he pulls his fingers back with an, “ow, son of a bitch!”

Shorty hisses.

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Tall leans over Curly to ask Shorty—Eddie. Eddie.

“Fuck,” says Eddie, then he takes in a deep breath, rubbing his leg like he’s dying to scratch it. “This asshole—” he points an accusing finger in Richie’s direction, “—is the reason I’ve had those Weird Al lyrics about being—sorry, excuse us—about being constipated on my leg since before the goddamn song even came out.”

Tall and Curly both swivel around to stare at Richie. That gets Bev’s attention.

“Wait, Richie,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Is this—”

“The love of my life,” Richie announces proudly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “Eddie.”

There is silence for a second during which Richie can almost see smoke coming out of Eddie’s ears.

“Fuck,” he says again. For all his preppy khakis and neatly combed hair and pristine white sneakers, he sure has a potty mouth. Richie couldn’t imagine anything better.

Bev gapes too, tapping Ben rapidly on the knee to get his attention. Curly’s eyes narrow as he examines Richie critically.

“Eddie, are you sure this is him?” he asks, still staring.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, pulling up his pant leg and peering at his leg. “Yeah, cause—you know what? You can’t really see it in—”

“Excuse me,” calls an usher from the end of the aisle. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Richie calls back cheerfully. “This is my soulmate! Isn’t he—”

“Right,” says the usher, blank faced in spite of this being the greatest of all possible happenings. “You think maybe you can move this party out to the lobby? I need to get the floor cleaned before the next showing.”

Eddie practically disappears into his friends during the awkward group shuffle out of the theater, but Richie walks backwards, keeping his eyes on all five feet and...four inches? three? of the gorgeousness that is Eddie.

Out in the light of the lobby he’s even better. Soft-looking brown hair, lightly freckled cheeks and arms, and—once he pulls up his pant leg—a soul mark that looks like the logo for someone’s z-list death metal band. The skin around it is pink and blotchy, but Richie can see the lines already fading. The only word that’s really fully legible is constipated. Which is hilarious, so Richie can’t understand why Eddie seems so ticked off.

Not that it fazes him in the slightest. It is actually written in the stars or the Book of Fate or whatever that he and Eddie are meant for each other. They’re destined to fall in love. If Eddie is mad at him now, he won’t be later.

“Whoa,” says Curly, tracing his fingers over Eddie’s soul mark. “Yeah. There it goes.”

“I’m Mike,” says Tall, who, now that they’re all standing, is actually the same height as Richie. He extends a hand, which Richie takes and then uses to yank him in for a hug. He smells amazing.

“Richie,” he says into Mike’s shoulder, before next trying to plaster himself to Curly. He hears Ben start to make introductions with Mike before Eddie’s voice cuts in.

“Stop,” he orders, running both hands through his hair, which bounces immediately back into its immaculate style. “Okay? Just—this is not happening right now.”

“Tell that to my heart, cutie,” says Richie. “And by my heart I mean my—”

“My mom?” Eddie says, like he’s name-dropping—like that should mean anything to Richie.

“God, if she’s half as cute as you, then hell yes.”

“No,” says Eddie. “I mean like, my mom. Does not know. That I’m gay. Fuck. Like, she has no fucking idea. And she’s gonna have a shit fit when she finds out. I keep telling her I don’t even have a soul mark yet—she never would’ve let me out of the house again if she’d seen it.”

“So?” says Richie. “Now it’s going away; now she doesn’t have to see it.” Seems more like a solution than a problem if you ask him.

“Honestly I was hoping not to even have to deal with any of this shit until like after college,” Eddie says. He looks like he’s considering just making a fucking break for the door. Like, don’t want to deal with this now, bye! Which, fair.

It’s a lot to roll with, especially just out of fucking nowhere like that. Richie probably should be freaking out way more than he is right now.

The idea of not seeing Eddie again until after college sounds terrible, but he doesn’t want to admit that. Going around like, yeah, I met my soulmate but he had a meltdown and ran away so… Like, he could do it if it’s what Eddie wanted. But he really hopes Eddie changes his mind.

“Do you want me to just like...fuck off?” he asks Eddie, quietly enough that the others won’t hear him.

Eddie frowns. “I don’t—”

“I mean...I guess we don’t have to like, you know, go for it now. Like. If you’re not into it, it’s cool. No offense taken. Maybe I’ll… I dunno, find you on Friendster in a few years? When things are easier? Or you can look for me. It’s Richie T-O-Z-”

Eddie cringes, checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. My mom left me three messages; she’s probably already in the parking lot.”

And before Richie can even get upset about the idea that his soulmate is about to walk off into the sunset without so much as a dramatic monologue about how he’ll never give up on their eventual theoretical love, Eddie bites his lip and looks up into Richie’s face. His eyes are big and brown and make Richie feel like his ribcage is liquefying.

“Gimme your phone,” he says. Richie’s heart leaps into his throat as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Eddie takes it from him. “You should really get a case for this thing,” he says, clicking away on the number pad.

Their fingers brush as Eddie hands back his phone, with one last long look back as he scampers away.

Richie starts typing before he’s even left the lobby.

From: Richie

hi its richie, the actual love of ur life

From: Eddie

jesus i havent even reached the parking lot

dont text me too much its 15c a text, my mom will catch on

From: Richie

can i see u again

i miss u already

From: Eddie

i can probably get out again saturday

From: Richie

saturday? what about tmrw?

From: Eddie

im lucky if i get saturday

saturday, yes or no

From: Richie

YES OF COURSE

meet me in front of the arcade 1st and Adams

…

ok?

From: Eddie

Yeah 2pm stop texting me

Eddie—god even thinking his name brings up a rush of butterflies—is standing outside the arcade looking about as comfortable as if it were a strip club. He’s wearing shorts, apparently for the first time in years. Something tells Richie that Eddie’s not going to be one of those people who gets their soul mark tattooed on after meeting their soulmate. The jury is still out on Richie—he kinda misses his already.

In the five days since they met, Richie has outlined itineraries for at least three different honeymoons and started a shortlist of names their adoptive children. He hopes Eddie also dreams of naming his sons after the kids from South Park.

“So,” says Richie, leaning down and looking Eddie in the eye, “yes or no to kissing on the first date?”

“Who said this was a date?” Eddie scoffs, opening the door to the arcade and rolling his eyes.

Richie has as much of a plan as he’s ever made in his life for this afternoon. First it’s the arcade where he can show off his bitchin’ Dance Dance Revolution skills, then to Johnny Rockets next door for a burger to remember, then hopefully back to Richie’s car to make out if they really hit it off.

Richie honestly cannot wait to show Eddie his car. It’s super impressive, even though it’s missing a bumper and the back passenger side door is held on with duct tape. Is a handjob too much to hope for on the first date? He doesn’t want to pressure Eddie or anything, but Richie is ready to give Eddie a handjob yesterday. So as soon as Eddie’s ready to rumble, they can get down.

Richie brought both his windshield covers just in case—the blue one and the Ren and Stimpy.

Turns out there’s a long line for DDR, which Richie probably should have counted on since it’s Saturday. Perfect opportunity for getting to know each other though. If Eddie would just like, you know, talk. He’s silently chewing on his lip instead, brow furrowed.

“Come here often?” Richie asks him.

Eddie shakes his head. “More like never. My mom won’t let me. Says the arcade is full of germs. She thinks I’m at Stan’s house watching High Society again . ”

“What’s High Society?”

“Really?” Eddie looks up at him. “You haven’t seen—like, with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra? Bing Crosby? No?”

“So it’s like...a super old movie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. “What—I’m just curious—what’s your favorite movie?”

“Definitely The Big Lebowski,” says Richie right away. “That’s easy. Best movie of all time. Oh, except maybe White Chicks. Pulp Fiction. Scary Movie 3.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers, apparently to his shoes.

“Please don’t tell me you preferred Scary Movie 2. That might be a dealbreaker. Soulmate or not.”

“But you do like scary movies?” Eddie perks up a little. “Have you seen Wait Until Dark with Audrey Hepburn? It’s super scary.”

“Audrey Hepburn? Ohhhh, that chick in The Philadelphia Story? My grandma makes us watch that every year when we come over for Thanksgiving.”

Eddie purses his lips. “That’s Katharine Hepburn.”

“Are they sisters?” Richie asks.

“No.”

Richie isn’t worried. Eddie probably just hasn’t seen, like, Dude Where’s My Car yet. Easily fixed. His parents will be out of town next weekend; Eddie can stay over and they can watch it. That and definitely Catch Me If You Can.

He pitches the idea to Eddie, whose eyes light up at the mention of Catch Me If You Can.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, “Leonardo DiCaprio was like, my sexual awakening.”

“For sure,” says Richie. “He was such a badass in Gangs of New York. Which one did it for you? Was it The Man In the Iron Mask?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s being an idiot. “Uh, you’re guessing The Man In the Iron Mask before Titanic?”

“Really?” Richie winces, super disappointed and unable to hide it. “Titanic, Eddie?”

Eddie smirks. “No. Romeo and Juliet. You’re up.”

Richie tries to decide whether Romeo and Juliet is a better or worse sexual awakening than Titanic as he chooses a song. Richie practices DDR every weekend the way some people faithfully go to church, so he’s pretty confident he’ll blow Eddie away no matter what.

Still, just to be safe, he picks easy mode when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. Eddie’s never been here. He doesn’t need to know that it took Richie six months of practice before he finished a song without failing out. It’s gonna look cool either way.

And, okay, in hindsight...these brand-new Dickies are still kind of stiff. They might not have been the best choice for DDR. He just figured they’d make a better impression than the old ripped ones he was wearing when they met. Eddie strikes Richie as the kind of guy who doesn’t wear the same pants two days in a row; he doesn’t need to know that Richie (up until the day before yesterday) only had the one pair. Richie has decided he might even be convinced to break his strict rule of not throwing out pants until they’ve worn through in the crotch. All for love.

Eddie smiles brightly at his abysmal score. “Wow, that was pretty good. Can I try?”

Damn, that smile. Whipped already and they haven’t even kissed yet. Richie steps down with a bow.

Eddie stands tentatively on the DDR platform.

“Um…” He looks at the screen. “This one?”

And before Richie can stop him, he’s picked a crazy song on hard mode. If it were Bill, Richie would settle in and prepare laugh his ass off. Maybe even try to grab his camera from the car.

“So you just like, step on the arrows when they show up on the screen?” Eddie asks while the game loads.

“Uh, yeah,” says Richie. “But you know—don’t worry if you fail out. Took me awhile to get the hang of it.” He winks.

“Okay,” says Eddie. He rolls his neck and shakes out his arms and… Whoa, why does Richie suddenly feel like he’s about to pop a boner?

And then, uh. And then Eddie is nothing but a flurry of legs, jumping, twirling, hopping back and forth. He claps and snaps with the beat—god, he knows how to use his fucking body. Thank god for Richie’s stiff new pants. He bends a little at the knee, letting his sweater drape down over his lap. Other people in the arcade are stopping what they’re doing to watch—he’s that good.

After what could have been either ten seconds or ten years—but nothing in between—the song ends and Eddie bounces lightly off the mat. Richie’s throat goes dry.

“How’d I do?” Eddie’s little smirk is positively edible.

“Marry me,” Richie croaks. “I was gonna offer to teach you to play but, uh…”

Eddie laughs. “Mike has that game,” he says, still smiling. “We play it all the time at his house. It’s even harder with the shitty fold-out mat.”

“Well there go my plans,” Richie says, throwing his arms in the air. “It was gonna be a DDR lesson. A sexy one. And you’ve gone and totally schooled me, so now I’m just gonna have to try to impress you with Halo.”

Mercifully, Eddie turns out to be absolute shit at first-person shooters, so Richie isn’t totally humiliated on his home turf. But Eddie creams him at the driving games almost as bad as he did at DDR.

“Jesus, dude,” Richie says, watching Eddie punch his initials into the hi score list. EFK. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Pffft,” Eddie shakes his head. “My mom won’t even let my get my permit yet.”

“Wait,” says Richie. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Eddie tells him. Shut the fuck up. No way.

“You’re older than me?! But you’re so short! I thought you were like sixteen.”

Eddie shoots him a baffled glare. “You know that’s not how it works, right?”

“Well, how old did you think I was?” Richie asks.

“I guess I thought you were eighteen too?” says Eddie, shrugging. “I mean…” he gestures vaguely upward.

Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Alright, touche,” Eddie admits. “But seriously, how old are you? I’m gonna feel really weird if you’re just like, the world’s tallest freshman and you’re hitting on me.”

“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen next month. So we’re practically the same age.”

Eddie nods. “But as far as driving, yeah. I don’t like, have my own car. So yeah, technically I could get a license but I don’t have anything to actually drive yet.”

“My dad gave me his old car and basically let me destroy it while I was practicing,” says Richie. “Your parents don’t trust you with their cars?”

Eddie hesitates for a second before looking away. “It’s just me and my mom,” he says quickly.

“Oh,” says Richie stupidly, feeling like an absolute tool. “Oh yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie tells him, and it sounds like he mostly means it. “I was so young when he died, I don’t even remember him. It’s just that my mom…”

“She sounds like a hardass,” says Richie, drumming on the Whack-a-Mole console while Eddie grabs the mallet.

“It’s not— wham— that,” he says, eyes darting between the moles. “It’s like… My mom acts like she wishes she’d never even —wham— given birth to me.”

“Ow,” Richie grimaces. “Harsh.”

“No,” Eddie corrects. “I don’t mean it like— wham —that. Just that like I think she would rather they’d never— wham —cut the umbilical cord. Like she wishes we were still— wham wham wham —attached.”

“Yikes,” says Richie, because that’s all he can think of to say.

“Big yikes,” Eddie agrees.

“I’m guessing you don’t go to Derry High, then,” says Richie, resting his head against the machine while Eddie continues to annihilate moles. “Makes sense that I never saw you around, cause I totally would’ve remembered seeing that ass before.”

He hesitates before adding, “I even wrote some graffiti in the bathroom stalls so you’d recognize my handwriting.”

Eddie’s nose crinkles adorably at that. “First of all—no. I’m homeschooled. Maybe because my mom doesn’t want me making too many friends, or maybe even just to keep me from using public bathrooms.”

“How do you know Mike and Curly then?” Richie asks.

“Cur—Stanley? Shit,” Eddie says as he misses a mole. “Mike and Stan are homeschooled too. We go to the same testing center in Bangor. And��ha!—I dunno? I sensed their gayness?”

“Yeah I sensed their gayness too,” Richie says. “By the way they were all over each other.”

“No, actually. It wasn’t like that. I knew both of them before they knew each other,” says Eddie. “I was there when they met.”

“Wow.” Richie uses his fist to hit a mole he thinks Eddie’s about to miss. “soul mark surprise?”

“Not really,” says Eddie. “Stan had a thing on his wrist that said, hi, I’m Mike , in Mike’s handwriting, so I kind of connected the dots and introduced them.”

“I’m the third wheel with Bev and Ben all the time,” Richie tells him, leaning over to collect tickets from the Whack-a-Mole.

“They’re not usually too—wait, what’s that?” Eddie asks, snatching something out of Richie’s back pocket. He unfolds the piece of paper.

“Oh, well, uh,” Richie says, thinking for the first time that it’s kind of embarrassing that he kept the list in the first place, “I just… Well, my soul mark said oh my fucking god, I hate that song, so I kind of like kept a list of songs I thought he—they might be talking about.”

Eddie snorts. “I have every single one of these on my iPod,” he says. “And that’s like, my all-time favorite song.” He points at I Knew I Loved You by Savage Garden. Oh god.

“Do you really hate Weird Al?” Richie asks him on their way to the air hockey table. “Cause I gotta say, I don’t know if this,” he gestures between them, “is gonna work out if you don’t want to hear the Angry White Boy Polka at least three times a day.”

“No,” says Eddie quickly. “Weird Al is great. It’s just, you know, the soul mark thing. Like I got it and I was like, what the fuck is this shit? And I guess it was kind of a relief when the song came out because I really hadn’t figured out like...what context I might hear that in. But then I just got sick of associating the song with like...true love. Cause it’s like, ridiculous and gross, you know?”

“I guess,” says Richie. “I dunno. I thought that was pretty fuckin’ romantic.”

“Yeah, I bet you did,” says Eddie. “That’s the kind of romance I’d expect from anyone who hasn’t watched Bing Crosby serenade Grace Kelly.”

“Damn, Eddie. You’re a pretentious little dick, you know that?” Richie says, picking up the puck.

“And you’re a goddamn mess,” Eddie shoots back without pausing. “Your serve.”

Richie is already balls deep in love by the the game ends. To be fair, he’s not sure how he was supposed to concentrate on the game with Eddie giggling and doing a little dance every time he scored. Eddie may have kicked his ass, but Richie walks out the door of the arcade feeling like he’s the one who came out on top.

“What’s next?” Eddie asks, backing out the door of the arcade, catching his new sticky hand toy on Richie’s glasses on purpose.

“Road head?” Richie asks hopefully, jutting his chin in the direction of his car and grabbing onto his glasses to keep them from being pulled right off his face.

“You wish,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I haven’t even decided if I want a second date yet.”

“Ah ha!” Richie points at him. “So you admit this is a first date?”

Eddie laughs and raises his eyebrows. “I dunno. Is it?”

“Let’s ask Johnny Rocket,” says Richie, cocking his head to the right. “Got time for a burger? We can split a milkshake.”

Eddie gives him a considering sort of look. “I could probably squeeze it into my schedule.”

Ohhhhhh the things Richie wants to squeeze… With great mental fortitude, he refrains from commenting. Instead Eddie opens the door for him and they grab two menus and a booth.

“What are you gonna get?” Richie asks.

Eddie peers at him from over the menu. “Depends who’s paying. But we’re definitely not sharing a milkshake. I can already tell you’re a dessert hog. I’d end up getting like one sip.”

Richie laughs, running a hand through his hair. “God.”

“What?” asks Eddie, eyes already fixed back on the menu.

“Honestly? You.”

“Me what?”

Richie hesitates because it’s something he’s never talked to anyone about before. And for good reason—it’s fucking stupid. But right now, sitting in this Johnny Rockets…

“You know…” he starts, drumming his knuckles on the table, “I’m like, super bisexual. But I knew my soulmate was going to be a guy.”

Eddie puts the menu down. “Huh. Really? How?”

Richie shakes his head. “I dunno. It sounds really stupid but like… I don’t know if it was a dream I had or… you just. Like when I heard your voice and then you turned around in the theater…”

It’s so corny. He can’t say it. He’s playing with the straw dispenser on the table like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. How do you say you make me feel like, gooey inside and it’s fuckin’ nasty but also I don’t ever want it to end? Without sounding like a pussy, of course.

“Thanks? I guess?” says Eddie. “I mean, I still have no idea what you’re talking about but—”

“I’m really glad you’re my soulmate,” Richie blurts out. “Not just to have one, I mean. I’m glad it’s you. You’re awesome. Like...you’re totally knocking me off my fuckin’ feet here. And I hope you—”

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by Eddie leaning over the table and kissing him. Not like, full-on tongue kissing or anything. Just kind of a peck. But longer. Something in between. Soft, but definitely real.

And afterwards Eddie draws back, a little pinker than he was a second ago and then digs into his pocket, fishing out some quarters. He puts two in the little jukebox at their table, punches in a number and letter combo, and then sits back in his seat, shredding a straw wrapper between his fingers.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales

Meant for someone else, but not for me

Eddie looks like he’s trying as hard as he can not to grin, going even redder. Richie leans in and offers his hand. Eddie drops his straw wrapper.

Love was out to get me, that’s the way it seemed

Disappointment haunted all my dreams

But then I saw her face—

“You know,” Richie says, looking Eddie in the eye, “I like the Smash Mouth version better.”

Now I’m a believer

Eddie laughs and takes his outstretched hand. “I think I can live with that.”

#Stephen King's IT #It (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #so says sam

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ciarawritesmarvel · 7 years ago

Text

The Forfeit [Teacher!AU]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language in different languages (eheh), a teensy bit of alcohol?

A/N: I’m literally in love with the idea of cool language teachers Bucky and Y/N that all the students love and - surprise! - they love each other too. I don’t even know why I just love it. Anyway, this is for @bucky-at-bedtime‘s 1.5k writing challenge, congrats lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this so thank you for letting me be a part of it <3

Prompt: We’re both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from students and you’ve won for the past three years AU

MASTERLIST

You wrestled with the folders in your arms, propping them on your hip for a second to get a better grasp on them before continuing along the corridor. You received a few smiles from kids passing you and you just about managed to return them despite your concentration on not dropping your marking. There were even a few sweethearts who offered to help you but you’d never been one to rely on others so you simply shook your head kindly before hurrying off, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors.

It was the last week of term which meant there were masses of tests to mark, particularly rowdy students to control and grumpy teachers to be dealt with. You had tried your best not to fall into the same trap they had of getting excited for the holidays too early and letting yourself fall into misery for the last week, so, at that moment, you seemed to be one of the only enthusiastic teachers at the entire school.

You finally made it to the languages office, dropping the folders down on the desk with a loud thump before dropping yourself into your chair. You checked your watch - 50 minutes until your next class to finish marking these essays. Opening up the first folder and skimming over the first few lines you groaned audibly, leaning your head back against the chair and closing your eyes. There was no way you had time to correct these.

It was only when you opened your eyes again then that you saw the bright yellow post it note stuck to the ceiling.

“Don’t stress, Y/N, 2 days to go!”

Bloody Mr Barnes.

You couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on your lips at the gesture. He knew you far too well if he knew you looked upwards everytime you were anxious or frustrated. But being the only two language teachers in the school and being forced to work together in a tiny shared office constantly did tend to form a pretty strong bond.

And that bond came in handy at moments like this as, spurred on by his encouragement, you knuckled down and began marking the essays. 50 minutes later and you hadn’t finished, it was an impossible task you’d set for yourself after all, but you got much further through than you normally would.

“Working hard?” a knock and a voice came from behind you just before the bell was due to ring for next period and you swiveled your chair round to face the intruder, a soft smile of greeting already on your face just from his voice alone.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve just finished,” you answered, pushing yourself up and beginning to gather your folders together, “How were the Year 7s?”

“A handful,” he grimaced playfully but it quickly morphed into a fond smile, “A wonderful handful though. Anyway, I know you have french now but I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He leaned back outside the doorway to grab something from the hallway before holding it out in front of him.

“Surprise!”

It was a large plastic box, clearly meant to be used for storage. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, waiting for the explanation. Instead of explaining however, he shot you a grin that made your heart flutter involuntarily before striding over to you and, holding the box in one hand, took the folders out of your hand and dumped them into the box, holding it out to you again. It clicked.

“No way…” you breathed as you took the box from him and stared at him for just a moment longer than necessary. You just did not deserve this guy in your life. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Hey, it’s hardly revolutionary, just thought it might stop you from nearly dropping your shit every two seconds.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you grinned, snapping out of your dazed gaze and his eyes sparkled at your use of his name since you hardly ever used each other’s first names, preferring the game of using your ‘teacher names’.

“It’s nothing,” he replied sincerely, nodding to you as he turned to leave for his next class before he remembered something and turned back to face you, “Oh, and don’t even think about counting this as one of your gifts for the bet tomorrow.”

He winked and your breath hitched but then he sauntered out of the office and you didn’t have the chance to say another word.

You’d forgotten about the bet. The stupid, godforsaken, why-on-earth-did-we-start-this-shit bet. In your first year at the school, Bucky had introduced the bet as some sort of icebreaker between the two of you and it had been a thorn in your side ever since.

Every year, you’d both see how many gifts you’d get from students before the summer holidays and on that last Friday after school, you’d crack open a bottle of champagne, celebrate the ending of the year and open gifts together, counting how many each person got. Whoever got the most had the other do a forfeit.

And the stupid bastard had won for the past three years. Three. Years.

The first time, you’d had to come into school on the first day the next year wearing a costume of his choice. Mr Fury, the headteacher, found the whole bet so hilarious that he gave his permission more than happily and so you walked in to your new Year 7 class on the first day to a sea of confused faces dressed as Chewbacca. If they hadn’t been scared before, they certainly were then.

The second time he’d won, he’d gotten you to send an email to the entire school, teachers and students alike, and make it look as if you’d only meant to send it to the school matron:

Good morning Matron,

Sorry to bother you but is there any chance you’re free to have a look at something for me this lunchtime? I’ve just got this...rash that I can’t be bothered to go to the doctor about. It’s probably nothing but due to its placement on my body I wanted to get it checked out.

Best Wishes,

Y/N Y/L/N

Joint-Head of Languages

It was by far the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced, walking through the halls for a couple of weeks with all the giggles from students and judging looks from teachers. In the end, you’d made Bucky send an apology email with an explanation since you couldn’t deal with it any longer. He’d reluctantly agreed.

But last year was the worst. He’d made you set your Year 8 spanish class a few spanish swear words and act as if it would be cool for them to say them around school and no one would know they were swearing. At first, you refused that one but you couldn’t really say no when you’d lost the bet fair and square and had agreed to the terms long ago. The email you’d gotten from the Cuban maths teacher was interesting to say the least.

You were downright terrified as to what he might come up with this time.

But your train of thought was cut short by the bell ringing. You shoved the rest of your folders into the box before picking it up with ease and making your way to your french class, a wistful smile on your face the entire way.

***

“Were you going to start without me?” you asked playfully, sticking your head around the door to your shared office and you were met with Bucky stacking all his presents on top of his desk.

“No, just putting all my gifts in their rightful place,” he teased and you scoffed. Walking into the room, you placed your box down on your own desk before making sure to shut and lock the door behind you. You weren’t exactly supposed to have alcohol on school property, even if school was out but it wasn’t as if you drank more than one glass each.

“Ah, then I suppose I should start getting all of mine out of my box?”

“I suppose you should.”

You both stole glances at both each other and each other’s respective piles of presents, that both seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. Clearly, there were far more gifts on both sides than last year, it was surprising that this bet could inspire you both to try to become better teachers. Perhaps that was why Fury had no issue with it?

Once you’d both finished, you got the champagne bottle out of your handbag, laughing when Bucky asked you if you’d been day drinking and poured you both a glass, each of you rolling your desk chairs into the centre of the room to sit opposite each other.

“To our fourth year running this shitshow of a department. May it the next one be just as ridiculously exhausting, Miss Y/L/N,” Bucky raised his glass and you clinked yours against his own.

“I’ll definitely drink to that.”

Eventually you adopted your usual position on these evenings, each sat on one side of your chair with your feet up on the other side of the opposite chair, just in reach of your pile of presents. As you started opening them, laughing and reminiscing on the year that was now behind you, it became obvious that this year was going to be close.

“Another ‘World’s Best Teacher’ mug, how sweet! And this is from…” you trailed off to read the label and smirked when you did, “Peter Parker, you have him as well don’t you? I must be his favourite.”

“Afraid not,” he chuckled, holding up an identical mug with the exact same message on a gift card. You laughed.

“Does he not think we’d notice?”

“I don’t know, Miss Y/L/N, I think that boy has a lot on his mind at any one time, it’s a miracle he remembered to get us gifts.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing to sift through the pile.

“How many are you on?”

“As if I’m telling you!”

Variations of those two lines were said throughout the evening but still neither of you was prepared to tell the other how many you’d got. You were quietly confident this year, hoping beyond hope that you’d finally be able to give him a forfeit instead. You were totally going to make him jump in the school swimming pool in just his boxers.

Just for his own embarrassment of course. Not because you wanted to see that. You didn’t want to see that. Who would want to see that? Certainly not you.

Your internal monologue did nothing to help you to believe what you were trying to tell yourself, unfortunately. In fact, you’d been extremely transparent about your...view on Mr Barnes since you joined the school, so much so that many students and even parents had commented on it. At this point, it seemed it was only the man himself who hadn’t noticed your goofy grins and longing looks.

Thank god.

“Right, I’m finished,” Bucky announced, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head with a satisfied sigh. You frowned.

“I don’t know why you’re so pleased with yourself, surely if you’re finished before me, you’ve lost?” you argued but he simply shrugged, still leaning back and you huffed.

Eventually, you’d opened your last present and placed it carefully with the others, turning to your colleague with a smug smile painted on your lips.

“Go on then,” you urged.

“Ladies first.”

“Exactly, go on.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Just tell me you dumb dork.”

A pause.

“44.”

You went silent the smirk slipping from your face and sliding onto his. This was not happening again. This could not be happening again.

“T’es un salaud!” you shouted, not caring if anyone heard you and making sure to curse him out in french so he would know you weren’t being too serious. But still, you pointed at him accusatorily and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Firstly, wash your mouth out,” he deadpanned and then the smirk returned, “Secondly, I’m guessing I won then?”

“I got 40,” you whined, slumping down into your chair, “How do you manage to do this every year?”

“By being the better teacher?”

If looks could kill, James Buchanan Barnes would have been stone cold dead.

“Can’t we skip the whole forfeit part of the bet this year? I can’t embarrass myself again this year,” you muttered the last part and you could have sworn Bucky was stifling a laugh so you snapped, “What’s so funny, Buckle?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just, jesus doll, you’re a terrible loser,” he shook his head fondly, “And no we cannot ‘skip the whole forfeit part’. That’s the only part!”

You grumbled but sat in silence awaiting your punishment, a pout prevalent on your features. Your gaze was cast on the floor but after waiting for him to speak for just a few seconds too long, you looked up at him only to see he’d shuffled his chair far closer to yours. You gulped.

“Y/N,” he began, looking right into your eyes and your own were locked onto his too, unable to look away despite desperately wanting to, “This year’s forfeit is probably the worst yet. I mean nothing could ever be as embarrassing as this. Nothing. It may just be the worst thing you’ll ever-”

“I swear, Barnes, if you don’t say what it is right this-”

“You have to go on a date with me.”

You sat completely still, far too close to Bucky for comfort but finding yourself frozen in place. You weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly. You shook your head once. Blinked.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, your tone far harsher than you’d intended making Bucky’s eyes widen as he reeled back a little.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean you have to, this isn’t one of those forfeits you have to do because obviously I would never force anyone to go on a date with me but if you’re...happy to then...I-”

He trailed off slowly when you began to shuffle forward in your chair until you were closer to him than you’d been since you fell asleep together on the staffroom couch and all the teachers had taken about a million pictures. It would never be close enough.

“How-” you started, closing your eyes and placing a hand on his chest and bunching up in the fabric as a giggle escaped your lips, “-could you ever think that would be a forfeit?”

You opened your eyes to look at his and another giggle escaped when you saw the shock registering within them.

“I...I don’t-”

“...And not a reward?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr Barnes,” you grinned, your face now inches from his and he finally cottoned on, a genuine, joyful grin adorning his entire face, his entire being. He was glowing as he finally closed the gap and rested his forehead against yours, both of you shivering at the contact.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for so long, Miss Y/L/N,” he whispered, “Actually, I’ve wanted to ask you out for four years.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” you scolded, but it was playful and it was promising and it was perfect.

“Scared,” he murmured against your lips, and you began to laugh but were cut off by his lips on your own. You couldn’t help the small whimper you let out at the contact and that only seemed to spur him on as he growled deep in his chest before suddenly his hands were on your waist and you were lifted onto his lap with a muffled squeal.

His hands travelled up and down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the fabric in between you and your other hand joined the one already on his chest, pulling him ever closer. You stayed like this for as long as you possibly could before your lungs began screaming at you and you had to pull away, panting heavily.

Bucky’s lips instantly attached themselves to your jaw and you closed your eyes momentarily at the sensation.

“Can I tell you a secret?” his voice hummed against your skin and you just nodded your head in response, unable to formulate the words, “I told my classes about the bet, that I was going to ask you on a date if I won and to buy me presents because of it. I’m so glad they did.”

Now that woke you from your haze.

“You cheated?” you asked indignantly, pulling away from him properly, letting his shirt go and opting instead to put your hands on your hips. His lips parted in surprise at your sudden movements away from him, and he tried to pull you back by the waist.

“Well...yes, but for a good reason,” he argued, frown deepening when you refused to let him pull you close, “I thought you’d find it cute, I cheated for you! For us!”

“You still cheated!” you were off his lap now and desperately trying to keep from laughing, but this was just too good and he deserved it anyway.

“But, doll-”

“It’s Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and marched out of the office, leaving Bucky staring after you in total shock, lips swollen and mouth wide open. You waited outside for a couple of seconds, just long enough for him to think you’d actually left, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter.

When you were sure he would be suitably terrified, you opened the door again, rushing inside and twisting the key in the lock behind you with a flick of your wrist. You hurried over to him, pushing your own chair out of your way and straddling his thighs once again, cupping his face in your hands.

“On second thought, never call me anything but doll again,” you announced, just moments away from his lips, his breath ghosting across your face and you tried to suppress your shiver. He looked like he was about to reprimand you for your teasing but clearly thought better of it.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

He surged forward, capturing your lips once again and you were pleased to learn that each kiss was as spine-tingling as the last.

if crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for some reason - sorry! tag lists are open so please just drop me an ask ^-^

permanent tags: @mightyhemsworthy @aheadfullofsherlock @ign-is @buckysboobear @sooooo-thats-a-thing @thefridgeismybestie @avengersbabe13 @mixedupsammy @memyselfandmaddox @ginger-rxchxo @emergenciesstory @mehfuture @stephie-senpai @hottrashformarvel @queenoftrash97 @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @yknott81 @mell-bell @dolphinpink310 @sgtjbuccky @dreamerinfinity @selenasoftly @spiderlingss @slightlycatdependent @shamelessbookaddict @vintagepigeon @bodhi-black @realgreglestrade @demoncrypt1066 @skeltn @bucky-at-bedtime @hanscait @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @milkywaybarnes @scurtscurt2021 @jitterbuck @slowly-but-shurley @jaamesbbarnes @yesdruidess @dixonsbugaboo @lortise @residentdemonhunter

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #the forfeit #buckyatbedtimeswritingchallenge

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waywardwboys · 6 years ago

Text

A dozen roses - part four

Characters: AU!Dean Winchester, reader, OFC (original fictional characters)

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a small wound and mentions of blood (not that much actually), small fluff, small angst at the end. Family issues.

Summary: Y/N’s has no idea who sent her flowers. Maybe it was Dean, maybe it wasn’t. Who knows. She decides to do something that she hasn’t done in a while but that might make her feel a little sad. She still has to, no matter how she is going to feel afterward. Meanwhile, Dean is so much closer than she thinks.

A/N: okay this one is more ‘boring’ than the other ones, there’s more Y/N’s story than Dean x reader. Though there’s some cute Dean as well :) Unbeta’d. English is not my first language, so I apologize if you read any nonsense. Hope you like it! xx

Part one here, part two here, part three here.

A dozen roses masterlist.

Supernatural masterlist

Pics are not mine.

Feedback is always appreciated!

Y/N stared at the bouquet of roses, which was now in a vase, half full of water.

She had to kick Margaery and Ophelia out since they were willing to enter her house without permission, just to find out who had sent those damn flowers. When she finally closed her apartment door, leaving her nosy neighbors outside while they constantly rang the doorbell in order to get her attention, Y/N left the roses on the counter and sat down on one of the stools from the kitchen island.

She rubbed her eyes during a few seconds and stared at them. Then, she stood up, walked towards them and untied the knot of the bouquet. In doing so, her finger got pricked by a thorn. She sighed in pain, watching how a drop of blood fell down her index finger towards her nail. Y/N dropped the flowers and went to get a band-aid.

This was beyond her. She felt like she was just dreaming. That was it. Just a dream. This is not real, she constantly told to herself.

But seeing that falling drop of blood in her finger, she knew in some way that what was happening was totally real. As real as the wound in her finger was. Someone had sent her flowers, that was a fact. Someone had sent her flowers!

She ignored the slight pain she was feeling in her finger, covered now with the band-aid, and jumped down from the stool. She started to dance without any kind of control in the middle of the kitchen, jumping up and down with a smile on her face. She felt happy. After all, if there was someone in the world who had done that, it was because she was not completely alone. Here had to be somebody in her life who bothered to do something sweet for her, and just thinking about that made her feel wildly happy.

But the most important question was who had sent the flowers. Could it have been…? Dean?

No, no. No.

She was not going to let herself drown in that thought. It was obvious that it hadn’t been Dean. She met him yesterday, for God’s sake.

Besides, she should be under no illusion. Because if she thought it had been Dean the one who had done something nice for her, but then he actually hadn’t, she’d probably collapse. She was not going to think about that, because she knew nothing good would come from it.

It hadn’t been Dean. It was impossible.

But who, then? Maybe any of her workmates? No. There was nobody who could have sent her flowers. She was not that loved. It was just nonsense.

What about her parents? Could they have sent them? She wasn’t completely sure about that, they were not the kind of parents who send flowers and gifts to their daughter. But, as Y/N had no one else to fit the profile, she decided to make a phone call. She wouldn’t answer about the roses, she would just wait for them to mention something about it. If the didn’t, then they were not the ones.

But not now. She wasn’t ready yet.

Y/N didn’t get along with her family, but still, she loved her parents with all her soul. Although their relationship was more complicated than imaginable.

She decided to put some music on since her apartment was silent now that Margaery and Ophelia had stopped ringing the doorbell, after waiting anxiously during minutes. She walked towards the music player in her living room and played a CD from The Rolling Stones.

She checked the time on her phone while Sympathy For The Devil was playing, with the phone call to her parents still on her mind.

Y/N’s father was the head of a very important company in London, England. At first, he was just an intern, but throughout the years he moved up until, after the old boss died, he was appointed the director of the business. He was very well liked in the company since he first started working. The only detail about her dad was that he wanted her daughter to be the future head of his Enterprise when she grew up.

Y/N didn’t like economics, maths, accounting and finance, nor business management. She didn’t like that, yet that was what she had majored in. Why? Because she desperately needed a job.

Her parents only paid is major in History, they were not going to pay any more. If she wanted to keep studying, it wouldn’t be thanks to their money. That’s why, while she studied History, she got a part-time job at a coffee shop where many college students went. There’s where she met a group of students who majored in accounting and finance, and they kept constantly talking about the big amount of jobs they’d get as accountants. They could even get to be big bosses, they said. Y/N didn’t want that at all, but the fact of knowing that if she studied accounting she would get a job so easily, made her want to do it.

So, when she finished studying History and searched for a job, she knew she had to study accounting so that she could find a job once and for all. Money wouldn’t be a big issue, because she had got enough during his years at the coffee shop.

The only problem was that, for her parents, she was working as a history teacher. They totally ignored she worked at a company, like her dad. But she never wanted to tell them. As they had always wanted her to work with his father, now that she worked at an american business, they would be disappointed. And disappointing her family had always been Y/N’s worst fear.

On the other hand, it never helped to have the feeling that, for her mom, everything Y/N did was never good enough. There was always something to perfect, something to improve. Anything was adjusted to her liking, so she had much more reasons not to tell her mom about her real job.

However, it wasn’t actually a big problem. They never visited her, neither she did. They just talked on the phone every few months.

Dean’s plaid flannel brought Y/N’ back to reality. It was again hanged on the hanger like last night, perfectly buttoned.

She walked towards it staring at the blue plaid. She took it and smelled it. It still had this male scent she liked so much. She resisted putting it on since Dean had only asked her to keep it, nothing more.

Y/N looked away and decided to do something productive before calling her parents, now that she had the afternoon off.

She cleaned, did the laundry and cooked dinner for one. It wasn’t how she had imagined her evening, but the nerves were killing her inside.

When she finished, still not wanting to call her family, she decided to go take out the garbage to clear her head. Maybe some fresh air would help.

Y/N opened her apartment door with the garbage bag on a hand and locked it when she came out in the hallway. Turning around, she realized that the apartment door across the hallway was wide opened. It was Mr. Stevenson’s. She heard his voice from the inside, he seemed to be talking to someone. It was strange, so she decided to take a look. Leaving the bag on the floor, she leaned out his neighbor’s door.

“Mr. Stevenson?” she said raising her voice so that he could hear her.

“Y/N? Is that you, dear?” his voice said approaching her. Mr. Stevenson showed up and smiled brightly. “Y/N, I’m so glad to see you. Look, I have something to tell you.”

Mr. Stevenson was really special. He was a widower, no kids, but one of the kindest neighbors Y/N had. He always gave her a good morning smile if they crossed over each other, or he would wink at her with a sweet look, and sometimes he knocked her door to bring her those chocolate chips cookies he made. He was almost like a dad to her.

But Y/N was about to hear an announcement that would change it all in such a very short time.

“Y/N, darling. I’m moving out.”

“What? You’re moving? But, why?” she said with a confused look.

“I got a job. But it’s in California” he clarified.

Mr. Stevenson was a painter. He loved art, it was his passion. Literature, music, and painting were his favorites. His dream had always been to get one of his paintings on an art gallery, but he had never achieved it. Until now, apparently.

“Really? Did they like your paintings?” he asked excitedly. He nodded euphorically. “Oh, I’m so happy about you, Mr. Stevenson. You’re going to succeed in California, I’m sure.”

“Oh, honey. You’re so lovely. I’ll miss you so much. Who am I going to make my chocolate cookies for now?”

“You can still send them to me, I’ll gladly accept them,” she said making him laugh. “By the way, what will happen to your apartment now?”

“I sold it to a boy. He needed a place to live desperately and I needed to sell it as soon as possible, so we both win” he said still laughing. “He seems a good guy, I think you’ll like him. He’s inside, taking a look” Mr. Stevenson pointed at his apartment and his eyebrows rose. “You could go and say hi.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Stevenson. I was going to take out the garbage, I can’t leave the bag in the middle of the hallway” she chuckled. “Besides, I got like a thousand other things to do.”

“All right, darling. I’ll go say goodbye in two days.”

“Wait. Two days? That’s so soon!” the man nodded.

“You’ll have a new neighbor the same day I leave. Be nice to him” he said looking like a dad. “Make him that delicious cherry pie of yours, and protect him from the crazy ones, you know, Margaery and Ophelia. You know how they behave with the new neighbors.”

“I will, don’t worry” she smiled. “I have to go, Mr. Stevenson. Have a good night” she said stepping back to take the garbage bag again.

“Bye, dear. Take care” the man said while turning around to get back into his apartment.

Y/N smiled one more time and took the elevator to go down the street, leaving Mr. Stevenson smiling at his apartment door. When he got back in, closing the door behind him, he found his guest leaned on the wall, in a strategic place where no one could see him from the front door. His hand was on his mouth and his eyes widened as Mr. Stevenson walked towards him.

“Was that Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked.

“How do you know Y/N, kid?”

“Oh, my God.”

“What’s wrong, Dean? You okay?” Mr. Stevenson asked with a frowned look.

This guy was nice, kind, a good guy. But he was acting a bit strange. He ran his hands through his hair again and again, as if he was nervous. The poor man barely understood what was happening.

“Hey, kid, take it easy. What’s wrong?”

“Y/N lives in the apartment across the hallway,” he said then as if he couldn’t believe it yet. “Y/N lives three meters away from here.”

***

“Hello, dad.”

Y/N was sitting on the couch, lights on, covered in a warm blanket. It was late, she had had dinner, and she’d go to bed soon. Her dad had picked up the phone seconds ago, and Y/N was more and more nervous.

“Y/N, child. It’s so strange to hear from you. You haven’t called in months.”

“I miss you both,” she said.

“Yeah, sure. At least you could stop pretending like you care, couldn’t you?” her dad asked with a deep sigh. “How’s work?”

“I’m not pretending, dad. Work is fine, what about yours?” she asked pretending to be interested in the subject. If the man started talking about how good his business was, or how much the stocks in his company had increased, she’d just hang up the phone.

“As good as always. Smooth sailing. Do you want to talk to your mom? She’s cooking” he said,

“Yes, please. Thanks, dad.”

Y/N wanted to end the phone call so bad. The sooner, the better. Talking to her parents had always made her feel very nervous. She never knew what would they say, or how would they react to anything she said. Or how would they get disappointed this time.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, mom.”

“We miss you so much, darling. When will you come visit us?” her mom asked.

“I’ve got a lot of work, mom. Maybe someday” she said not looking forward to it.

“Well, alright. But you should visit us as soon as possible. Forgetting your parents is not okay, sweetie. You should talk to your boss and ask him to give you a little time off. Right?”

“No, mom. That’s not how it works.”

“Well, baby. Your father gave some days off for some of his best employees so that they could visit their families. I’ not saying your boss is lower than your dad, but maybe he should be more considerate with you.”

“But, mom…”

“Maybe he’s not the problem. Haven’t you told him that your parents live abroad? Haven’t you? How hasn’t it crossed your mind, Y/N? You have to tell him tomorrow when you first see him. Stop being shy, kid. Life is not going to treat you different just because you’re shy. You need to grow up.”

Y/N strongly shut her eyes, trying to hold every tear she wanted to shed. She hated that. She hated it when her mom treated her like that. She tried not to yell at her with all her strength. She tried not to explain to her how much she hated her right now.

Stop being shy, kid.

Stop being shy? Do you really think I want to be like that, mom? Screw you.

Why couldn’t she just be happy for her? Wasn’t she going to like a thing Y/N did? Would she have to live eternally with that behavior coming from her mom? It was insane.

“I’ve got a lot of tests to correct, mom. Bye” she said getting off the phone without even waiting for her to answer.

Y/N covered her face with her hands, trying not to cry again. She lied down on the couch and hugged the blanket which was covering her body, breathing in and breathing out.

She had never dared talk to her mom like that, she had never left her in the middle of a word. And, right now, her mom would think her behavior was not appropriate for a girl her age.

Y/N’s teary eyes rested on Dean’s flannel again.

She had promised to herself not to put it on again, not even touch it. She’ll sure end up getting it dirty or something. And when Dean knew, she’ll get mad at her. For sure. She told herself that she had to wash it to give it back the next time she saw him. But right now, she really didn’t care about that.

Y/N got up and walked towards it, then she took it and smelled it. In doing so, not knowing why, she felt a little better. Going back to the couch, she hugged it as she had done with the blanket.

And so, one more night, her tiredness beat the sadness she was feeling inside. Y/N fell fast asleep seconds later, still holding Dean’s blue flannel, the guy on her mind.

What Y/N didn’t know yet was how much things were going to change in just a few days.

@clarinette07

Dean tags: @all-will-be-well-love

#spn #spnfandom #SPNFamily #spn fanfic #spn au fanfic #spn au series #spn dean winchester #spn sam winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester series #dean winchester au #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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cyborgmagpie · 6 years ago

Text

I Dream of Colder Skies

Anti left the house, toast in his mouth and rucksack balanced on one arm until Doc corrected him.

"You'll hurt your back otherwise."

Anti took the toast out of his mouth. "Yeah, thanks da- Doc." Anti went red in the face at his slip up.

Doc smiled, "Dad is fine, I've gotta take Robbie to the dentist, see you kid."

"Yeah, bye do- dad, bye Robbie." Anti smiled, heading down the street and turning towards school. Aiming to meet Marvin and Chase along the way.

The day was rather chilly and Anti had decided to put a thick jumper on. He had debated a woolly hat for his ears but in the end decided against the idea.

"Anti!"

"Morning guys, how was the skate park Chase?" Anti quickened his pace until he was at the street corner with them and then they ambled along together.

"Alright, Bing brought his robot of a boyfriend."

"Google right? The straight A's kid who hoods himself superior?"

"The very one." Chase said, Anti muttered 'prick' and the other two snickered before Chase went on, "He spent the entire time warning us how dangerous skating is, I mean, we all worry but loosen up man."

Anti grinned, "Bet you and Bing couldn't even get him on roller blades."

"He sat doing homework and watching us."

Anti smiled, looking over at Marvin, "you alright dude?"

Marv nodded, "Yeah, thanks for yesterday."

"Yesterday? What happened?" Chase looked over and Marvin shook his head.

"Don't worry yourself."

"Marvy, come on, how long have we been friends."

"Five years, give or take."

"Have I ever been mean to you?" Chase said, Anti wasn't so sure on the wording bit Marvin rolled his eyes.

"Chase, you tease me about witchcraft and collecting flowers almost constantly."

"Okay, valid, but can anyone else identify every plant they see along with its meaning and its uses in medicine as well as its witchy purpose."

"Flattering me won't work."

"Yes it will." Chase grinned.

"Chase, stop it."

"Hyacinth, please."

"Funny how you remember the flower for forgiveness." Marvin remarks, smirking a little as they walk through the school gates. In response Chase jumps at Marvin and starts tickling him.

"Ch-a-hah-Chase, stop!" He laughs, Anti grins and hugs Marvin from behind.

"You need to cheer up you pile of dead leaves." Chase said.

"Anti, Chase!" Marvin squealed, laughing. The bell rang and Chase stopped.

"Shoot! I'm supposed to be the other side of school. Catch you later!"

And with that he was off, leaving the other two behind. Anti smiled at Marvin, "You alright now Marvy?"

"Yeah, there's a lot of yellow tulips in my dreams but I'll be good."

"Head up high Marv. I've got cookies for break." Marvin cheered and they parted ways to get to class.

Anti walked into English, sitting down in his back row seat and getting his book and pen out for the worst hour of the day. He despised English, all the words and stuff just didn't agree, analysing writing was stupid, and writing a newspaper article was stupid. All of it was annoying, Anti was just beginning to let his thoughts wonder whilst the others piled in when someone spoke at him, well, too him, but he wasn't listening the first time.

Anti looked up, "Can I help you?" He then stopped, and looked properly. The boy in front of him was beautiful, in a sort of, cold and sharp beautiful. His body and face wern't scrawny, but he did give off a feeling of being angled and having success in either business or law in future. Rather than a suit though, he was currently in a black turtleneck jumper and grey jeans, Anti had no doubt if the boy smiled it would be a blessing to his frail and gay heart.

"Is this seat taken?" The boy asked, expression remaining neutral, almost uninterested.

"As it happens, no. I'm Anti by the way. Are you new? I've never seen you around. I mean, sure, I can't know everyone, but that's besides the point."

"Yes, I moved into town a few days ago, however today is my first day in school. I'm Dark. A pleasure to meet you." Dark held his hand out for a handshake, however Anti just gave it a sort of side wards high five.

"Welcome to English, worst lesson of the day. Even the robots struggle."

"Robots?"

Anti cackled and was shot a glare by the teacher, quietening down he looked back to Dark, "Not literal ones, Google and Bing are just that perfectionist at Maths and Art and history and stuff that everyone calls 'em robots." It was sort of true, although Bing had only been given the tag after he started dating Google.

"Right."

The rest of the lesson had gone on as usual, annoying. Dark was interesting enough but he didn't talk about much unless it was required for the work. Anti sighed, he felt like Dark was important somehow, in a way that wasn't the fact he'd probably win head boy. At the end of the lesson he packed up his things and checked his timetable. History, not the worst lesson he could have.

Anti walked out of the class and Down the one way system, feeling someone's eyes on him and eventually turning.

"Are you following me?"

"No, I'm heading to music."

Anti bit his tongue, History and Music were in the same direction from English. "Right."

"Is there a problem?"

Anti checked for teachers before heading the wrong way through a one way system, using it as a shortcut. "No. None at all."

“That’s a one way system.” Dark commented, still following Anti through it regardless.

“Only if you get caught.”

Dark, to Anti's surprise, chuckled, "An interesting way of viewing the world."

"Yeah, Marvy calls it chaotic neutral."

"Interesting talking to you, see you later." And with that he turned and headed up a set of stairs to his lesson, Anti continued on, before turning right into a classroom, working his way to his seat and sitting down, setting up his books.

"You're late Anti."

"Sorry I'm late miss."

Miss Gibbs just rolled her eyes and started to teach, she was a good teacher in principle, but her general morals were 'don't share answers unless I say as you won't have friends in the exam' and 'If you fail you need to revise more as I have given you all the material'. She had a rather booming voice but overall was approachable and told stories about her family.

"Anti, what's the date of the treaty of Versailles?"

"June nineteen twenty? I think? You mean when it was signed right?"

"Learn to whisper." Google butted in, Chase gave him a glare.

---

Dark had only just come back to town, he barely remembered what it was like from when he moved away with his parents six years ago. No one seemed to remember him either. His older siblings hadn't come back with him, they had instead opted to stay in the same college and just rent an apartment. Meaning they had job searched. Dark had barely spent a week without them but he missed Damien's reassurances and positivity, he missed Celene's sarcastic wit and her gossip. He had received a text from Damien asking if he was okay and he had replied that he would adapt. He had to.

Dark didn't have many friends when he used to live here, the only one who really was his friend was Wil, and he was sure Wil would have grown since they last met, possibly lost his love of the colour pink, or his daring energy, or his lack of fear of Dark's temper.

Dark sat down in music. The desks were organized in rows, one at the edge of the classroom, two facing inwards at the middle, then one at the other side. The chairs were two to a keyboard. Dark looked over to the piano the teacher sat by. Sure, it wasn't a traditional one, it was still electronic, but at least it had peddles, and a more polished look about it.

Dark listened as their teacher- a women called Mrs Davenport- spoke, listing off the names on the register.

"Wilford Barnum?"

"Here." Darks head snapped around at the name, and as sure as the steady spinning of the earth and its eventual demise, there sat a boy, he had certainly lost most of the baby face since Dark last saw him- and gained pink hair so it seemed, but his cheeks were still plump and the glint was still in his eyes.

It was his Wil.

Dark looked towards the front, listening to the teacher, eventually she handed out some basic music sheets to practice on the keyboards, Dark stood up to speak to Mrs Davenport, noticing Wilford also stand. Perhaps his headphones were broken.

"Miss, as much as I appreciate the keyboards I would very much like to use the piano in the corner and whil-"

"Dark, was it?"

He was taken aback from being interrupted, he was defiantly doing as Celene said to when he so desired a favour, which was to 'lay it on thickly, and use some of your vocabulary. Adults love a smart and pristine boy like you Dark, you'll be able to talk into or out of whatever.' However it seems he may have to try again.

"Yes and I-"

"I don't see how you should get to and no one else should, unless you really are some musical genius, in which case come back in five years and I will eat my words."

Dark grit his teeth and went to straighten up, before stopping himself, smoothing his hair back and taking a breath. Jumping slightly at a hand on his shoulder.

"Miss, I really do think you should give this one the benefit of the doubt. He's been playing since five."

Dark looked over at Wilford, his manor of speaking was odd, and the way he held himself. Mostly the way he moved his jaw to speak. He saw Wil looking over him the same, until both their eyes set upon the confirmation they were after. Small, heart shaped, rose gold coloured lockets.

"Surely I can sit with him and Joe can partner up with my partner ey Miss?"

Mrs Davenport seemed to mull it over, a little too facially for Darks liking, before nodding. Wil slid his Hand from one shoulder to the other, before leading Dark by the hand to the piano.

"Shall I pull myself up a chair?"

"You always were a curt little shit. The stool is big enough for both of us Dark." Wil pointed out.

"You were always good at being a little shit. If I remember you once ate too much sugar and accidentally knocked over two photo frames, and your so called adventures got you in enough trouble as it was." Dark sat down on the stool, leaving space for Wil as he too sat down.

"I was lucky to have you. How have you been Dark?"

"Not too bad, although I miss the twins. They didn't move back with us. . . I remember first moving there and how much I missed you." Dark mentioned. Glancing over and watching Wil's features go soft.

"Yeah, I missed you too. You know, I really wanted to send a letter but didn't get the concept of needing the address."

Dark nodded. Wilford's warmth at his side. . . back at his side, . . it was comforting and felt like he remembered. He had fretted about this ever since it had been announced they were moving back. But here they were, Dark and Wil.

"You're going to have to lean back if I intend to reach the other keys."

"You only need one scale Dark, don't be greedy." Wilford leant back regardless.

Dark smiled and started to play.

"If I'm not wrong this is bohemian rhapsody, not the emmerdale theme."

"I'm allowed to play as I wish." Dark stated back. And that he did.

The lesson went on as such with Wil challenging Dark to play increasingly difficult and odd tunes before they actually bothered with the work set. To which it seemed Dark was able to add more complexities than necessary whilst Wil cursed the need to play and form of keyboard or piano when he himself played the saxophone.

Dark eventually found himself sat at a lunch table with Wil and two others, Bim and Arthur. Arthur seems the overdramatic type in terms of everything, but then again so is Bim. Bim looked like someone who would end up going far and being famed for his smile. Arthur, well, he would get himself somewhere creative, for better or worse.

Dark surveyed the hall, spotting Anti sat with a boy with long pastel green hair and one wearing a cap. Wil nudged him a few moments later.

((So, this is in two parts because apparently Tumblr has a limit on paragraphs or 'text blocks' which isn't fun when I do way too much dialogue))

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marlahey · 7 years ago

Text

we stumbled in the dark; i knew we’d be alright (part two)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: still t and tame; references the death of ellie/ava’s parents. more misc notes: please ignore my total disregard for ontario’s educational system. and that this timeline is entirely made up and intentional vague, though I will try my best to maintain some kind of sense. for the first time in ages I can see almost all the major moments of this story, so I promise I won’t drop it. although I do want to take a poll: shorter, more frequent updates, or longer chapters with longer waits? shoot me an ask if you care. pretend I didn’t forget to give shawn an opening act it’s fine. happy album drop day! come cry with me about it. first person to spot a reference to one of my favourite films of all time gets a prize; i’ll also be tagging this and any asks/updates with wsitd for your future reference! if you want to leave comments in that tag that would be amazing.

read part one here.

ottawa; then “Are you sure you can handle this?”

Ava’s expression is dubious at best as she watches you tap a restless and awkward rhythm on your jeans. By some miracle you managed the four and a half hour train journey from Toronto without bursting at the seams or spilling the beans to Hannah: your sister’s new PA gig she’s been hiding for months is for Shawn Mendes. You’re sitting in Shawn Mendes’ dressing room, waiting for him to finish last-minute level checks.

Your sister had handed you floor tickets. “Is it weird that I normally tune out his shows?” she’d asked, as she picked you up from the train station. “I usually have so much to do. I figured if I was going to treat you, I may as well you know, experience it properly myself.” “You’re asking me that as I haven’t spent the last four hours listening to his voice,” you reply. “Is it also weird that I feel like I might self-combust any second now?” Ava rolls her eyes. “Remind me to start restricting your caffeine intake if this works.” This is this meeting. You, Shawn, Ava, Andrew. Shawn’s manager (and presumably Shawn himself) are going to pass judgement on whether or not you can manage yourself as a normal person and not freak out in the presence of an international pop star only a year and half older than you. Your sister was very clear: you’d finish high school at a distance before you could even set foot in a stadium for sound check, any and all social media would have to stop completely, and– “I know you’re a responsible kid,” Ava had begun when the arena was finally in sight and you’d craned your neck to see the top. It seems unimaginable that a single voice could fill the entire thing. “And Shawn’s not that sort of guy–” “God Ava, what is he going to do, proposition me?” “I’d literally murder him.” You choke on a laugh, but it fades when your sister looks at you, her eyes serious. The eight year gap between you feels impossibly wide, sometimes. “I know you, and him, and something like that wouldn’t happen. But that doesn’t mean that you won’t...” She makes a face, as though she knows the words she’s about to utter are ridiculous. “catch feelings.” You can only stare at her. “If you think that I’m going to walk around like some lovestruck–” “No.” Ava’s parked now. She reaches across the console for your hands. “No, you’re not. But you’re young, and so is he. You’re both only human.” You can read your sister’s face well. There’s an apprehension there that you haven’t seen in many years. Your throat feels tight, suddenly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” “Isn’t it your job to make sure he does’t get hurt?” You ask, going for levity, but failing when your voice cracks a little. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re out of a job, either. You love being on his team.” “It is my job,” Ava concedes, but her hand is cupping your cheek, her fingers threading into the red strands of your hair that your mother gave you. “But you’re my family. You’re always going to come first.” She smiles. “Besides, you’re a catch. What’s to say Shawn doesn’t fall in love with you first?” You snort. “As if.” You were certain, in the car, just as you are certain now, moments away from being in the same room as Shawn for the first time. You can’t love someone you don’t really know, and you’re pretty confident in your ability to separate your admiration for his music (and his objectively stupidly handsome face) from actual feelings. You’d have to know Shawn to have those kind of feelings. And you can’t imagine how orbiting the periphery of his life on tour is going to change that. So it’s fine. You’re totally fine. “I’m fine,” you tell Ava. She raises an eyebrow at you, but it’s more teasing than anything. You promptly stick out your tongue at her, which is of course the moment that Shawn chooses to open the door. It’s been a while since you’ve blushed past the colour of your hair. Shawn smiles; if that’s laughter behind his eyes, he’s as truly Canadian as you and doesn't give into it. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Shawn.” It’s the most normal opening interaction from someone who is so not normal that you have to bite down a hysterical laugh. Shawn’s smile only widens as he looks from Ava back to you. “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I? A sister thing. I’ve seen that look before. Aaliyah’s friends always made fun of me.” “I doubt they do that now,” is the first thing you manage, having finally unstuck your voice. You’re not sure, but what looks like a faint blush colours Shawn’s ears. You just embarrassed Shawn Mendes. Two things happen at once: you feel badly, and you realize. Just a boy. “I’m sorry,” you blurt. “You’re fine. You aren’t um, interrupting. In fact, I’m probably interrupting because this is you know, your dressing room.” Ava clears her throat. You feel like melting into the floor. Shawn is just watching you, that maybe laughter still lingering. “I’m Eleanor.” You wince. He notices. “Not a fan of your own name, huh?” “No one–” Come on, get it together. “No one really calls me that, anymore.” You don't know why you phrased it that way, even though it’s the truth. But you can tell already: Shawn is too polite to ask. Instead he glances at your sister. “Len and Lenny, right?” You didn’t know it was possible to be this embarrassed. “Most people call me Ellie.” You shoot a half-hearted glare at Ava, who just shrugs in a what do you want from me? sort of gesture. You turn back to Shawn and remember your resolve. “It’s nice to meet you.” His smile is gentler now, as if he’s trying his best to make you comfortable and you’re just making his job hard. Relax, god. He’s just a person, not Santa Claus. “I’m excited for the show,” you say, grappling for something concrete to talk about. “Thank you for the tickets.” Shawn looks so pleased that you momentarily lose yourself again. “No problem! Av has gone to exactly a third of a gig since we met, so I’m glad you’re here. She can actually experience it and I can finally know whether she hates my music or not.” Your sister doesn’t let anyone give her nicknames. You have to resist the urge to whip around and accuse her of violating a sacred sibling trust. He’s looking at Ava with such a teasing grin that you can’t help but smile. The knot in your stomach unfurls a little. Your sister, for her part, just swats at him with the badge dangling from her fingers. “Who wanted kombucha after the show?” Shawn’s mouth clamps shut at that. He raises his hands in surrender and your brain gets momentarily stuck: international pop star who drinks kombucha. Ava’s gaze is full of affection; it’s as familiar as it is strange. I know you, and him. “How’s school?” Shawn asks. You’re honestly getting whiplash from all these turns in conversation, but you manage to hold on. “Grade 11 right?” Just how much does he know about you already? You nod. “Busy,” you say, because it’s the truth and an easy answer to the most mundane part of being sixteen. “We had a fire drill yesterday.” “Really?” Shawn’s ability to look genuinely interested is baffling. “How long were you outside for?” “Like, forty-five minutes? It was the worst.” You don’t have to pretend to be slightly melodramatic. Hannah had started trying to tell your math teacher that he was violating her rights. “I didn’t have my phone.” “Oh man. That’s nuts.” Shawn then proceeds to launch into a story involving the boy’s locker room and the smoke detector at school. The reality of him as an eighteen year old boy is so jarring. It’s almost hard to focus on his words; all of this is so surreal. “...they were sure they were gonna get arrested. It was crazy.” As if he’d timed it, the man who could only be Shawn’s manager appears in the doorway. You catch Ava stiffen a little out of the corner of your eye and instinctively sit up a little straighter. You are a normal, responsible, non-hysterical young adult. Shawn, either oblivious to the sudden tension in the room or attempting to diffuse it, jumps to his feet. “Andrew, hey.” He turns towards you, as though you’re somehow already friends. “This is Ellie.” You extend your hand; Andrew looks at it a moment before accepting. You attempt to shake firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ellie.” “You too,” you say honestly, though your nerves probably betray you. “Thanks for having me.” Andrew looks from Ava back to you. “Has your sister filled you in on our discussion? That you might be joining us for this last leg of the North American tour?” You nod. You’re acutely aware of Shawn looking at you, sitting again, but you’re too nervous to actually look back at him and try to figure out what he thinks of this whole crazy thing. “You’re not going to miss school? Your friends?” Andrew asks, his tone conversational, but you feel the weight of the test here. "You sure you’re okay with spending all this time on a tour bus?” “We,” you start, swallowing past the pinch of fear that this is too personal to share, “We used to move around a lot. I’m pretty comfortable with it.” You throw an apologetic glance at your sister, who just smiles at you, nodding. Despite your fear of looking at Shawn, there is something magnetic about his presence. You can’t read his expression, but when you say, “And I’m actually fast tracked through University Prep courses,” his eyebrows fly up. “You’re finishing early?” he asks, sounding less surprised and more impressed. You allow yourself two seconds to bask in it and nod. “Wow that’s awesome.” Even Andrew seems placated. “That’s certainly impressive. Your teachers won’t mind if we pull you away?” “I’ve spoken to her school,” Ava interjects for the first time. “She’s set up to finish at a distance. I already have all the material for the rest of this year.” This is the first you’ve heard of that, but you figure it’s best to pretend otherwise. Just how certain was your sister that this...this idea out of a teen daydream was actually going to work? What are you going to do if Andrew says no? The silence stretches into something agonizing. It takes everything you have not to shift in your seat, before Andrew stands upright from his lean on Shawn’s chair. “Well it was nice to meet you Ellie.” You attempt to smile. “You too.” “Ava, could I borrow you? Shawn, I’ll see you in five minutes.” “Thanks,” Shawn says, but he’s looking at you again. Not breaking eye contact feels like another test. Your sister rises to follow her boss out and suddenly you’re alone in a room with someone you’ve followed through a screen for almost as long as you’ve had a phone.

Breathe. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?” You have to clamp down on another hysterical laugh. “Um, a little? Is that weird?” Shawn opens his mouth to speak, but you’re so horrified at yourself that you don’t let him. “Oh god I’m sorry–” “No, no please.” Shawn reaches out like he’s going to touch you and you can’t decide if that would makes this better or worse. “Don’t feel bad. I know...” He pauses, shakes his head a little, and leans back. “I know this is all kind of a lot.” His expression is so sincere, like he’s worried you won’t believe him. A blush you don’t even understand rises up your neck. “It’s not just you,” you admit, fiddling with the ring on your left hand, staring at the pearls. You’re sort of losing control of your filter and you can only hope it’ll eventually stop. “I mean, it is. Your music is amazing. You’re right in front of me but you don’t seem real.” You force yourself to look at Shawn now. He’s not laughing at your ridiculous sentiment; that small kindness emboldens and warms you both at once. There’s something almost open in his eyes, as though all he wants is to understand you. The words very nearly crawl back into your mouth, but you push them out. You want him to understand this, most of all. “I just don’t want to mess this up for my sister.” Shawn does lean forward then, so far that his knees nearly bracket yours. You have to pull back under the pretence of taking a breath just so you don’t accidentally touch him. His swallow tattoo stands out in sharp relief on his hand; it’s even more beautiful from this close. The magnet pull of him drags your eyes up, and Shawn’s face is suddenly incredibly serious; you almost forget to breathe out. “You won’t.” He says it with so much certainty that your throat tightens at how badly you want to believe him. “I know we just met Ellie, but Ava’s been with me for months now and I’m not letting her go without a fight. She’s just been absolutely amazing.” Do not cry in front of Shawn Mendes whatever you do– Shawn ducks his head a little to catch your eye again, that gentle, easy smile returning. “But you already know that.” He waits there until, by some miracle, you can smile back at him, and then sits up. “As for the me not being real part...” Shawn’s smile is still soft as he holds out his hand, as if for a high five. You stare at it, then at him. He just tilts his head, a go ahead, so you reach out. It takes all your concentration not to shake. You touch your fingertips to the top of his palm; you wonder if he can feel your pulse racing there. His hand dwarfs yours. You’ve never been so aware of how small you are. “See?” Shawn says, an almost tease in it now. You can only pray that one day you’ll stop blushing in front of him. “Definitely an actual person.” The door reopens; you promptly jump at least a foot. Ava’s vaguely alarmed expression does you both in. “Fuck Ava what the hell?” you gasp, and Shawn dissolves into peals of laughter. Pretty soon all those nervous giggles finally break free. “Time to go, Shawn,” Ava says, her confusion clear, which somehow makes it all the more hilarious. You clap your hands over your mouth to try to stop. “We’d better get down to the floor, Len. The doors open in three minutes and I am not getting crushed by a horde of teenage girls.” You stand to gather your sweater and your bag. And yourself, more generally. To your surprise when you turn back, Shawn is still in the doorway, waiting for you. “See you after?” he asks, glancing at Ava, who smiles at him in that particular way that has always reassured you, no matter what, since you were very small. “We will. I expect an amazing show if I have to stand for the whole thing.” Shawn grins, somehow a little cocky and a little vulnerable both at once. “You bet.” “Good luck,” you call, and as Shawn picks up his guitar that other reality, the one which he’s a stadium selling pop star, hits you all over again. “Have a good time!” With a wave, Shawn turns out of the doorway and disappears. Your knees are shaking. Ava wraps her arm around your shoulders as you finally reach her and steers you out. “You’re okay, kid. You did it.” She’s laughing at you a little, but you don’t care. “I can’t believe you left me alone in a room with Shawn Mendes.” “And you survived, which was the whole point.” You’re almost afraid to ask; thankfully your sister knows you well enough that you don’t actually have to form the words. “We're gonna try it out, okay? There’s three more stops on this Canada leg. You’ll come with us, then we get a week off before we go to the States. Thankfully your summer vacation works out, so you’ll stay at Hannah’s for that week.” “And then?” Ava waves and smiles at a security guard, dropping a Platinum lanyard around your neck, who nods at her and lets you pass through a door that leads out onto the main floor. “And then, either we’re getting on a plane or Shawn’s gonna need a new PA.” The certainty in Shawn’s face flashes through your mind. “Ava...” “Hey, hey.” Your sister pulls you to a halt at the metal barrier, where maybe a dozen other people are already congregating. People are streaming into the arena. The fact that they’re all here for a boy who’d been so kind to you just minutes ago is overwhelming. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry okay? I was going to take you to this show regardless. I just want you to have fun.” Ava pulls you into a hug; it feels like the first time you’ve been able to relax since she called you this morning with a train ticket in your email. You let yourself fall into her, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo. “He’s even cuter in person,” you mutter into her hair. Ava snorts. “Yeah, sorry. Should have warned you.” She takes your hand and pulls you forward, until you can wrap your hand around the cold metal that keeps everyone a foot or so back from the edge of the stage. “Ready?” Lights dim. The screams are genuinely deafening, but your throat will probably be as raw as everyone else around you by the end of the night. Ava grimaces. All you can do is laugh. Two hours later, your throat does hurt. You’re mildly afraid you won’t be able to speak. You can still feel the beat of the drums in your chest, behind your ribcage, inside your heart. You can’t stop smiling. Ava sneaks you carefully back into the depths of the arena and drops you off in Shawn’s dressing room, muttering about kombucha and rolling her eyes. And if you thought pre-show Shawn was cute, nothing prepares you for flushed and bright-eyed Shawn, who arrives just as you gingerly drop yourself on the couch. “Ellie, hey!” Words. Come on. “Shawn, hi.” You’re not sure what comes over you, but the giddy feeling still hasn’t gone away. “I just– that was amazing. You were incredible.” You’ve never seen someone smile as brightly as Shawn does when he’s onstage. Even though you’re not in the arena anymore, it’s still almost blinding to look right at. “Thank you. I’m so glad you had fun.” He glances around the room, as though your sister is hiding in a closet. “Where’s Ava?” You shrug. “Something about kombucha?” He laughs. “You must think I’m ridiculous. It’s delicious, I swear. And good for my voice.” You struggle with a smile, not wanting him to think you’re teasing. “What did your sister think?” You pause, just to watch him squirm. When he looks vaguely offended you can’t help but laugh. “She liked it, she did. Though she’d never admit it. She’s a consummate professional, you know.” Shawn nods seriously. “Of course.” “She likes Never Be Alone,” you say, looking at the door and lowering your voice as if you’re sharing a secret. His eyes glimmer with amusement. “You know that harmony you do? When everyone sings?” Just talking about it is giving you goosebumps. Shawn nods. “She teared up.” He grins, but beneath that you can see that he’s touched, too. You’re so endeared, all of a sudden; a voice in the back of your mind says, careful. You can see now why so many girls around you burst into tears the moment he stepped onstage. You let silence linger, until you can’t quite bear it anymore. “You can ask me, you know.” “Ask you what?” You can’t keep his gaze. “Why Ava has to drag me on this tour with her.” Shawn does that thing again where he ducks his chin to catch your eye. Eventually, you decide, you’ll be able to look right at him without having to steel yourself first. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, so gently you almost can't pretend your throat still hurts from the show. “It’s none of my business.” You have to swallow before you can speak. “If this whole thing works out, we’re gonna be around each other all the time. I don’t want it to be weird.” There is too much kindness in Shawn’s expression as he waits patiently for you to say the words out loud. You have to look at his sparrow. “My parents um, my parents died in a car accident when I was eleven.” You take a breath. Then another. You can’t remember the last time you’d had to tell someone that, who didn't already know you as the poor orphan child with a nineteen year old sister who was so unprepared but who did absolutely right by you anyway. “Ava took care of you?” You nod. “Always has. She’s amazing.” It’s probably a measure of something, of how comfortable Shawn’s made you already, that you can smile at him. “But you already know that.” He chuckles. “You know, I have no idea if you can actually get kombucha here or not.” “She’ll hate you.” The thought is hilarious. You feel lighter already. “I usually give a pick away every show,” Shawn says, reaching back for his guitar and plucking the tiny red disc from the neck. “Do you think she’d still hate me if I tried to give it to her?” “Oh god, absolutely.” When your sister returns with a small case, Shawn drops to one knee and presents her with the pick. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Ava glares and puts down the drink, dragging Shawn to his feet with her free hand. “Get up, stupid.” “I’m glad you came, Ava,” he says, earnest and honest still, despite how his shoulders shake with laughter. “Consider this a token of my appreciation.” She looks from him to you, before plucking the pick from his hand. “This was clearly a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Ava beckons you. “Come on Lenny, we have to sneak you out before the mob hits the busses. Shawn, Andrew’ll come to get you in a few.” Shawn dutifully lifts his hand in acknowledgement and hands you your sweater. “I’ll see you soon then?” he asks. You suddenly remember. Three more stops. “Yeah.” It’s so unreal. And yet, here you are. “See you soon.” (part three)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #wsitd #mine: fic #FINISHED BEFORE THE ALBUM DROP #COME CRY WITH ME IN HALF AN HOUR

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shookethbrooketh · 6 years ago

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Church Boy - Chapter 4

Other than the bizarre bell schedule, the new school didn’t seem anywhere near as bad as he’d expected. In fact, as he waved goodbye to Phil and started the trek to where he remembered he’d shown him his fourth period to be, he began to think it might even be a hell of a lot better as his old school. In fact, it might even be the place he’d finally find happiness.

Description: Phil’s lived in the same town and gone to the same church his entire life. But when his pastor leaves, a new one comes in, with his teenage son Dan in tow. He’s broken; real broken. And he thinks Phil’s just another church boy that’s going to hate him just as much as everyone else he’s ever met, but maybe he’s just going to be the one that can fix all his broken parts.

Genre: AU, High School, Strangers to Lovers

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Homophobia/Transphobia

Fic Warnings (Not Final!): Heavy Speak of Religion, Heavy Homophobia, Swearing, Discussion of Sex, Fighting with Family

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k Total Word Count: 8.8k

Read it on Ao3! Read it on Wattpad! Fic Masterlist

Dan stepped into the room and took it in. There were cheesy math posters all around the room, hung a consistent few inches from the ceiling. A few were peeling, but they still looked as pristine as cheesy math posters could. The room appeared to be intensely cleaned and organized, yet it gave off a calming vibe due to the darkness, as the only light in the room was the sunlight from the windows. There was a bellwork problem projected on the board, and a few kids were sitting sparsely in desks working on it. A few gave glances to Dan, but nobody could bother to address him; they were too busy frantically trying to finish their bellwork before the bell rang.

“I sit here,” Phil said. “Right under the fan.” He looked as if snatching a chair under the ceiling fan at the beginning of the year was the one event in his life he took the most pride in. Dan cocked his neck up to look at the violently rotating fan, and he couldn’t quite blame him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there was no air conditioning in that room, and it must have gotten hot as hell at the beginning of the school year. “Nobody sits there,” he added, pointing to the chair to his left. “You can just sit there for now.”

Dan slipped into the chair and pulled his notebook out of his binder to start copying the bellwork, and he was suddenly overwhelmed. He had started Precalc at his old school, but they hadn’t yet done the problem on the board or even anything like it. And that’s when it struck him that he hadn’t even started Chemistry. Both of those were honors classes, and they both built on what they had already learned, and Dan hadn’t a clue what he had missed.

Dan’s breathing had begun to get heavy when he found a tall, dark-haired woman towering over him. “You must be the new student. Is everything going alright here?”

“No, actually,” he let out, trying to calm himself. “I took Precalc in my old school, but we hadn’t gotten here yet.”

In the split second before she answered, he could hear her telling him to go change his schedule because she couldn’t have him behind. He could already feel himself losing the one class he had with Phil.

“That’s okay!” she said, and Dan’s eyes popped out of his head.

“It is?”

“Of course. You couldn’t be too far behind, so I can give you some worksheets and lessons to catch you up. You should be totally fine by next week. We’re currently about to start a totally new unit, so you should be able to follow along just fine.”

“Thank you!” Dan said, a smile crossing his face as all his anxiety, about that particular class, at least, dissipated. He decided to give up on the bellwork and looked towards Phil, who was sitting and staring off into the distance, having already finished the problem.

“You’re right; this school really isn’t half bad,” he whispered over to him.

“I told you!” Phil said back in a bit more than a whisper, which earned them a less menacing than Dan would have expected glance from the teacher. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said with a smile as the bell rang.

“Have a great day, and be thinking about who you want your partner to be!”

The words were no use, as the entire class was already out the door the second the bell rang. “How the hell are we doing a project in math?” Dan asked, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Don’t ask me!” Phil said, glancing over at Dan. It was obvious what he was thinking. “By the way, you can be my partner.”

Phil immediately saw Dan’s face brighten. “Who says I wanna be your partner?”

Phil grinned, biting his lip a bit. “Well, I can find someone else, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“You know, it’s your lucky day; I think I’ll take the partnership.”

“Great.”

They had made their way halfway down the hall when Phil stopped at his next class, Dan walking on ahead of him. “Dan, wait!” he shouted, and Dan’s head snapped back. “This is my next class.”

“Oh,” he said, seeming a bit disappointed.

“You remember where your second is, right?”

“I got it. If worst comes to worst I’ll be late.”

“Alright. Good luck, and have fun!” he called out as he started to walk into the room.

“If you say so,” Dan laughed out as he walked in the opposite direction.

Phil was a bit concerned about Dan being alone on his first day; he wasn’t sure why, but he was. He was sixteen; he could handle himself. For some reason, though, Phil couldn’t help but worry about him. All through his second he was distracted, thinking about Dan downstairs and hoping his class was going well.

He was finally jolted from his trance when the bell rang; he hadn’t managed to copy a word of the notes for the last half hour of class. Hopefully he’d think to pick them up from someone eventually. When he slipped out the door, he was far too anxious to try and find Dan; he checked his phone and saw no texts from him, so he tried to convince himself that meant he was alright and headed to his third.

Somehow, Phil managed to pay even less attention in third than he did in second. He couldn’t even focus on his friends beside him being absolute dumbasses (as per usual). All he could ever focus on was the ticking clock, inching closer minute by minute to when he could finally meet Dan for lunch.

After yet another class of missing the entire lecture, Phil was the first one out the door towards the lunchroom. He had already memorized the fact that Dan had chemistry third, so he made sure to head straight there first.

The students were just beginning to pour out of the classroom when he got there; he’d plowed his way down the hall. He hadn’t realized it, but all the kids he nearly knocked over definitely did. Phil watched a bunch of kids in his class give him a confused glance as they walked past him; after all, it probably wasn’t the most normal thing on the planet to see someone panting outside their classroom. Finally, Dan filed out of the room, a weary smile on his face. “Hey, Phil!”

“Hey, Dan!” A smile crossed his face as he realized lunch was definitely going to be the best part of his day.

Dan couldn’t help but smile as he saw Phil waiting in the doorway; he had been so overexcited to see him that he had obviously literally ran, and Dan found that fucking adorable.

“How were your last two classes?” Phil asked him.

He frowned a bit. “Eh, they were alright. Spanish wasn’t too bad; apparently Spanish at my old school was a lot more intense. The teachers here don’t really know how to control their classes.” He flashed back to screaming freshmen that he didn’t even know how got in to Spanish 3. Those voices would haunt him for a long, long time.

Phil chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Chemistry kinda sucked. I had it next semester in my old school, so I just walked in halfway through the class and I’m completely lost. I’m going to have to have the teacher catch me up, but I’ll get it eventually, I guess. It’s just...” he sighed, trailing off. “a lot of work.”

“I get that,” Phil said. “Playing catch up is the worst.”

Dan smiled, but he was a bit angry that Dan didn’t really get it. He’d never had to pick up and move before. Well, maybe he had, but that didn’t seem like what he meant. Getting the flu was different from missing half of a semester, especially of Chemistry.

“Lunch?” Phil asked.

It was just then that Dan realized how hungry he was. He had been so stressed the entire morning that he hadn’t even thought about food, but he was starving. Third lunch was terrifyingly late, and Dan ate half his lunch in class at his old school where he had lunch an hour earlier. Now that he thought about it, he was starving. “Definitely.”

They were about to start walking when a two boys and a girl walked up behind Phil. “There you are, dude! You literally took off running there,” said the boy on the right. Suddenly all their eyes seemed to fall on Dan at once, and he could almost feel them all staring into his soul. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, guys, meet Dan! He’s new here.”

“Hi,” Dan said inwardly.

“Dan, this is James,” Phil said. James was the boy on the far left; he was tall, but not too lanky, with tan skin and brown hair. He looked a bit like a surfer, except it was evident that he’d never surfed before in his life. He did a bit of an awkward wave and let his hand fall at his side. “Eli,” the boy on the right had pure blonde hair, and he was a few inches shorter than James, as well as a bit more heavyset. The first word that came to Dan’s mind to describe him was ‘adorable’, but something told him the boy was anything but adorable and innocent. He said a quick “hey” and raised his hand to indicate his existence. “and Nora.” Nora was the only girl of the group, and she was standing in the middle of the other two. She had short, brown hair, about the same shade as his, and she was about the same height as Eli. She wore a dirty, black hoodie and jeans even though it was an uncharacteristically hot day for October. She simply gave him some finger guns. They seemed like nice kids, but that didn’t stop Dan from thinking they were staring into his soul. “They’re my closest friends. They may be hella weird sometimes,” he said, glaring at all three of them. “But I love them, and I think you’ll like them too.”

“Rad,” was all Dan said.

The five of them made their way down the stairs to the lunchroom, where Phil’s friends headed to what Dan assumed was their group’s table. There were already a couple kids sitting there, who they each greeted with a “hey” and sat down. Dan stood awkwardly for a moment at the head of the table before Phil patted the seat beside him and he scurried off to sit down. Most of the other kids didn’t notice him.

“So, today in history, I was working with James, Eli, and Ben, and we made an entire page of Vines on our project,” Phil said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Phil, this is the fifth one this semester!” Nora exclaimed, overwhelmed but obviously a bit intrigued.

“Oh?” Dan asked, he himself also quite intrigued. He didn’t know that much about Phil or his group, but as much as he felt like the outsider he was definitely interested in their antics. “

“Well, at the beginning of the year we wrote about Waluigi...”

To Dan, something about the ten-minute story that appeared to be Phil’s favorite felt like an induction to the group, because by the time he finished they were on their way to hang out in the library, Dan in tow laughing. He didn’t even feel like an outsider anymore; sure, he didn’t get their inside jokes, but he felt included in the conversations and even in the group. He had only managed to eat half his lunch, but he figured he’d finish it in his fourth. He knew to eat before lunch the next day, so he’d be fine.

Dan entered the library with Phil, Nora, Eli, James, and who he assumed to be Ben. He deduced that the library was where they usually went when they finished up in the cafeteria, even though none of them appeared to be avid readers. Instead they made their way into a corner and began laughing at something Dan couldn’t even comprehend. Within thirty seconds, Dan, Phil, and Nora were leaning up against a bookcase watching Ben, Eli, and James in a standing pileup. Ben was in James’s arms, and Eli was simply laughing so hard he was about to fall into the other two. Phil and Nora were roaring with laughter as well, and Dan couldn’t help but to join in.

“Is this normal?” he asked his two companions.

“Oh, definitely,” said Nora. “They literally do this every day. Before school, during lunch, sometimes even after school. Literally everyone here is gay.”

Dan cackled. “Really?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Phil piped in. “They might not actually be gay, but they sure act like it. We’re all just waiting for it to actually happen. It’s a pretty good life, to be honest.”

“Damn right,” Dan responded. They stood in silence for a moment, the three boys still poking at each other, before Dan’s curiosity finally got the best of him. “Are there really that many gays in this school?”

“Eh, there aren’t too many,” Phil said, shrugging. “All three of us are, any number of them might be, and there’s a good few more circulating. It’s really not as bad as you’d think.”

“Yeah, I would have expected at least one redneck to mock me for some gay mannerism by now,” Dan said, half joking.

“I had a trans friend they called ‘it’ for a while, but that’s about as bad as it got. They can sometimes get ugly with the slurs, but we don’t really notice it much. It’s actually pretty chill here, for the most part,” Nora added, as if she’d discussed the topic many a time. Both Nora and Phil seemed completely accustomed to the environment they’d found themselves in, from its best to its worst.

“Oh, yeah. They’re not the worst. They might just be oblivious though,” Phil said, throwing one strap off his backpack and slinging it over his chest so it faced Dan. “You see this?” he asked, pointing to a Hot Topic pin with a rainbow flag on it. “I’ve had this since freshman year, and not a single one of them has noticed. In fact, most of them still think I’m straight, despite my constant closet jokes. In reality, they just don’t give a shit about anything or anyone around it, and I’m not mad about taking advantage of it.”

Dan shrugged. “Fair.”

The bell rang, and Phil slung his backpack back over his shoulder. Dan glanced at the clock, reading 1:24. That school had the weirdest bell schedule Dan had ever seen, and he wasn’t excited to get used to it, but he’d live. Other than the bizarre bell schedule, the new school didn’t seem anywhere near as bad as he’d expected. In fact, as he waved goodbye to Phil and started the trek to where he remembered he’d shown him his fourth period to be, he began to think it might even be a hell of a lot better as his old school. In fact, it might even be the place he’d finally find happiness.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #church boy

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