#I remember being at home 1 night and 1 of my old coworkers snapped me and asked if I wanted to come to a party him & his bf were throwing

[nillabeam]

thirst texts at 2 am

synopsis: ah the queen of the drunk text. that’s you. but what happens when the person on the receiving end of your drunken sexting is none other than bakugo katsuki himself?? 

pairings: bakugoxf!reader

warnings: 18+ for sure, alcohol mention, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lANGUAGE bc bakugo is in it so that a given 100%, reader being a little brat, slight age gap but both characters are aged up

a/n: hi it’s me again bringing you another thirst post but Bakugo’s a little tiny bit of a sub in this one and i’m probably making a part two which will probably be pure sin but we’ll see! thanks for reading as usual please ignore all my shitty grammar and spelling mistakes <333 

You were more than lucky to score an internship straight out of UA, and even luckier to be scouted by Endeavor’s agency. And luckier still, to be able to work with Bakugo Katsuki, Ground Zero himself, the boy you had a school girl crush on since the day you watched him in the sports festival on TV. Feral and an obvious asshole, needless to say for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you were smitten. You even managed to get into UA, granted he had graduated the year before you actually attended UA, still it was hallowed ground to you since so many great heroes were a product of the prestigious high school. What started as a shallow reason for attending became the best decision of your life. You left UA a strong pro hero to be, and your quirk made you a perfect addition to the fiery ranks of your new agency. 

You fit in quite nicely, most of your co-workers took a liking to you immediately. Except, of course, Bakugo, who always seemed to keep his distance from everyone. The loner rockstar of the agency, honestly it was very on brand for him. You could count on one hand how many times you’d interacted, and you only needed half the amount of fingers to count how many times you’d actually spoken to one another. Lucky for you your school girl crush had wavered a bit since graduation. After all, you were a full fledged hero now. That didn’t mean you steal a few peeks of the hero here and there on the rare occasion he would show up at the office. Honestly, you forgot he even worked there most of the time. Since you were a rookie and he was an established hero you two rarely crossed paths. You doubted he even knew who you were. 

It had been a little over six months since you started at the agency so you were eager to oblige when some of your old classmates extended an invitation to get some drinks and go dancing. The night was great, but like usual you went a little overboard at the bar, but you figured you’d let loose for once. Besides, you had the next day off from work.   

It was a little past 2 am when you fumbled out of your Uber, into your apartment, giggling to yourself as you kicked your heels off by the door. Clumsily, drunkenly, you drop the small purse you were carrying, effectively spilling everything out of it. “S-Shit--” you mumble and begin to shove the contents back into the bag. Your hands linger on your phone which is vibrating with texts from your friends asking if you made it home okay. You tap out a few replies to assure your friends you were safe just kinda drunk before you lazily stroll through your messages. Your eyes widen slightly as they rest on a name at the bottom of the list. 

Bakugo Katsuki.

A single message he sent when you were lucky enough to work on one of his missions a few months back buried beneath all the other messages. You forgot you had saved it. 

You shouldn't. 

You wouldn't. 

Fuck it. 

Quickly you type out a text, deleting and retyping until you’re completely satisfied with it before you hit send. 

A dull buzz against his nightstand stirs the blonde from his light slumber, his large hand smacking around in the dark before it finally lands on his phone. His eyes are heavy with sleep and it takes a second to read the screen properly. It’s from an unsaved number. He tosses the phone away with disinterest, rationalizing it as a wrong number. He starts to drift back to sleep when the phone buzzes again. “Fuck’s sake-” He opens the message to drill in a angry reply when his breath hitches in his throat. 

hi! remember me??, the first message reads. 

The second an expertly taken photo of you clad in matching lace bra and thong, posed in such a way that he could admire all of you. 

how about now? The third message makes him throw his phone away from his face. 

He definitely remembered you. You were a sidekick, he saw you around sometimes, that tight little body clad in your hero costume. Or sauntering around the office in that fucking pencil skirt/thigh high combo. He tried to remember your name but his mind came up blank. 

His phone buzzed again and he rubbed his face with both hands before grabbing it and opening the message. Another goddamn picture. This time you were on your back, on your bed he assumed, because your hair was slightly messy, forming a halo around you. One hand holding the phone, the other at your lips a finger pressed against your perfect pink tongue lolled out of your mouth. Your eyes were glassy and half lidded. He let out groan at the sight of you. 

does this help? 

He could feel his prominent bulge straining against his sweatpants. His hand dipped beneath the waistband, his first instinct was to palm at his growing length. He chewed his bottom lip, going back to the first picture to inspect your assets more thoroughly this time. He groaned, his strokes long and languid. He closed his eyes, his mind about to wander when he was suddenly hit with a pang of guilt. Tearing his hand from his pants he tossed his phone away. No, no, no, no- he wasn't this fucking desperate. He was not going to get off on some lewd pictures of his coworker just because she was clearly thirsting over him. The thought made his cock twitch in disrespectful betrayal. 

His phone began to buzz again. This time it didn't stop, it was rhythmic and slightly lower. Shit. A call. He stared intensely at the number on the screen. His ego got the best of him. He answered it, against his better judgement, promising himself to put this extra in her place. There was a long pause and he nearly hung up. 

“Bakugo?” The sweet voice finally rang out of the speaker and his confidence faltered. “You know it’s rude to leave people on read.” There was an obvious teasing tone to your voice, which he swore had a slight slur to it. 

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing you shitty extra but stop texting me that shit.” He growled into the phone. 

“You didn’t like it-”

“I don’t even know your fucking name, asshole.” 

“That’s okay, you’ll learn it soon enough.” 

“I’m going to tell you one more goddamn time if you keep sending me that shit i’m going to-” A soft moan completely derailed his train of thought. Fuuuck. Another slightly louder groan followed. “W-What the fuck are you doing?” He barks into the phone, face flush with embarrassment. 

“Don’t stop, aren’t you going to tell me what you’re going to do to me?” You mewl breathlessly, your fingers dancing along your wet folds as you imagined all the things he could do to ruin you.

He licked his lips, wetting them, he had to grip his bedsheets to keep his free hand from wandering back beneath his sweats. “Are you touching yourself right now?” He tried to sound disgusted, but it ended up sounding a little more desperate than he intended. 

“I wish it was you touching me instead, Katsuki.” You ask, your tone breathless and dripping with lust. The way his name sounded coming out of your mouth had his eyes rolling back. He wondered how you knew it in the first place. 

(Honestly, you saw it while you were helping Burnin’ with some paperwork one night at the office but that wasn’t really the point right now.)

He covered his mouth to stifle a groan that dared escape his lips. The way he saw it he had two options: let you continue and shove his hands down his pants the way he so, so desperately wanted to OR hang up the fucking phone. 

“Mmm-! K-Katsuki-” He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to hang up the phone. He tossed it away and thew himself back onto the mattress shoving his hands into his messy blonde hair. “F-Fuck.” He mumbled, groaning at the thought of you getting off to only the sound of his voice. 

It wasn’t fair. For you to look the way you did and sound the way you did. He figured you were drunk. The slight slur in your breathy voice, the dazed expression you wore in those sinful selfies you sent him, all idicating as such. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. He did the right thing, ending the call. 

He wasn’t so pathetically desperate that he had to get off to some drunken extra throwing herself at him. 

He was Bakugo Fucking Katsuki. 

Ground Zero. Soon to be #1 he—

 His phone buzzed again, louder now that it was pressing up against the headboard. Bakugo reluctantly checked the caller id. A fucking video call. No, no. He couldn’t. It would be too much. He was a man after all. With carnal, primal desire welling within him, and right now he was barely keeping those desires at bay. He ignored the call. 

Another buzz. 

He was fucking stupid. 

“FUCK.”

His fingers greedily swiped to answer the call. He was immediately greeted by your beautiful face, you offered a sweet smile and wave. “That wasn't nice, Katsuki, hanging up like that when I was so close.” You were lying on your stomach, feet swaying back and forth in the air behind the curve of your ass. He drank in the sight of you, your face flushed, messy hair framing your face perfectly, your lips plush and slightly pouting. 

He cursed himself internally. “So fucking desperate.” His voice was huskier than before, and his words were more akin to a growl. 

“Only a little.”

You sat up and rested the phone on something so you no longer had to hold it but ensuring Bakugo still had a great view. You stared at him through the screen and he felt his cheeks heat up, even though you weren’t in the room with him he still felt a little intimidated by your boldness. 

You dipped a finger to rub over your clothed entrance, “Now where was I?” You teased, your other hand trailing over your cleavage. Bakugo fumbled with his sweats, sliding his hand down them to palm his aching cock. His ruby orbs memorizing every movement you made. You stop suddenly and he stopped too, a little annoyed. “Something wrong?” He growls, his tone low and thick with want. 

“I’m gonna need you to do something for me first.” You say your fingers hooking into the strappy waistband of your thong pulling it away from your full hips teasingly before releasing it, the material hitting your skin with a slight ‘snap’. He ponders it for a moment, but his desire gets the best of him. 

“For fucks sake-”He rolls his eyes, “What now?” He asks, clearly skeptical. 

“Turn a light on or something, this isn’t a free show-” There's yet another long pause and Bakugo weighs his options. You start to get a bit impatient when a sudden ‘click’ catches your attention. Finally. There he is in all his glory. Well, not all his glory but some of it. It’s still a little dark but those piercing red eyes of him are unmistakable. His gaze makes you flush two shades darker. His appearance is slightly disheveled, his hair is messier than normal, probably bedhead since you most likely woke him up, his cheeks are tinted pink and he looks a little fucked out already. Probably from all the teasing. He looks absolutely perfect. 

“Fucking happy now, brat?” He growls. 

“Yes! Much better.” You comment, feeling your heat drip from the mere image of him. “I guess I can reward your good behavior..” You trail off, reaching back to unhook your bra, you catch it before it can fall, teasingly biting your lip. You can hear him groan at your teasing, finally you let the lace fall away from your body, giving him a full view. The liquor in your system keeping the shame and embarrassment you would normally be feeling at bay. 

“Fucking perfect.” Bakugo groans lowly at the sight. You’re caught off guard by the compliment and you feel your body heat up. He slides his sweats down enough to free his cock from its confines, he makes sure you can’t see him first, only visible from the chest up. He swipes his thumb over the tip spreading the pre cum along the length of his cock before starting slow, languid pumps. 

You notice his eyes roll back slightly at the sensation and you almost threaten to stop again if he doesn't show you what he’s doing, but you’re afraid he’ll stop entertaining this foolish idea entirely so you fight the urge to call him out. 

Instead you trail your hands along the top of your thighs, “Tell me what you want, Katsuki.” His breath hitches at your words, he smirks darkly before biting his bottom lip. 

“Touch yourself.” 

You feel a wave of lust wash over you and you pull your panties off eager to please. You spread your legs exposing your soaking folds, you rub a hand lazily along your slit. “Fuck-” You hear him groan at the sight of you.

 “Such a dirty little, slut.” A bolt of electricity shoots through you at his words and you can't stop your fingers from dipping into your mess of a cunt. 

“So fucking desperate for my attention.” 

You are moving your fingers feverishly now, chasing the release you were denied earlier, his words pushing you closer to that blissful edge. Soft moans fall from your lips, your free hand moves to rub clumsy circles against your clit. 

He’s keeping pace with you, his strokes matching your movements. “Fuck, Princess, you’re so beautiful like this.” He can’t help the moan that follows his praise. “K-Katsuki, i’m close-” You whimper, eyes watering from the building pleasure in your core. “Did I say you could cum?” He asks his breathing ragged as his own climax sneaks up on him, his strokes become more desperate.  

“P-Please, I can’t help it-” You whimper, you can feel your orgasm about to crash down on you. 

He can knows how close you are. He can see it.

“Beg for it.” 

“K-Katsuki! Please let me—ahh!—cum! Please, K-Katsuki, p-please I really can’t—mnn help it.” You whine, trying your best to be good and hold back for him.  

“Cum for me then, Princess.” 

You manage a hurried nod and your ministrations become hurried and sloppy. Bakugo’s not doing much better as his shirt is now in between his teeth, the camera tilted slightly giving you a view of his perfect chest. His muffled groans push you closer and closer to your release, as he thrusts up into his hand imagining its you instead. Finally, it all becomes too much and the coil inside snaps, you whine, tossing your head back, “Fuck. Katsuki!” Your fingers move from your core to your clit, wanting to prolong the orgasm as long as possible. 

Bakugo bites down even harder on the material between his teeth, desperate to stifle the whimpers falling from him, his face contorts and his eyes nearly roll all the way back. Thick, white ropes of cum make a mess of his exposed stomach. He lets the fabric of his shirt fall from his mouth, his jaw sore from how hard he was biting down. His body relaxes a bit too much as he comes down from his high and he accidentally drops the phone.

“Shit-” You refocus on your own screen, forgetting it was there for a second, you hear him cursing under his breath and fumbling around until you are graced by the view of his flushed, fucked out expression. You offer a sweet smile and he smirks a little in response. “That was great, but i’m a little disappointed it wasn't the real thing.” You admit, forcing a slight pout. You see him visibly stiffen, his pupils dilating at the thought. 

“You couldn't handle the real thing, Princess.” He taunts. 

“Prove it.” 

Fuck now you’ve done it. 

“Come over tomorrow.” 

“Don’t play games with me, Princess, I don’t like to be teased.” 

“I’m serious.” You disappear from the screen for a moment while you type out a text. His phone buzzes in his hand. “That’s my address. Tomorrow around 8 work for you?” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Fucking bet. 

“You’ll regret that. ” He offers a deliciously devilish smirk. 

“We’ll see.” You tease back. 

“I’m going to bed, it’s fucking—” He moves to look at the time, “-three in the morning—shit.” 

“You’re right big day tomorrow! Goodnight, sleepy head!” You muse rolling onto your back. You move to end the call when his voice stops you. 

“Wait-”

A pause. 

“Tell me your name first.” 

#bnha #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #nillabeamwrites #bakugo imagine #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines

[fanficsandthings]

Through the Years

A George Weasley Fanfiction 

A George Weasley x Slytherin reader story. Each chapter shares events in one year of George and reader's life together, starting in their first year of Hogwarts.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter 1: The Journey to Hogwarts

It had been a warm, sunny day when you heard an owl screech outside. You watched from the window as it swooped in by your front door, carrying a small letter in its talons. The brown tawny owl sat on the sidewalk for just a second before it hurried away again. You watched it disappear into the distant blue sky. As you walked to the front door you could see that your father was clutching the letter to his chest. It took him a good five minutes of staring at it before he handed it to you. It was your Hogwarts letter. You had been waiting all year to receive it, and your father was overjoyed now that you had. 

You weren’t exactly sure why he was so happy, but you caught him almost sobbing into your mother’s shoulder later that night when they thought you had gone to sleep. You thought for a moment that he was mad about your letter, but after you listened to them speak for a minute you realized that they were happy tears. You had grown up around magic your whole life. Your uncle and your grandparents were all brilliant wizards. Your mother was a muggle, sure, but that didn’t make you think that you wouldn’t get into Hogwarts. You didn’t show any magical ability until you were almost 10, but that fact never really crossed your mind growing up. You had gotten mad at your father one day, for something you couldn’t even remember now, but you were 9, and all that childlike anger boiled up inside you. It burned hotter and hotter until your face was burning red, and then the teacup that your father had on his side table exploded, sending scalding hot liquid onto the carpet and armchair. You expected him to be mad with you, furious even, but instead he had calmly asked if you caused that to happen. You said yes and then tried to quickly explain how you didn’t mean it, but you were cut off. You were being enveloped in a crushing hug and your dad picking you up and spinning and laughing. Laughing? Why was he laughing? You had just ruined his favorite teacup and spilled tea all over the floor. He set you down and took you by the shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.” You looked over at the mess you created, and he waved it off. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean it up. You’ve got magic!” He stood up and quickly ran into the next room, searching for your mother. You could hear him laughing down the hallway. “She’s a witch! I can’t believe she’s actually a witch!” Just over a year later, when your letter came, he was as overjoyed as he was the day with the tea. The next day you set out to London to buy all of your supplies. Your mother had stayed at home, but you and your father met up with your uncle in Diagon Alley. He and your father both worked at the Ministry together. He worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while your father worked in close contact with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He worked mainly in Muggle Studies, helping the Ministry to learn more about the average muggle. You were told once that it was one of the lowest jobs you could get at the Ministry, but your father seemed to enjoy it. It was how he had met your mother after all. You learned then to do your own research on matters, instead of just taking other people’s opinions as your own.   Once you had gotten all your supplies from Diagon Alley, you separated from your uncle to head back out into London. You were admiring your new wand, and the fine intricacies on it, when your father stopped to say hello to someone. The man he stopped was an odd looking fellow, with bright red hair sticking up from the top of his head. His clothed screamed pure-blood wizard to you, as they matched almost perfectly with what your grandparents wore; an old robe and a handmade vest. Your father introduced you to the man in front of him as Arthur Weasley, a coworker of his. You waved at him shyly before going back to studying your wand; you wanted to know every fine detail of it. You looked it up and down, from end to tip, ran your fingers over the wood to feel the texture of it. You were about to put it up to your mouth to see what it tasted like when another shock of red hair appeared in your peripheral vision. You looked up, tongue hanging slightly out of your mouth, wand inches from it. Two boys had appeared at Arthur’s side. They looked exactly the same and you had to blink a couple times to make sure you weren’t seeing double. Arthur apparently had twin sons. They were both wearing sweaters that looked almost similar to the ones your grandmother made you, but theirs had letters on them in bright gold yarn. An “F” and a “G.” “These are my boys, Fred and George,” Arthur introduced them. “Well, two of my boys. The others stayed at home for this trip. The twins are enough to handle by myself.” They both turned to look at you. You quickly brought your tongue back into your mouth and dropped your wand to the side. Before they could get a word out to you, their father said goodbye to yours and grabbed them both by their sweaters to push them past you. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” your dad called as Arthur walked away. He turned to you. “Those boys are in the same year as you. Maybe you’ll end up in the same house and can become friends.” You turned to look at the way they went. You could hardly see through the crowd and were just barely able to spot the redheaded father. Only one of the twins appeared to be with Arthur, and for a second you were concerned that the other had gotten lost in the crowd. Suddenly, a face appeared in front of yours. “Fred tied your shoelaces together while you were staring at your wand,” was all he said before he ducked back into the crowd. He headed back towards his father, who was now searching for him, calling out his name. It seemed that George was the nicer of the two twins. You looked down at your feet, and sure enough, they were tied together. One step and you would’ve been face first into the cobblestone. Why the one felt it necessary to come all the way back here just to tell you his brother was a bit of a jerk, you weren’t sure, but you appreciated it. Maybe you could be friends with at least George. Fred, you weren’t so sure about. You looked up at your father to see if he had anything to say, but he was staring at a map of London he had taken out of his pocket. He hadn’t seemed to notice the boy come back at all. ------------------------- September 1st, 1989 snuck up on you faster than you had ever expected it. You spent the last few days of your summer holiday with your muggle friends, as you knew you wouldn’t see them again until at least Christmas. It was hard to say goodbye to them, but at the same time you couldn’t be more excited to make friends who were actually magical like you were. Your father had an emergency at work, so it was your uncle who took you to King’s Cross that day in London. The station was busy and full of Muggles, but it was easy for him to find the correct platform, as he had been there multiple times before. You stopped for a moment to watch a few families make their way through the wall and onto the platform. Still a little bit nervous about using magic to this caliber, you had to be encouraged by your uncle to go through the wall. He took your trolley from you and stood you perfectly center facing the brick. “It’s really quite simple,” he said, bending down to your level. He pointed at the stones in front of you. “Just run straight at it. It won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of your luggage.” You nodded your head and took in a deep breath. Letting out the breath, you started with a jog, picking up the pace as you neared the wall. Your eyes closed when you were within inches of the wall, preparing for the impact. When no impact came, you opened your eyes to see the steam engine in front of you. Your feet stopped moving immediately. You turned around, a big smile on your face, to see your uncle enter behind you. “Welcome to the Hogwarts Express.” He bent down in front of you again to be at your eye level. “Remember, your father is very proud of you. He’s absolutely gutted that he can’t be here, but he wanted me to give you this.” He reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a disposable camera. One like what your mother would use when you went on holiday. “He wants you to use this to create memories and to remember the important ones. You can get it developed when you come home for Christmas.” You nodded at him in understanding. “Now, most of the pure-blood students probably won’t know what this is, so don’t let them get you down for using Muggle technology.” “There’s nothing wrong with Muggle technology,” you told him, matter of factly. “Some of it’s even cooler than magic.” He chuckled slightly at that. “I know, I know. But some wizards think everything made by Muggles is rubbish. Just ignore them.” “Or I could show them how cool it really is,” you said, reaching out for the camera. “Yeah, or you could do that.” He stood up in front of you. “Before I give this to you, I need a picture. Smile.” You stood in front of the train engine with the goofiest of grins on your face. Your uncle snapped the picture quickly and then handed you the camera. “Remember there’s only 26 pictures left on that,” he quickly informed you. “If you make a friend who has an owl, you can always write your mum to send you another one if you run out.” “Will do. Thank you.” You reached towards him and gave him a quick, tight hug. The clock on the wall behind him read 10:55. “I gotta go! Thank you again!” You ran off towards the train as he shouted his goodbye back at you. -------------------------- Finding a compartment to sit in was relatively hard, as they were mostly filled with upperclassmen. Towards the back of the train you eventually found a compartment with two familiar boys in it. They sat on opposite seats near the window, tossing something between the two of them. You knocked on the glass as you slid the door open. “Do you mind if I sit here?” “You sure about that?” one of them asked. “Percy didn’t warn you about us?” “I don’t know who this Percy is,” you told them, stepping into the compartment. “Why would he be warning people about you.” You sat down next to the twin who had on a blue sweater. The other one was wearing brown. “Percy’s our older brother. A third year,” Blue Sweater told you. “He’s been telling people that we’ll prank them if they share a compartment with us,” Brown Sweater said. They continued to toss the small object between the two of them. “Well one of you has already tried to prank me,” you said, looking between the two of them. “But the other one told me about it. So I know I can trust at least one of you.” Brown Sweater stopped suddenly, the small object in his hand. “You told her!?” He tossed the object at his brother, who threw his hands over his face in defense. The object bounced off his forearm, and you caught it as it headed your way. It seemed to be just a small rubber ball. The one who you now assumed was Fred continued yelling at his brother. “It’s not much of a prank if you tell them about it before it happens! I don’t know how I can even call you my brother anymore.” He folded his arms and pouted as he looked out the window at the passing hills. “Fred, stop being so dramatic,” George said. “She was a stranger. And our dads work together.” “You’re lying,” Fred said, now looking at George. “You told her because you think she’s cute.” Now both you and George froze. You could feel the tips of your ears burning hot. You squeezed the ball tightly in your hand as a sort of distraction from this conversation. George mumbled out some sort of defense, but you didn’t hear it. You were too focused on your hand, which now held some sort of slimy black goo. The ball had dissolved when you squeezed it hard enough. “You tricky little gremlins,” you mumbled, caused them to stop their bickering to look at you. “No wonder no one wanted to sit with you.” You stood up, the goo dripped off your hand and onto the carpet. You reached for the door with your good hand. “Hey, we didn’t mean to get you with that, we’re sorry,” George said. You could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, you’re the one who caught the ball,” Fred said. You turned around and held your black covered hand out towards Fred. “Catch this,” you said, pushing your hand quickly into his face. You let out a wave of laughter as you pulled your hand away and looked at Fred’s face. The goo had gotten into his hair and matted his eyebrows and smeared down the side of his face. George let out a snort as he got a look at his brother. “Good one,” he said, holding up his hand for a high five. You grinned as you slapped your hand against his, sending goo spraying against the train window. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.” “No, no I didn't,” George said, wiping his hand on the seat he was sitting on. You both looked over at Fred, who was still trying to get the goo off of his face, also wiping the contents on his seat. “You okay there, Freddie?” George asked his brother. Fred looked up at him and then over at you. “Yeah, just thinking of a way to get even is all.” “Good luck with that,” you said, reaching for your camera. The twins looked at you curiously. You snapped a picture of Fred’s face, still covered in goo. “What’re you doing?” Fred asked. “Blackmail,” you simply explained, stuffing the camera back in your bag. ---------------------- “Five other siblings?!” you questioned, quite exhausted from the thought of that large a family. “I couldn’t even imagine.” “Yes, unfortunately,” Fred said. “You’re sure to meet Percy and Charlie soon. They’re third and sixth years. Both Gryffindors. Our whole family has been Gryffindors, actually.” “I suppose that means you two are hoping to get the same,” you mused at them. They both laughed. “Not so much as hoping,” George said. “We’re more expecting. Family tradition and all.” “But it’s gonna be awfully dreadful if we get stuck in the same house as Percy for five years,” Fred added. You laughed at that. The twins really had an odd way of viewing their brother. “What about you?” George asked, lightly elbowing you in the arm. “Hhmmm? What about me?” you asked, looking up at him. “Siblings? Family house traditions?” George pressed further. “Oh no. None of that. I’m an only child,” you told them. “Grandparents were both Hufflepuffs and my uncle was a Ravenclaw.” “And your parents?” Fred asked. “My mother is actually a Muggle,” you informed them. “And my dad didn’t go to Hogwarts.” They both seemed taken aback by that statement. “Didn’t go to Hogwarts?” George asked. “Did his parents ship him off to a different country?” Fred added. “No,” you simply stated. “He went to a Muggle school. He doesn’t have magic.” “No way!” they both said, basically shouting at you. You were slightly shocked by their sudden change in attitude. “Your dad is a squib?” Fred questioned you. You looked between the two of them, severely confused at this point. “I’ve never heard that word before.” “A squib is a person who doesn’t have magical powers, but their parents do. Basically the opposite of a Muggle-born wizard,” Fred explained to you. “They’re very rare,” George continued. “The caretaker at Hogwarts is actually a squib. He’s the only we’ve ever heard of before.” You thought over this new information for a moment. “I guess it’s true that he was born to a pure-blood family, but I always thought it was normal for some wizards’ children to not have magic. Just like, as you said, some Muggle’s randomly have children with magic.” “That logic does make sense when you look at it that way,” George said. It was silent for a moment before Fred asked another question. “How did your dad get a job at the Ministry if he doesn’t have magic?” “Working in muggle studies, you don’t need much magic,” you explained to them. “Plus my uncle also works for the Ministry, and he put in a good word for him.” You sat in silence for another couple minutes. You weren’t quite sure what to say anymore after that conversation. It was getting late and you were to be at Hogwarts within the hour. “Hey,” George said next to you. “Yeah?” you asked him. “If I were you, I’d be careful with who you share that information about your father with,” he said. “Because some pure-bloods think everything made by Muggles is rubbish?” you asked, finishing his thoughts for him. “Well I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. He mulled over his thoughts for a second. When he spoke again, it was soft, like he didn’t really want to say what he was saying. “But yeah. Some pure-bloods think they’re above everyone who is of mixed blood or Muggle-born. With your blood status, I don’t even know what they’d think.” “What about your family?” you asked, looking between the two of them. Suddenly you were very worried that you were telling your whole life story to two boys who were basically strangers. “What?” Fred asked. “You’re pure-bloods,” you said to them. “But your dad reminded me very much of my pure-blood grandparents. And my grandparents would never think like that.” “Neither would we,” Fred said, his brown eyes lacking any hint of mischievousness for the first time since you met him. “Our family doesn’t have much,” George said, “so we know what it’s like to be looked down on by other pure-bloods.” You let out a sigh and looked out the window at the darkening sky. The stars would be out soon, and they were sure to look pretty glittering over the lake by the castle. “I’m sorry that I accused you of that,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the window to look first at George, who quickly darted his eyes away from yours, then at Fred, who held your eye contact. “No worries,” Fred replied. “How about I make it up to you by showing you this,” you said, rummaging around in your bag. You pulled out the camera. “This is a disposable camera. It just takes pictures. Not any of the magical moving pictures, but pictures nonetheless. My dad wanted me to have it to capture memories.” “What kind of memories?” George asked, looking at you again. “Happy ones, I suppose,” you told them. “But also sad ones. One’s that make me feel like I want to remember the moment, no matter what. And you know what? I’d like to remember my first train ride forever. Would you two mind taking a picture with me?” The twins looked at each other and then back to you. “I don’t see why not,” they both said. You looked out into the corridor of the train and spotted a student who looked to be a year or two older than you. You got her to take a picture for you and thanked her as she walked away. “Do we get to see the picture?” George asked expectantly. “Not until I get them developed over Christmas holiday,” you informed them. “That’s months away!” they both exclaimed, falling back into their seats. Even though you had been apprehensive of Fred to begin with, you were quickly growing to like both of the twins. Looking over at Fred, he still had bits of black goo stuck in his hair. You were sure it would take a couple showers to fully wash out. Sitting back down next to George, you sat a little too close to him, your shoulders brushing as you tried to get comfortable. Quickly, you moved a couple more inches away, having remembered the comment Fred had made earlier. You could feel your ears burning hot again, and glancing at George out of the corner of your eye, you were positive that his ears were red too. ------------------------ The twins were right about their family tradition, as the sorting hat was barely on their heads before it sorted them both into Gryffindor. An older redheaded boy was cheering excitedly as they sat down at the table next to him and another redhead. As you walked up to stand in front of everyone to be sorted, you could feel your heart racing. You weren’t nervous; it didn’t matter where you were sorted, as you had no ill feelings towards any house. The scary part was the uncertainty of the future that awaited you. If you got sorted into Gryffindor, you were sure to remain friends with the twins. If it was any other house, you weren’t sure. The thought of maybe losing the first two friends you had made here was what scared you the most. You cautiously sat down on the stool, your eyes turning to the sea of students in front of you. You found Fred and George in the crowd, and they both gave you thumbs ups. Smiling back at them, you let out a deep breath. The hat was placed on your head, and you could hear it contemplating for a few seconds. “I know exactly where you should go,” it said. “Already?” you asked, looking up at the brim. “Yes, I’m quite certain,” it said. You sat in silence for another few seconds before it shouted out “Slytherin!”

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x slytherin!reader #slytherin #slytherin reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #reader x george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #My writing #through the years series

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 1: The body in the Entrance

Here is it guys!

So, I changed the order of some event around to fit better with plot pacing. Also, I extended the mystery beyond one night because that gives me nothing to work with. 

I know I said that this is a romance between Henry and Nancy, but it’s not going to really be that because: 1. Who falls in love over the span of 4/5 days? 2. Henry can’t just go from one relationship to another 3. I have a hard time believing in quick love/relationships. I need foundation, and it’s reflected in my writing. 

I plan to continue the series beyond CRY, and build their relationship. So if you don’t ship, don’t worry, you can still read this.  I suggest listening to the soundtrack while you read to enhance the experience!

Had anyone asked Henry Bolet what love was, he would have had no answer. No honest answer, that is. Love was a parent’s devotion to their children. But his parents died when he was young, and their will somehow declared his father’s brother, Bruno Bolet, as a fit guardian. Love then, must be the desire to look after someone. But Bruno tossed him around from boarding school to military school. Summer and winter breaks were the only chance Henry got to see his uncle, but as he grew older he learned to use his sparse vacations more wisely. At twenty-five, he supposed he couldn’t complain much. Bruno never hurt him. He ensured Henry was clothed, fed, educated, and safe.

But surely, Henry thought, a person could expect more than Maslow’s base level of needs?

That was all life seemed to teach him. If you’re able to stay alive and keep moving forward, be thankful and keep your mouth shut. Be good, be quiet. And Henry was good. He performed well in school. And he was quiet. He silently bore the bullies, the snickers, the shunning. It paid off in military school where his silence was applauded as patience and he was promoted to officer at a young age and expected to delegate arguments. The nub of anger in him, an anger that appeared on the night his parents died, screamed at his fragile backbone. Its voice molded with the voice of his superior officers, commanding for attention among other orders. With so many years being called private Bolet, corporal Bolet, sergeant Bolet, and officer Bolet, Henry almost forgot his name. It wasn’t until he met Summer at a random bar that he remembered.

She sat by him while his fellow soldiers mingled with the other soldiers. It was their scheduled night out and the soldiers wanted to go to the bar. Outnumbered, Henry had no choice but to agree. To disagree would lead to a lack to trust and camaraderie, especially with him. So he sat somewhere dark and quiet in the bar, hoping no one saw him till it was time to leave. But like her name, Summer’s warmth crept into his corner.

“Hey there,” she cooed. “What’s your name?”

“Bolet” came the automatic reply.

“Oooh a cold one are you? Don’t worry. I don’t bite”. She nudged him a little and Henry could smell the alcohol oozing off of her.

“Henry,” he muttered after a long pause.

“Hen-ry”. She played with his name, brought it to life. “I’m Summer”.

Henry nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“Why don’t you join the other men? They seem to be having fun?”

“On duty”.

Summer’s eyebrows perked as she took in Henry’s response.

“So you’re not drinking?”

“It’s not my thing”.

“Ooh, a cleanwhistle,” she edged closer towards him. “A proper soldier”.

Henry said nothing. He could feel Summer’s gaze on him and didn’t know what to do.

“Come join us,” she spoke suddenly and got up, pulling him with her towards a group of people. They quietened when he and Summer approached and she introduced him as the “officer in charge”. It got a few chuckles, but Summer’s face showed pride. Henry didn’t say much, didn’t have to. Summer talked for the both of them, and the other members of the group seemed to have no problem with his trepid responses. Excitement, a rare emotion, flowed through him as he listened to the conversations that flowed through the drinks. It didn’t help that twice Summer gave him a peck on the check. She ordered more drinks. Henry paid for the first one, but then cut her off in concern. A chorus of coos went around the drunk group as Summer proudly declared him as “a good soldier”.

“My good soldier,” she whispered to him and Henry let himself fall.

  It was Summer who persuaded him to leave the military.

“What will I do then,” Henry asked.

“Don’t worry,” she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you”.

She suggested taking up a degree in accounting. It would be a 180 from the military, but the analytical side would be familiar. Henry considered letting his uncle know of the changes he was making to his life, maybe even introduce Summer to him. But Bruno never responded to the letters and emails Henry sent, nor did he pick up the phone. After a while, Henry just stopped calling. And anyway, there was no need to be concerned. Summer’s decisions were always right. She didn’t attend college, but she worked in the local café. Since she couldn’t accompany him, she suggested he stay and work in the café. After all, most freshman were too busy enjoying their youth to offer any real friendship, and since he was older than the others, it would just be too awkward for him. So he spent his free time in the café. He allowed her to crash in his apartment and picked up her slack.

Summer would often complain about her coworkers, her parents, Henry, even herself. The more time Henry spent with her, the more he saw how tired she was. She was often too tired to help out and frequently disappeared for days at a time. Henry was most worried about those days because she never bothered to let him know when she was going or for how long. Whenever he tried to bring it up, she would snap at him, exclaiming her need to discharge from the world. He tried to explain it to her, how his parent’s sudden death made him a little paranoid.

Summer listened to him. She then held his hands and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not your parents. Get over it”.

So Henry got over it.

Now, two weeks from graduating, he stood in front of the Bolet manor struggling to get over his uncle’s sudden death. Summer had scoffed when Henry informed her of his uncle’s death. She didn’t understand the point of attending the funeral of some estranged relative who barely cared about Henry.

“He took care of me Summer”.

“So?” she exclaimed.

But when she saw that, for once, Henry would not be persuaded, she rolled her eyes and let him go with an aggravated sigh. A permission he thanked with a shopping spree.

“Just come back when you’re done Bolet,” Summer said as she left for her parent’s house.

  It was at the funeral he learned that Bruno had made him executor of his will and also dedicated thirty percent of the estate to him. It was no measly figure. Bruno Bolet’s house was of average size, but his estate encompassed the cemetery plot that belonged to the Bolet family. Even the ten percent that Bruno’s housekeeper was to get landed her a pretty sizable fortune. It was the housekeeper, Renee Amande, who welcomed Henry to the Bolet manor and showed him to his room. The house was very clean, which was all Henry could think of saying as she led him to his room.

“Of course it is. I keep very high standards,” She turned and looked straight at him. “Though Mr. Bolet was an eccentric and disorganized man, I always ensured he lived in a clean home and ate regularly. You don’t get to 98 single and alone”.

“He seemed quite content to live alone, from what I know of him,” Henry said. He couldn’t help snapping back. The anger he held had started to ebb out during the funeral and Henry had no outlet for it.

Renee stared at him. Her eyes roved around his figure, taking in this so called nephew of Bruno Bolet. She didn’t trust him. He certainly played the role of a Bolet very well with his eyeliner, painted nails, and what looked like a fishnet glove on his right arm. But what nephew never met or even called his uncle? Renee entered into Bruno’s life when he was in his sixties and he spoke very little of his family. Oh Bruno prided himself in the Bolet family’s eccentric personality and their history with New Orleans’s ghosts, but he always held Renee and most others an arm’s length away. But New Orleans was linked to the Bolet name.  

The Bolets started out as gravediggers and worked their way up to undertakers. Everyone, both living and dead, knew that if you wanted to be taken care of in death and the afterlife, you came to the Bolets. The family owned the largest cemetery in New Orleans and everyone took advantage of that. Taxi drivers who picked up the occasional ghost rider would drop them off at the cemetery. They would usually find a dollar for their trouble, though it never covered the fare. It was an unacknowledged law that the construction of any infrastructure had to have the approval of the Bolet family. Progressive or not, no one wanted to anger the ghosts of New Orleans.

Yet here stood the heir of the largest cemetery. The next Bolet set to inherit the role of his name. Renee knew from Bruno that the Bolets erred on the side of melancholic, but Henry’s aura radiated cynicism. That boy is trouble for you Renee.

He didn’t object to her desire to stay until the will had been properly sorted. He didn’t object to staying in Bruno’s old room, now stripped of life. He didn’t even object to her carrying on as a housekeeper. But something was off with the boy. At first she though it was grief. But the lack of connection between nephew and uncle made her assume greed. The boy kept staring at his phone with a dark frown on his face. At breakfast, he only nibbled on the blueberry cornmeal pancakes. When she showed him Bruno’s study, Henry just grumbled and set to work. Renee always took pride in Bruno’s workplace. It was a perfect blend of Bruno’s eccentricities and the Bolet’s prestige. But seeing Henry sort through the numerous papers that decorated the dark oak desk, Renee couldn’t help but feel disgust.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

  Summer had been endlessly calling Henry since he landed in New Orleans. Frustrated and stressed, he put the damn cell on silent. But the missed calls piled up until finally, his phone died on him.

Thank god, he thought, then immediately felt guilty. Summer was just concerned about him. He didn’t even notify her that he landed and attended the funeral. He slept fitfully in a bare room and had no appetite for the breakfast Renee kindly made for him. He didn’t even get the chance to thank her for the pancakes when the landline rang and Henry was pulled into conversation after conversation. Everyone swooped in like vultures, desperate for a piece of the Bolet wealth. From last payments for furniture to unfulfilled I.O.U.s. Bruno Bolet had a lot of money and a lot of places he threw his money. Thankfully, it didn’t look like his uncle was in debt, but the mess he made of his finances made Henry nauseous. How could anyone be so careless on the things that mattered?

The first thing Henry did was grab a trashcan and clear out what seemed irrelevant. Advertisements. Confirmations and thank you for attending parties. Some random info on skulls. And an envelope from a research institute. Rubbish. As both executor and inheritor, Henry was caught in making sure Bruno’s will be carried out, but also in ensuring that no one swooped in and took something without permission. He also had to deal with Bruno’s remains.

After the cremation, Bruno wanted Henry to bury him in the Bolet garden. Where exactly, the old coot never specified. After roaming around a bit, Henry saw a red-eyed vulture sitting atop a shrine. Below it, there were four other red-eyed vultures. Suddenly a gust of noises crowded his mind. They whispered words, some of which Henry barely heard. Am I losing it? He should have been terrified, but whether it was a lack of sleep or the start of insanity, Henry found himself at ease with the whispers. They surrounded his presence and grew louder as he approached the vultures. Here…Here…Here, they urged and as Henry looked around the shrine, he saw a pot hole with the name Bruno Bolet on it. But how to open it?

The pot hole was shut and no matter how hard Henry tried to lever the lid up, it remained fastened to the ground. Taking a closer look at the pot hole, Henry noticed a lock design. So, it needs a key? But where was he supposed to find a key in Bruno’s mess? He sighed and gave up. He’d just figure out some other place to bury his uncle. The whispers cried out as he left, but fell silent when he approached the double doors of the study.

 That night, the whispers came into his room. They swarmed around him, chattering. Tittering whenever he sprung up from the bed.

“Go away,” he shouted.

They shivered.

“What do you want?”

Skull… man… skull… find… man… arrives

Henry flopped back onto the bed. He didn’t have time to chase after the adventures of some Skullman. Maybe he really was losing it. Maybe his uncle’s death was affecting him more than he anticipated. He wasn’t unnerved by their presence. They felt like meeting an old friend, not that Henry knew what that felt like. The only person he had was Summer. Speaking of which, Henry reached for his phone and saw that Summer had called again, numerous times. He sighed, then called and prepared for the onslaught.

“Hen-ry!” Summer’s high-pitched voice spoke through the silence of his room. Immediately, the whispers become silent and Henry could feel their presence leave the room.

“Hey Summer. Sorry about not calling you before. It’s been hectic.”

“God, Henry you’re such a jerk. You couldn’t even call me one time to check-in on me? Don’t you care about me?”

“Course, I do. How are you doing Summer?”

“I’m bored. My parents are working and I have nothing to do”.

“Didn’t you mention that you made plans to go to the beach with some friends? That’s why we bought those swimwear outfits”.

“Yaaa, but what can I do if my friend suddenly decided to bring along her boyfriend? Do you know how lame I look saying I have a boyfriend but not bringing him along? See how inconsiderate your uncle’s death is?”

“Sorry about that Summer,” Henry replied weakly. He never really figured out what to say to Summer when she got angry.

“You have to make it up for me,” Summer demanded. She sounded serious and Henry knew that a stubborn Summer was an uncooperative one. Still, he tried.

“Aw, come on Summer”.

“No buts, Bolet!”

“Alright, alright,” Henry said, trying to pacify her.

“How about I get you some CDs? That way you can listen to them until I finish around here?”

Summer was silent for a while and Henry held his breath.

“How long will you be gone for?” she asked.

“I’ll get you enough CDs for two weeks. How’s that? That way, if I finish early, you get extra CDs for another time?”

“You’re really pushing it Bolet”.

“I know. I’m sorry”.

“Just hurry up!”

Saying so, Summer hung up on him and Henry dropped the phone to the ground.

  There was a local antique store in the old French quarters. The owner, Lamont Warrick, didn’t hesitate to introduce himself to Henry at the funeral and procure a business card.

“For anything you deem useless, just toss it over to me”.

Henry didn’t have much on him. It didn’t help that Renee seemed to always keep an eye on him. Between the whispers and her unexpected presence, Henry didn’t know which was worse. Honestly, he was so close to snapping at her to just get it over with if her intent was to kill him. Her badgering presence was something he didn’t want to deal with. He didn’t know from where he was supposed to get the money to by the CDs Summer wanted. He only had a debit card on him and the stores only took credit. He cursed himself for never applying for a credit card. He never really needed it seeing as uncle Bruno and school took care of everything. It wasn’t until he left with Summer that he had to really take care of himself.

He didn’t need much, just enough to get the CDs and pay for shipping to Illinois. He knew it was wrong, illegal even. He could be forfeit from his inheritance. He would be a hypocrite for sure. But if he didn’t do this, Summer would be mad at him, and if Summer was mad at him—he didn’t want to continue that thought. So he grabbed a box and quickly chucked some clutter from Bruno’s room. The faster he did it, the less he would have to think about what he was doing. Giving Renee a quick excuse, Henry shuffled out of the manor and headed towards Zeke’s curiosity shop.

Lamont gave Henry a friendly hello and perked his eyebrows when he saw the box. Lamont felt bad when he saw Henry Bolet for the first time. He knew Bruno Bolet well. The man spent a lot of time at his curio shop, and frequently bought items. His housekeeper, Renee also frequented the place. But Bruno was the one who truly admired Lamont’s collection. In Bruno, Lamont found an appreciator of junk. The discarded bits people didn’t want, or had no place for, all found home in his curio shop. Bruno often invited Lamont over to see the Bolet manor, so Lamont knew that the house was a trove for antiques.

Lamont once asked Bruno who would get the house and the artifacts upon his death. He supposed some people would take the question as insensitive, greedy even, but Bruno understood what he was really asking.

“A relative of mine would inherit the majority”.

Seeing as Bruno was already hitting his 80s, Lamont assumed the relative was older. But when he saw the relative, this Henry Bolet, as a young man, all sympathy burst forth. This Henry was younger than him. Lamont had heard that Henry’s parent’s died when he was only eight. Bolet news spread like wildfire in New Orleans. Bruno would have been his only other relative. To have him die too. Lamont knew it was wrong. The young man didn’t seem to want company, but business was business. If he didn’t want comfort, maybe this Henry would understand business.

“Didn’t take you long to stop over,” Lamont said as he eyed the box. “Didn’t bring much either”.

“This is just a small sample. I’ll bring the rest later”.

Lamont was confused. People didn’t decide to sell a small portion of their junk and save the rest for later. It was usually a full overhaul, especially when death was the cause. Most just wanted to shove off the remains of the dead, as if they were scared of the memories the junk contained. Henry himself looked distressed, as if he was in a hurry.

Lamont perused through the box. Some old photographs. A locked box, and what seemed to be a top hat and skull costume. He’d often see Bruno wearing the top hat. It would sell. The box would also sell. But the rest would be hard to pitch to customers. No one really wanted the photographs of an unknown person, or their letters. Lamont sighed.

“Your uncle died 2 days ago, right?”

“Yes, and?”

“Well, let’s just say that in my experience, people don’t bring in things to sell 2 days after someone dies. Also, they don’t bring a small box”.

Henry became very quiet and Lamont continued.

“Hey man, I’m not judging you, but I’m assuming that you need cash fast”.

Henry gave a stiff nod.

Lamont sighed again. It was common in his business for people to quickly sell off something they assumed was junk when strapped for cash. He never bought anything from them. If they got caught, he could also get into trouble and Lamont had a family to worry about. But this kid, he looked so, so naïve. He clearly had no idea what he was doing.

“Look, I can’t buy this”.

Henry’s face fell.

“But,” Lamont continued. “Here’s what I will do. How much do you need? Hundred bucks?”

“Two hundred,” Henry muttered, then scowled. He couldn’t Lamont in the eyes.

That’s nothing, Lamont thought. But the kid looked so worried about it.

“Okay, so let’s say this. I give you the two hundred. I’ll even take this box and make a receipt for you if it will make you feel better. But, in exchange. When you actually go through your uncle’s possessions, you invite me over and let me have first pick over the artifacts. I take two hundred dollars’ worth with me. Deal?”

Henry nodded and Lamont rang up a bill.

  A couple days later, after dealing with an endless amount of callers, Henry pushed it all away. Slowly Bruno’s estate and finances were sorting themselves out, but Henry needed a break. Feeling perky, he offered to treat Renee out for dinner.

“About time I saw some Southern hospitality in you, young man”.

Their plan of enjoying the May breeze in the French quarters at a local café was ruined by the onslaught of rain. Henry apologized to Renee, but it was clear that the woman blamed Henry for the rain. They ate in silence and returned back to the manor to see the front door open.

“Did we have a break-in?” Henry exclaimed.

“Oh dear. This is highly unusual to happen in New Orleans. Normally it’s so safe, we needn’t lock doors,” Renee wondered.

Henry turned towards her.

“You didn’t lock the door?!”

“No dear. Like I said, it isn’t necessary”.

Henry pointed to the door.

“Yes, I can see how unnecessary it was”.

Renee eyes flashed.

“No need to take that tone with me, young man. I am not speaking nonsense”.

Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why was he bothering to argue with someone who made huff-puff hoodoo powder in her free time? It didn’t help that the whispers came back to him. They followed him to that curio store, screamed more like it, as he ‘sold’ the junk. They were screaming now.

Skull… man… skull… man… fall…

Henry massaged his forehead.

“Let’s just infiltrate and assess damage”.

As both he and Renee stepped into the house, Henry caught the sight of footprints. One wet and small. The other muddy and large. The muddy one indicated that it’s owner had long left the house, but what caused him concern was that the smaller foot prints only went in one direction.

“Be careful Renee. I think our thief is still inside the house,” Henry whispered.

“Understood,” Rene whispered back, eyes watching the floor and mirroring Henry’s thoughts.

They stepped cautiously into the foyer and Renee reached for an umbrella. Smart, Henry thought. The thief might be armed. It would be best for Renee to arm herself. Henry clenched his hands into fists and tensed, ready to throw a punch.

When they stepped into the living room, Renee let out a gasp and dropped her umbrella. In front of them was the award-wining cemetery model Bruno made a long time back. Below the table, and splayed out, unconscious, at the centre of the living room was a young woman.

#nancy drew #henry bolet #CRY #legend of the crystal skull #nancy x henry #what's their ship name? do they have one?

[briyourmotherdown]

Give It All For You, Part 1 (Brian May x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 10.45k 

Warnings: Strong language (I’m British, it’s to be expected), slight innuendos???, possible historical inaccuracy, ANGST. 

Description: You have loved Brian May since the first time you met him. Trouble is, he’s nearly impossible to tie down, and you’ve become cemented in the role of the best friend. 

A/N: Okay so I’ve been working on this little mini-series for months. Literally too long. It’s still not even done, BUT I wanted to get the first part out at leAST. Uni and life have made finding creative inspiration a major struggle as of late. I think there will probably be around 3 parts to this?? I’m not quite sure yet, it could be a couple more if I find the motivation. BUT ANYWAY I really hope you enjoy it even though it’s angsty and I can’t write ajdgsdbskjbkdhgs. 

Spring, 1977

 “C’mon,” you slur,  your red dress shimmering in the dim lights of the local pub, “dance with me.”

  The bass is heavy in your chest and you feel alcohol coursing through your veins, but you’re only intoxicated by the man in front of you. His eyes glimmer like stars, hooded, sizing you up before shaking his head with a laugh.

  “You’re drunk.”

 “So are you.” you push yourself further into him in an attempt to push him onto the dancefloor, but more of a reason for you to get closer to him, to feel him.

  “But you’re plastered.”

 You roll your eyes, “Isn’t that the whole point?”

 He rolls his eyes right back, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, “Fine, one dance.”

  His hazel eyes are hooded, focussed solely on you, and you bask in his gaze. His hands on your body send electric shocks over your skin, and you tell yourself over and over that he doesn’t feel the same; he is only your good friend. That’s all you will ever be to him.

 “Is that how you ask a lady to dance?” you tease, cocking a brow.

 “You asked me!” Brian laughs, amused, “Alright, m’lady, may I have this dance?”

 He holds his hand out to you, dipping his head like a gentleman, and you take a moment to take a mental snapshot before accepting his hand, tugging him into the centre of the pub to dance.

  So you both danced, and for that night, just for that night with his hands on your hips, you could almost pretend that he was yours. And as he stared into your eyes, you let yourself fall into that false sense of security of imagined love.

   But let’s start from the beginning, from the moment you met on a cold winter’s night in 1972...

  “Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here,”

  Your best friend, Freddie, shivers as he hops up and down to warm himself up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jaw,

  “Why did you want to open up the stall today, of all days? Even that old git Brutus has closed up shop.”

  You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shuffling the secondhand clothes on their hangers, “I need the money, that’s why. I’m about to be homeless if I can’t pay my rent.”

  Freddie hums, kicking a stray pebble on the floor, “You know, my friend has a spare room in his flat he’s trying to fill. He needs some extra money too. I’m sure he’d offer you the room for cheap.”

  “Which friend?”

  “His name is Brian, Brian May.”

  “Ah,” you wave your hand in recognition, remembering his name being brought up a few times, “the guitarist one, yeah?”

  “That’d be the one! I think you’d like him, actually-”

  “Like who?” your other friend and coworker, this one much more blonde, chimes in as he strides into the small stall, very much late. Roger.

  “Brian.” Freddie answers.

 “Oh yeah, she’d definitely like him.”

  You shoot them both a look, “And what makes you say that?”

  Roger holds up a fringed kimono up to himself in the mirror, “He’s quiet, reads a lot, likes the stars; basically a total nerd. You’d love him.”

  “And he always wears matching socks. It’s bizarre, he literally has a thing about matching socks.” Freddie adds.

  You chuckle, “And when will I get to meet this nerd?”

 “Well, tonight. We have a gig.”

 “Hm,” you pretend to think, “I’ll have to clear a few things from my schedule…”

  Roger nudges you with his shoulder, knocking you slightly off balance,

 “Alright, alright! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Later that evening you meet your friends at the pub where they're playing for the night. It’s a dingy dive that you never would usually go, but you’d do anything to support your friends on their journey to success.

  You’re dressed up all pretty in your flares and platforms, leaning up against the bar as you wait for Queen’s set to begin. Though the weather outside is freezing, the inside of a pub is always hot, air thick with the scent of ale and sweat, but the moment Queen steps on stage, it’s easy to forget your surroundings. You’d heard Freddie sing, and you’d certainly heard Roger crash about on his drums, but you’d never seen them like this.

  They were magnetic. You were all absorbed. Freddie’s outfit caught the light each time he flounced across the stage, but his voice was what captured everyones attention. He was full of passion and power; he owned the audience, he could control everyone with one simple snap of his fingers.

  Roger was his usual self, exuding sex-appeal and confidence. Girls fawned over his long blonde locks and plushy lips. The thing about Roger was that he was the total package of beauty and intelligence, that is if you could tie him down.

  You’d never met the bassist, John, you think his name was, but he managed to capture your attention in the most unsuspecting way. He was all shyness and modesty, but not radiating an ounce of hesitancy. You can tell, even at first glance, that he would be the perfect fit for Queen. He would bring balance.

 That leaves one final member, the oh-so nerdy space loving boy who Freddie and Roger believe you would adore. But he doesn’t look so nerdy when you see him. He’s pure mystery, almost as though he’s surrounded by a navy blue mist, an aura- or something ethereal. He’s breathtaking, is all you can think. Long legs adorned in velvet, dark curls fall in front of his eyes as he looks down at his guitar. He’s focussed, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, but he takes a moment to glance up. That’s when you know you’re done for. He scans the pub, small enough to make out everyone’s face, and his eyes land on yours. It’s fleeting, but you can swear they linger. Maybe that’s just what you want to tell yourself. Suddenly you want to feel his eyes on you all the time. You want to be in his daydreams, in his thoughts, you want to be his muse.

  You float through the rest of their set, eyes glued to Brian as he plays expertly. You sway to each song, ignoring your surroundings and focussing solely on the music, and when it’s over, you cheer as loudly as you can.

  “I want to have your children, Roger!” you scream, bursting into a fit of giggles as the blonde scans over the room to see the source of the scream, and upon seeing you, chucks up his middle finger with a laugh.

  You make your way to the small stage, well, it’s more of a two feet high platform, and open your arms up widely to Freddie.

  “You,” you tackle him into a hug, “were fucking incredible! You’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me for how long?”

  He blushes, returning to the Freddie you know, “You must have brought it out of me, love,” he turns to the rest of the band, “Y/N, this is John Deacon, isn’t he lovely?”

 Freddie gestures to the bassist as he smiles shyly, offering you a wave and a small, “Hello.”

  “You were amazing out there, seriously!” you compliment him, and he blushes, though his smile widens.

  “Now, darling, this is Brian May!”

  Upon hearing his name, Brian looks up from where he is putting away his guitar, standing up straight and brushing his hands off against his trousers.

  “Brian, this is Y/N, she hangs around Roger and I sometimes.” Freddie shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” you reach a hand out to shake, which you so usually wouldn’t do, and it sends embarrassment right through you. But to your luck, he takes his hand in yours with no hesitation.

  “Likewise,” he smiles, still shaking your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh God.

  “All good things I hope?” you realise you’re still holding his hand and let go, letting your hand sit awkwardly at your side.

  Jesus, you’re so nervous.

  “Mostly.” He winks, and it sends you reeling. His eyes are dangerous, and they travel up and down your figure in a way that sets you alight.

  It goes quiet as you stare at each other, Freddie glancing between you two with his eyebrows raised. Though he says nothing about it. Instead, he claps his hands,

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink!”

  1977

  The next morning, you suffer through your pounding headache, wanting to just wallow in your loneliness.  

  Of course, Brian went home with someone else last night, sneaking away through the back door to avoid flashing cameras and prying eyes, leaving you to call yourself a taxi back home, where you cried for an hour before passing out.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes you feel pathetic every time.

  There’s a knock on your door, and you heave yourself out of bed despite the spinning in your head and the nausea churning in your stomach. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with your dishevelled appearance.

  “Y/N? Jesus, you look like hell.”

  Alas, the infamous Roger Taylor stands on your doorstep, mouth agape at your messy hair and leftover smudged makeup.

  “I’ll slam this fucking door in your face, Taylor.”

  “Hostile,” he laughs, hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve just come to pick you up for lunch, or have you forgotten?”

  Feeling like a total ass, you smack your hand to your forehead, “Shit, Rog, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

  He follows you into your flat, eyes scanning over the slight mess. He turns to you, concerned; you’re not usually one to let your flat get so messy.

 “We don’t have to go, Y/N, we can reschedule, it’s not a problem.”

 You scrunch up your face, searching the kitchen for a glass of water and ibuprofen,

 “No, no, I want to go, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

 “Long night?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter to stare at you.

  Shooting him a glare, you slide passed him and into your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Roger follows you,  leaning against the doorframe.

  “You know, I think you owe me an explanation as to why you forgot about our lunch date, and threatened me.”

  Clicking your tongue, you turn to him, “I went to a pub with Brian last night, got plastered, now I’m hungover. Simple as that.”

  He raises his eyebrows, almost knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“No need to be so sassy with me, I'm only asking.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry,” he smiles, “now get out, I have to piss.”

You slam the door and hear him laugh from the other side, “What a lady!”

 “Bugger off!”

  Finally feeling human again after cleaning up and getting dressed, you slide a massive pair of dark sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and head out to where Roger parked his car.

  “Ready, princess?”

 You shoot him a sickly sweet smile, “You act as if being called princess bothers me.”

  Roger laughs, starting the engine and getting into gear, “You got me there.”

  The drive to your local favourite cafe is short, a totally walkable distance if you didn’t feel like death warmed up. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until pulling into a parking space, when Roger turns to look at you once again. Your head is pressed against the window, eyes closed beneath your sunglasses, lips slightly parted as you take careful breaths to avoid nausea.

  “Christ, love, you really do look like shit,” he chuckles softly, a hint of concern laced in his insult, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  With one look at him, tears well up in your eyes against your will, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Roger’s eyes widen, and in an instant, you’re pulled into his arms over the console as you begin to cry. He shushes you softly, one hand running up and down your back,

  “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” you’re thankful for having such a good friend like Roger, especially when he puts up with your hungover mood swings. However, you must look like an absolute trainwreck with your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, “Let’s go inside and get some food and a cup of tea down you, yeah? Then if you like, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  You nod, sniffling and wiping away your tears on the back of your hand. Roger jumps out of the car and rushes to the passenger side, where like an angel, he walks you into the cafe with a hand on your back.

  You attract a few disparaging stares when you both sit down at a table, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. Roger, now across from you, looks puzzled, “What’re you laughing about, hey?”

  “Everyone’s staring.”

  He scans the room indiscreetly, a smile taking over his features, “God, they are, aren’t they? Haven’t they ever seen a hungover girl crying before?”

  You scoff, “Bugger off, they’re obviously staring at your trainers.”

  He gasps, looking underneath the table to examine his sparkly pink converse, “What have you got against my trainers?”

  “Me? Nothing. But a bunch of elederly ladies out for lunch might. I’m sure they think your hair is a disgrace too. You should cut your hair like McCartney had it at the start of The Beatles.”

  Roger scoffs, pulling out a cigarette, “Yeah right. Been there, done that.”

  As Roger lights up a smoke, you look at the menu set out in front of you, deciding on something that won’t aggravate your fragile stomach. Then you proceed to give Roger puppy dog eyes until you persuade him to be the one to go up and order it.

  When he’s gone, you take a moment to think over what you and Roger must really look like to some people. Roger, all bleach blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing and a smirk that could make even a nun go mad. And you, puffy eyed, sunglasses indoors, in an oversized button-up shirt that you’d definitely stolen from one of the boys at some point. You both probably were the most exciting things that some of these people had seen in awhile. Something new to gossip about.

  A glass of water is set in front of you by the one and only roger, while he sips tenderly at a cup of sweet coffee, “Drink.” he commands.

  “But I ordered coffee,” you pout like a child, “You’re kicking me when I’m down here, Rog.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Coffee doesn’t help hangovers, love. Drink up.”

  You frown but nonetheless begin sipping in silence, tapping your nails against the table as Roger stares at you, “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re going to tell me what got you so upset earlier?”

  You let out a sigh, long and weary, fiddling with an opened sugar packet, “Would you believe me if I said that it was just hormones?”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 You let out a short laugh through your nose, “I just let myself get heartbroken again, that’s all.”

  Roger pretends to choke on his coffee, spluttering dramatically and ignoring all the stares that he attracted, “Someone managed to break Y/N’s cold, dead, heart?”

  “If you were quiet for a moment you’d notice I’m not laughing.” You roll your eyes at him.

  Noticing your demeanour, he quiets down and leans in close to you, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never let yourself get to the point of being able to be heartbroken,” he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, “you know, you told me about a year ago that love doesn’t exist, and dating is just a trial period until you decide that maybe you can put up with that person for the rest of your life.”

   “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did, word for word.”

  You stay silent, but your top lip twitches into a smile- it does sound like something you’d say.

  “Anyway,” Roger continues, “who broke your heart? I’ll rough 'em up a bit.”

  “Surely you couldn’t rough up a member of your own band.” You speak under your breath, arms crossed, but Roger hears you.

  “I knew it!” He shouts, and you kick him underneath the table, “sorry,” he blushes, “I just knew it. I had a feeling you were in love with Brian.”

  Your eyes widen, “I’m not in love with him!”

 Roger smirks, “So it is Brian, then?”

 Your jaw drops at his trick, “You bloody asshole.”

  He sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face, coffee cup in hand, “So, tell me about it.”

  You scoff, “You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?”

  “You love me all the same.”

  You roll your eyes for the thousandth time, as you always seem to do around Roger. You stare at him, arms crossed in silent defiance and attempt to communicate with your eyes ‘I’m not going to tell you because you were a dick.’

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms to place his elbows on the table, “Come on, I’m sorry! Please tell me what happened?”

  A server comes over with your breakfast, allowing you to torture Roger for a few moments more as you chew a bite slowly. After you swallow, you finally sigh, “Fine. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Roger’s eyes light up, “How long have you loved-” he stops when you gives him the eye, “liked, him?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

  “I know! I know. It’s not good. Trust me I’ve tried to get over it.”

  “And you’ve never told him how you feel?”

  You scoff, “Of course not, that’s suicide.”

  “Why?”

  You put down your fork, finishing your mouthful of food, “You act like you haven’t seen the way Brian is,”

  Roger stays silent, waiting for you to continue, “He’s so…elusive. His shyness and sensitivity make him a real fucking magnet if you haven’t noticed. And he has this thing where he needs to constantly be pining after someone, and it’s just never been me.”

  You take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the rim of your glass, “He’s just not interested in me as more than his best friend, and I think that’s okay.”

  “Why do you think that’s okay?” Roger asks softly.

  “Because if I don’t accept that, then I won’t have Brian in my life at all. And that’s worse than the heartache.”

  Roger is silent, looking at you with sad eyes, but they don’t hold an ounce of pity. That’s something you love about him, he never pities you for feeling any sort of way, he’s just there to listen.

  “Well fuck, I can see why you got plastered last night.”

  You laugh, thankful for him shifting the mood to something more lighthearted.

  After lunch, Roger drops you off back at your flat, but not without a comforting pat on the top of your head and a promise to go for a drink soon.

  You smile to yourself as you fish your key out from your bag, twisting the lock and stepping inside.

  “Y/N.”

  You squeal, whipping around to see a lean figure standing up from your sofa, “Bloody fuck- Brian, what are you doing here?”

  Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, partly from being scared half to death, partly because Brian looks so good in a hoodie. He doesn’t often wear cosy clothes anymore since Queen gained more fame. Seeing him looking all soft in a navy blue hoodie makes your heart flutter. It reminds you of the times when you had first met. The both of you snuggled up underneath layers of blankets in his dingy flat when the heating broke (which was often), drinking copious amounts of tea and emptying his kitchen of all his food.

  “You gave me a key.” He scratches the back of his neck. Yeah, he knows he’s guilty.

 “I would have appreciated it if you’d rung me first.”

 Annoyance settles in as you remember last night, when he ditched you at the pub and left you to get a taxi home. If anything, he owes you the fare.

  “I did, you didn’t pick up and I got worried.”

  “I was out.”

  “I can see that now.”

   The room falls silent, Brian rocking back and forth on his heels. You cross your arms, waiting for him to speak. To explain himself.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that last night. I was drunk-”

  “So was I.”

  “I’m-” he stops, sighing, “I’m really, really sorry. I’m a total prick…” he fades off as if he’s lost in thought, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and eyes worried. He looks genuinely troubled, as if he is really upset that he ended up ditching you.

  Against your better judgment, you sigh and uncross your arms, voice softening up, “Look, just don’t do it again, okay? It puts me in a really bad spot.”

  His eyes brighten at your acceptance, rushing over to give you a hug. You stand stiff as a board when his arms wrap around you, head nestled against your neck. Your pulse races, but you know better than to view this in any other way than just a friendly hug. You wrap your arms around him anyway, closing your eyes and just for a moment, pretending it is otherwise.

  “I want to make it up to you,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder, but he doesn’t dare let go, “I packed us a picnic, let’s go to the park. You can feed the ducks.”

  You pause, eyes opening and closing as you take breaths. You battle against yourself. Could you manage doing such an activity with Brian? One that feels like a date? Of course you can. Don’t be silly. He’s your best friend, how could you be casting his feelings to the side because of your own?

  “Can I feed the pigeons too?”

  He laughs, gripping your frame tighter, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then you’re back in his car, a newer one, different from the cheap beat up one he had when you had first met. But still, it’s familiar, the scent of him mixed with leather. A basket and a blanket sits in his backseat, bringing a small smile to your face. This is the side of Brian you cherish the most. The side of him that cares so deeply for his friends. You’re not even sure if you could call it a ‘side’ of him. It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t ever intend to hurt or upset you. Suddenly, you feel guilty for being upset with him. He doesn’t owe you anything, he has every right to go home with other women.

  “So, where did you go earlier?” Brian asks, one hand on the wheel as he glances over at you and then back at the road.

  “I went out for lunch with Roger,” you smile at his side profile, the way his hair moves against the breeze through his open window, the way his nose hooks ever so slightly, “he nursed my hangover.”

  Brian’s lips seem to flick into a frown, but shift back into a smile before you could really register it, “Seems as though I’ve been replaced.”

 You roll your eyes, “No one nurses my hangovers as well as you do, Bri, don’t worry.”

 You giggle fondly at the memories of the both of you nursing each other through your hangovers, Brian always better at dealing with them than you were. He’d be up bright and early, pop two ibuprofen, down a cup of coffee and be well on his way to recovery. Whereas you’d sleep until noon and be unbelievably moody until eventually someone forced you to do something with your day.

  Brain somehow always knew how to pull you out of those moods, though, whether it be bringing you a plate of pancakes and cracking stupid jokes until eventually you had no choice but to laugh, or by sitting with you in silence and pushing a glass of water and painkillers in your direction. He just always seemed to know exactly what you needed in the moment.

  “I’d hope not,” he tuts, “otherwise I’d have to find another hobby, and I quite like taking care of you.”

  Your breath catches, skin burning, but you play it off with a scoff, “You make me sound like a child.”

  He laughs, a bellowing laugh that you always love to hear, “A child? Certainly not. Children swear a hell of a lot less.”

  “Fuck off!” you swat his shoulder lightly but can’t help your grin. It feels good to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy with Brian.

  The sun is high when you reach the park, the sky a bright blue except for a few sparse clouds. The two of you walk silently to the pond, laying out the blanket on a soft patch of grass.

  “I know you already ate,” Brian says as he sits down on the blanket, “but I bought a packet of custard creams because I know you like them.”

  The small gesture makes you embarrassingly happy, grinning at him as he passes you the packet, “You can never be too full for biscuits, you know that.”

  “Very true,” he smiles at you almost in adoration, you think, “I also got a bag of bird seed because people still feed the ducks bloody bread.”

  You hum as you bite into a custard cream, staring into space as you get lost in thought. Spring weather in London is one of your favourites, when the sun shines just enough to warm your skin, but you still have to cosy up a bit. And today,  it’s the perfect temperature for a picnic.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” Brian begins, opening up a sandwich for himself and taking a bite, “Since the band doesn’t have to start recording again for a bit, we should all go on a road trip somewhere.”

  You look over at him, eyebrows raised, “Where were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Wales maybe? I just thought a change of scenery might help us all write new songs.”

  Nodding your head slowly, your lips twitch up into a smile, “I’d love that. Have you mentioned it to the boys yet?”

  “Briefly, and they seemed to like the idea, but no plans have been made.”

  You hum, “Well, let’s set the date and they’ll just have to clear their schedules.”

  Brian laughs, “Alright, next thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

  “Perfect.”

  The two of you chat for a while longer, before packing up the basket and walking alongside the pond, throwing bird seed for the ducks and laughing as they all fight for the same pieces.

  It feels so idyllic, walking through the park with Brian. It seems to be all couples here today, holding hands or staring at each other with looks of adoration on their faces. It almost makes you feel queasy. Perhaps it’s just eating those custard creams right after eating lunch with Roger. Either way, your stomach twists and leaps with too many indescribable feelings. You wish it would stop.

  Brian tips the last bits of bird food out of it’s bag, before scrunching it up and putting it in his pocket. You both watch as the birds eat the remaining seed, before looking up at you for more. Once they realise there’s nothing else for them, they drift gracefully away, to the opposite side of the pond where someone else may feed them some more.

  Then you continue your stroll, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your faces and the crisp air in your lungs.

  But then Brian looks down at his watch, swearing underneath his breath and turning to face you, “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  Your eyebrows furrow into a frown, “Is everything alright?”

  You both begin to walk in the direction of his car, “Everything’s fine, I just forgot I have to meet someone in an hour.”

  Your stomach drops. Brian never usually says ‘someone’. His friends are your friends and you’d always refer to them by name. ‘Someone’ means someone you’ve never met, and almost always it means a girl.

  “Oh, okay,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, “that’s totally fine!” you force a wide smile.

  He grins back at you as you both get into his car, “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

  You return his smile, but deep down you know. He said that earlier, too.

  Soon you’re back at your flat, waving goodbye to Brian from your doorstep and letting your smile drop into a frown as he drives away.

  The clock reads 4 o’clock when you reach your bedroom, sighing deeply as you get changed into comfier clothes and slump down on your sofa with a cup of tea.

  God, it’s so tiring.

  The sun is still high outside, your favourite aspect of spring and summertime, the longer days, but tonight you almost wish it was late so that you could fall asleep and not have to think about Brian.

  But alas, he swirls around your brain as you stir your tea, looking down into the cup as it whirlpools. You wonder if Brian could be seeing the girl he went home with last night, or someone else. You don’t want to wonder, you’re not even sure if you actually want to know who it is. It would push you into the deep darkness of insecurity, and you’d compare every aspect of yourself to whomever it is.

  So instead, you flick the telly on and melt mindlessly into the arms of whatever is on, not even really focussing on it.

  Monday morning, you’re at work again, typing up documents all day as you’d usually be doing. The monotony could kill you, and your fingers hurt from the stiff keys of the typewriter. It’s times like these where you feel envious of your best friends’ profession- for the boys of Queen, monotony is never an issue. They can complain about recording studios all they want, but they would never dare to wish for your job, and they know that.

  You asked your boss early if you could get Thursday to Monday off, and by some sheer miracle he had agreed, but not without massaging your shoulders in a way that made your skin crawl. It was one of the biggest downsides about working in an office amongst mostly men. While they spent their days barely working, and instead drinking the day away together while playing mini golf in their offices, you worked until your fingers went numb and the back of your neck felt like it was being jabbed with fifty needles. Yet they still believed they were entitled to touching you whenever they liked.

  Either way, you had managed to get a few days off to go on a road trip with all of your best friends, and that’s what keeps you going throughout the week. You daydream about exploring castle ruins and walking along the beach with Brian, allowing yourself to dip your toes into the idea of a relationship. While you were confined within four blank office walls, the thought of Brian kept you sane.

  He phoned you two days after your picnic, confirming that the boys had all agreed to a road trip and booked a hotel for Thursday afternoon. Things were all going smoothly, even as you packed your bag on Wednesday evening in preparation to set off early the next morning. You float happily around your flat, humming along to your records and planning out outfits for the trip. When you fall into bed that night, you can barely wait for dawn to break.

  But as they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because when you step out onto your front steps on Thursday morning, bags in hand and a grin like the sun, you notice not one, but two cars. Brian’s and John’s. Your smile falters, you thought you were all squeezing into Brian’s car?

  “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims when he sees you, rushing to help with your bags and put them in the boot of Brian’s car, “God, I’ve missed you, darling!”

  You pull him into a tight embrace, “I’ve missed you too. You don’t have time for me anymore with all your wild parties.”

  He scoffs, “If only you’d attend them, lovie, then we’d see each other more!”

 You roll your eyes playfully and look around at the two cars. The driver’s seat of Brian’s car opens, a small but almost seemingly nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Y/N,” he scratches the back of his neck, “how are you?”

  You narrow your eyes, and you feel Freddie’s body language stiffen beside you as if he knows something you don’t.

  “I’m alright?” You reply as a question, curious to why everyone seems so nervous.

  “Good, good,” he nods, inhaling before saying, “You wouldn’t mind sitting in the back seat, would you? Natasha already took the passenger side.”

  Your lips part slightly, realisation setting in. He brought a girl.

  You turn to Freddie in silent shock, asking with your eyes what the hell is happening? He leans over to whisper quietly, “I offered to take your place and you sit with Rog and John, but Brian was adamant.”

 You gulp, turning back to where Brian stands, “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He grins, sitting back in the driver’s seat. You turn to Freddie, eyes like a deer in headlights. A five hour drive. With Brian and his possibly girlfriend. He pats your shoulder, giving you another hug before getting into John’s car.

  You have no choice but to slip into the backseat, sighing into the leather. The radio is already on, all the windows down to let in the cool early morning air. You glance to the front of the car where a woman sits in the passenger side. You can see her face in the wing mirror, insecurity eating away at you already as you examine her. She’s gorgeous, with thick auburn curls that frame a sharply defined face. You can even see that her eyes are a taunting shade of emerald green.

  Clearing your throat. You lean forward and hold your hand out, forcing a smile on your face, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

  She turns to glance at you, but not before giving you a once over, sharp lips not so much as twitching into a smile. She takes your hand into a weak handshake, shaking once before letting go and letting her hand rest back into her lap.

  “Natasha.” She says bluntly. You glance over to Brian as he drives, waiting for him to react in some sort of way at the way you’ve been greeted, but instead you’re met with his usual kind smile and eyes that gleam with blissful ignorance.

  You sniff awkwardly, leaning back into your seat and getting comfortable against the window. You can see Natasha staring at you in the wing mirror, but you try your best to ignore it. It practically sears your skin, making you squirm in your seat. You hated feeling intimidated by people, absolutely despised it, but Natasha was everything you weren’t. She had Brian. And the passenger seat.

  The radio fades into one of your favourite songs, one of Brian’s too, The Air That I Breathe by The Hollies. You’d often drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics and laughing at who could sing the loudest. The memory brings a smile to your face.

  “I love this song, can you turn it up-”

  “God, I hate this song,” Natasha interrupts, “I didn’t even like it when it came out three years ago.”

  Brian looks torn, eyes flickering to you in the rearview mirror. You challenge his gaze, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to gauge his next move. Your stomach sinks as he drops your gaze in guilt, flicking to the next station.

 The smug look on Natasha’s face just adds salt to your wound, her eyes like a snake’s, sly and dangerous. In that moment you decide that your best friend must be an absolute idiot. You also decide that you really, really don’t like Natasha.

  Five hours does not go by in a flash, much to your dismay, and you’ve had to listen to Brian gush over Natasha for the majority of the ride. Even when you all stopped halfway to get snacks, Brian came to your side when Natasha went to the bathroom, nudging your shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

  “Isn’t she something?” He asks as you pull a few bags of crisps off of a shelf. You try your best to bite your tongue. After all, as long as Brian is happy, you’re happy.

  “She’s definitely something.” You reciprocate his smile, albeit forced.

  “I think you and her will be great friends.”

  You refrain from rolling your eyes. Even if you wanted that, Natasha made it very clear that she did not want anything of the sort. How could Brian be so unaware of the dynamic that took place between you and her? Are men really that thick? You can barely believe it. For someone as intelligent as Brian, he’s being incredibly dense.

  But regardless, you nod, “Totally.”

  Natasha steps out of the bathroom and makes her way over to where the two of you stand, completely ignoring your presence, “Let’s go to the car.”

  She grabs Brian’s arm, and before you can so much as complain, the food Brian had grabbed is dropped in your arms, leaving you alone to pay. Your eyes follow them as they leave, hand in hand as they laugh. They look good together, you can admit that. Two perfect people.

  You sigh, turning to glance around the small petrol station shop, shaking your head to yourself and going to pay for yours and Brian’s snacks.

  And then the remaining two hours or so blur by as you lean yourself against the window, blocking out the sound of Brian and Natasha’s conversations and simply watching the world pass you by. You try to think of the green grass, the blue morning sky, the yellow sunflower fields that you pass.

  Brian’s hand rests on her thigh and he looks at her with something like a sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly you wish you stayed home. Maybe if you’d caught a cold or your boss didn’t give you time off this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Maybe then you could have ignored the fact that Brian has got a new woman in his life.

  Once you pull into the hotel car park behind the rest of Queen, you nearly jump out of the car, immediately taking your bags out of Brian’s car, “What’s the room situation?” you ask Roger when he steps out of John’s car.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roger winks playfully, “Nah, we have our own rooms, apart from them.” he nods towards Brian.

  You lean in to give him a pathetic hug, leaning heavily on his shoulder as you quietly groan, “I don’t even have the energy to tell you to fuck off right now.”

  He laughs, gripping your shoulders tightly, “You look like you need a drink. Or a nap.”

  “Or both.” you retort.

  Brian and Natasha walk up to where you stand, Natasha plastering a fake smile on her face as she greets Roger, “Roger, I didn’t realise that Y/N was your latest fling, how sweet.”

  Roger tenses, as do you. Now she’s insulted both of you in one. But just as you’re about to speak your mind, Roger tightly wraps his arms around your shoulder, “Actually, Y/N’s my girl.”

  You glance up at him in shock, lips parted and eyes wide. You turn back to Natasha, noticing that Brian is staring at you with a look of shock on his face, maybe betrayal? You’re not sure, but he looks angry. His fist clenches at his side absentmindedly.

  And that makes you angry. Even if you were actually dating Roger, what does that have to do with him? So you decide to put a wide smile on your face, lifting your arms to hold Roger’s around your shoulders. You don’t speak, but your actions say it all. You giggle, melting into his embrace. It feels strange, but Roger and you are close enough to know that this is fine.

  Freddie and John walk over, looks of confusion on their faces, but decide to stay out of it when they see the looks on Natasha and Brian’s faces.

  “You’re seeing each other?” Brian asks incredulously, ignoring Natasha’s presence beside him.

  “That’s right,” Roger replies before you can, “Is that so hard to believe?”

 “Yes,” Natasha laughs, “It is.”

  Roger’s grip tightens around you. You recognise this side of him, the fierce protectiveness he feels over his friends. Roger has been known to get into fights if someone speaks badly about his friends. He simply won’t tolerate it.

  His actions are strictly platonic, but he’s not going to let someone speak badly of you. Especially not Natasha, now that he knows about the way you feel about Brian.

   “And why is that?” He grits his teeth, and you squeeze his arm gently to communicate that it’s okay. You don’t need his protection, you can manage.

  “Well,” Natasha begins, and you glance at Brian’s expression. He stares directly at you, gaze unfaltering. He isn’t even hearing what is being said, “You usually tend to go for much more...visually appealing women.”

  Ouch.

 You’re not gonna lie, that hit you right in the ego. It’s not as if you had much confidence before anyway.

  That’s when Brian breaks his stare to look at Natasha, a dumbfounded look on his face, “What-”

  But Roger interrupts, anger prevalent in his tone, “I don’t think you’re one to gauge who’s visually appealing and who isn’t, Natalie.”

 You hold back a giggle, albeit a hurt one, trying to hide your pain behind an unbothered smile. But you fear that your body betrays you as you tilt your head down, hands dropping from Roger’s arm to cross over your stomach.

  Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but Freddie intercepts, “Alright! Okay, we should go find what rooms we are in and freshen up. I need a beauty nap.”

  You’re thankful for Fred, giving him a discreet nod to which he responds with a wink. You take one last look at your supposed best friend, Brian, not a trace of sympathy for him on your face. How could he not defend his best friend of years from his girlfriend he’s probably only known for a couple weeks at most?

  Baffled and dejected, your feet move mindlessly along with Roger as he steers the both of you into the hotel, muttering underneath his breath, “Dick.”

  “Who?” you whisper.

  “Brian.”

  You say nothing. You know it’s true, but it hurts a hell of a lot when your own best friend doesn’t stick up for you.

  Roger follows you into your hotel room when you reach it, watching as you flop into the soft white sheets with a long, weary sigh.

   Roger sits at the end of your bed, “Natasha’s a right pain in the arse.”

  You sit up, hair mussed and eyes tired, “I meant to ask, have you met her before?”

  He nods with a wince, “Unfortunately. She’s like that all the time. It’s baffling that Brian hasn’t noticed it yet. The lad’s usually quite level-headed.”

  You nod with a hum, staring out of the window behind him. You get most in thought momentarily, thinking about the way Brian was so truly oblivious to the way Natasha acted. He’s almost gotten into bust ups with men at bars who have disrespected you, but it seems to be okay when Natasha does it. Maybe love really is blind. The idea of them in love makes your guts churn.

  “Anyway,” Roger starts, standing up, “You should take a nap. I’ll come to wake you up in a couple hours for dinner, alright?”

  You smile, “Thanks, Rog. For everything.”

  He shoots you a cheeky wink, “Anytime, love.”

  So you gladly lay down in the cool white sheets once Roger is out the door, staring up at the ceiling until eventually you let your eyelids flutter closed.

 Two hours later, you’re up, bathed, and dressed, fiddling with the hem of your midnight blue dress in the mirror.

  Insecurity eats away at you each time your eyes scrutinise yet another perceived flaw. As much as you hate to admit it, Natasha’s words echo around in your mind. She’s right, you're not visually appealing. How could you be, when Brian won’t even look twice at you as more than a friend.

 A knock sounds at your door, Roger’s voice coming soon after, “Are you ready, love?”

 You snap out of your trance, pushing all the self-hatred aside to open the door. Plastering a wide smile on your face, you take his arm in yours.

  He raises a brow.

  “I’m not the one who told everyone we were dating,” you lightly pat his arm, “so hold tight, loverboy.”

  You meet the group outside by the cars once again, John leaning up against the side of his car and Freddie perched gracefully on the bonnet. Brian and Natasha however, are nowhere to be seen. You frown and ask Freddie where they are.

  “Not a clue, my dear. If they aren’t down in five minutes I’m leaving without them.”

  As if on queue, the couple in question walk out of the revolving doors. Brian’s face is flushed, Natasha’s smug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’re late.

  You catch eyes with Brian and watch, hurt, as he looks away bashfully. Your chest pangs, just a bit, as you glance down at your dress for distraction.

  Roger squeezes your arm comfortingly, “Do you want to ride with us?”

  You shake your head, “Would it be bad if I said I wanted to keep an eye on them?”

  He smiles, “Cheeky.”

 You force a tight smile.

 In all honesty, you aren’t quite sure if you’ll be fine, but when you take another look at Natasha’s smirk, you let your anger be the driving force that pushes you into the back seat of Brian’s car.

  Luckily, they seem to behave themselves while you’re in the car. Well, Brian does. Natasha often tries to place her hand on his thigh, but he always pushes it off. You notice that something has changed since the drive earlier, a shift in Brian’s mood. He’s more bashful than ever, staying practically silent with his cheeks seemingly tinged pink permanently.

  Eventually, Natasha gives up with a huff, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the radio hums a tune none of you are paying attention to. Brian is looking straight at the road, and you’re watching him as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The sun is just beginning to set beside him, silhouetting his face like an eclipse. He’s so beautiful, even when you’re annoyed with him, and even when he looks annoyed himself.

  He pulls into the car park, killing the engine and turning around to face you in his seat. You furrow your eyebrows as he stares, “What-”

  “Nat, could you give us a minute?”

  “But-”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  She stares at him baffled, looking at you and back to him, before rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. She slams the door and beelines to the entrance, leaving the rest of the boys no choice but to follow her. Roger shoots you a concerned look through the window, to which you return a reassuring smile. It does nothing to reassure yourself, though, as Brian’s fiery gaze is pointed directly at you.

  The car remains silent as both of you challenge each other to see who will speak first. You stand your ground and hold his glare, crossing your arms in defiance. He speaks up,

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rog were together?”

  Your eyebrows shoot up, so that’s what this is about?

  “Why do you care?”

  He scoffs, turning away from you to look out of the window, “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my best friend and he’s my bandmate?”

  “Why does that matter?” You challenge.

  He just shakes his head with a spiteful chuckle, dodging the question, “Roger doesn’t date.���

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s just going to leave you for another woman, or worse, he’ll just do it behind your back.”

  “And I suppose you’re any better?”

  Your words are harsh, and you regret them the minute they came out. Especially when he turns to look at you with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Brian’s had his own share of infidelity, but he’s always felt guilty over it, as if it haunts him. You suddenly feel sick. He confided in you and you’ve just thrown it back at him.

  Without another word, he opens his door and steps out, slamming the door behind him. You watch as his figure retreats into the restaurant, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Shit.

  You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes momentarily. You stand on trembling legs and make your own way into the venue, fingernails digging into your palms.

  Everyone is already sitting at the table when you join them, so you take your place in between Roger and John. Both of them look equally concerned, Roger’s eyes flickering to Brian across the table. You dare to glance up to where he’s glaring, fiddling with the tablecloth. His upper lip twitches like it always does when he’s angry, a tick that only you’ve ever noticed about him. His warm hazel eyes seem cold, but you can almost see the flames behind them. He’s pissed. More than pissed.

  Roger unwittingly adds fire to the flame when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Everything alright, love?”

  You look at Brian once more, his napkin now clenched in his fist, you turn to Roger to whisper, “I think he’s mad.”

  Roger chuckles, “You think? The bloke looks like he wants to castrate me.”

  “I think he probably does.” You sigh.

  Thankfully, always the life-saver, Freddie begins reenacting a run in he had with a fan in a public toilet the other day, and everyone begins loosening up. Well, except for Brian. He’s pretty much silent throughout dinner. Even when Natasha tries to pat his arm or whisper something in his ear, he keeps the same disgruntled look upon his face. You find yourself becoming angrier with every passing moment.

  Who does Brian think he is? How can he let his girlfriend walk all over you, then he insults you, and then he somehow has the right to be angry with you?

  It’s bullshit, and you shoot daggers at him over your dessert. You don’t even want it. It’s your favourite and everything.

  You turn to John, ever the organised one, “Hey, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  He tilts his chin up and chews on one side of his mouth as he thinks, “I think we planned to visit Conwy Castle.”

  You nod, humming, “Cool.”

  It’s only the first night, and the trip still has five more days, but you find yourself anxious to return home. Especially in the dim lights of a small Italian restaurant as Brian stares at you with that unforgiving gaze, you wish to be anywhere but.

  Brian and Natasha left before everyone else, skipping their coffee and choosing to head back to the hotel. They didn’t so much as question how you’d be getting back. Instead, they left you with the remaining three Queen boys, all of their curious eyes on you.

  They want answers, you can see it on their faces. It’s the first moment all of you have had together without Brian and Natasha there and they want to know what the bloody hell is going on.

  You shake your head at their silence, taking one final bite of your dessert, “Don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  You huff as you flop back onto the bed. It’s far past sunset, and your hotel room is dim except for the orange glow of the street lights outside your window. Roger, John and Freddie decided to go find some sort of bar to finish the evening, but you asked them to drop you off at the hotel so that you could sleep. Except you couldn’t, your mind wired with so many thoughts of Brian that you couldn’t so much as close your eyes. You decided that staring up at the ceiling wasn’t helping, instead it was making the thoughts worse, so you got out of bed and walked to the balcony and stared out over the sea, letting the cold air of the night nip at your bare skin.

  Just as you close your eyes, there’s a knock at the door, echoing through the sound of the waves in the distance. The tiny clock at the side of your bed reads just past midnight as you pad through the dark to get to the door.

  You open it a crack, “Who is it?” you ask gently.

  “Brian.”

  Your pulse jumps slightly as you open the door the rest of the way and take in his appearance. His eyes are tired and sunken, his hair mussed as if he’d been tugging on it. You wonder if it was him who tugged on it, or someone else, but based on the way his head is bowed, you don’t think anything of the sort happened.

  “Hi,” you gulp, treading lightly, ashamed of the words you threw at him earlier this evening, yet anger still fizzles within you softly.

 “Hi,” he breathes, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “did I wake you?”

 “No,” you shake your head, “couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither.”

  “Is Natasha awake?”

  He pauses, looking at the floor and then back at you, “She’s asleep.”

  You nod, quiet after his response. What now?

  “Do you...want to come in?”

 You step aside after he nods, quietly walking through the doorway and into the dimness of your room, and then out onto the balcony. You follow, mind racing a million miles a minute, watching his back as he leans against the railing.

  You join him, staring out at the starry reflection of the moon against the sea, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He turns to look at you, though you don’t return his glance. Instead you bask in his gaze upon your face as the wind flutters through your hair and the moon glitters against your skin.

  “It is,” he whispers, his own hair rustled by the wind as he continues to stare at you.

  Neither of you speak for a while, just watching the water as it shimmers like diamonds, though you’re both aware of the words unsaid and the words that were. But for a few moments the two of you decided to ignore the rift between you, and instead let the soft silver gleam of the moon heal your aching hearts.

 But things must not go unsaid for too long or they will fester, and you’re the first to speak, “Why’d you come see me, Bri?”

  He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Rog, he’s a good guy.”

  You stare at him for awhile, “He is a good guy,”

 Brian’s eyebrows seem to fall, which causes your own to furrow. You continue, “but did you mean what you said?”

  He looks into your eyes and you know instantly that he did. The only reason he’s come to apologise is because he upset you.

  “I did.”

 Though it angers you, you admire his honesty. You can’t be so frank with him, you’d end up spilling your feelings.

 “Is it so unbelievable that someone like Roger would like someone like me?”

 It feels odd talking about Rog as if he’s actually your boyfriend, but you’re hurt. Natasha’s earlier words cut like a knife, and hearing Brian think the same would cut like no other.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re just…” he trails off and looks back at the sea, shaking his head.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re...perfect. You’re too good for someone who will hurt you”

  The sound of the wind fills your silence, a sense of confusion and joy fluttering in your stomach. You wish you could tell him that you appreciate his concern, but he’s been the one hurting you all this time. However it’s not his fault, and you remain quiet. He called you perfect.

  You search his face for any sign of anything, any twitch of his brow that might give anything away, but he’s stoic as always.

  “But you can’t be the one to make that decision for me.” you breathe, choosing to ignore what he said. Perhaps you’re scared of him taking it back, or claiming it was nothing. You want to hold onto the very feelings you feel now, after Brian has called you perfect underneath the moonlight.

  “I know.” he sighs, looking down at his hands. You’ve always loved his hands, his long slender fingers that are often adorned with a couple silver rings, usually on his pinky finger. You’d often imagined the way they might feel against your bare skin, but each time you dared to delve into that idea, you quickly shut it down.

  The fact that you’ve been lying to Brian about Roger makes you feel wretched, eating away at your insides as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels as though you’re seeing a bit more of Brian’s private thoughts, and he’s only shared them with you because he thinks you’re dating Roger.

  The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, a loud exclamation of truth ready to erupt from inside of you, “Brian-”

  “-Y/N” he begins at the same time, and immediately all courage is lost. The boiling truth returns to a simmer, and your racing heart begins to still.

  You both chuckle, a sense of normalcy returning for the first time tonight as he scratches the back of his neck, “You first.”

  Shaking your head, you give him a small smile, “Not important, you go.”

  He nods, taking a breath as if to build his courage back up, turning his body to face you entirely. You do the same, concerned at the sudden seriousness that’s returned to his face. You watch in silence as he takes yet another deep breath, the dread inside of you intensifying.

  “I…” he begins, and you want to grab him by the shoulder and shake, tell him to spit it out already because you feel nauseated.

  “It’s terrible of me to say this, and I know I have no right whatsoever to do so, but...I don’t want you to date Roger.”

  You’re taken aback by his blatant request, baffled at why he is so against the idea of you and Roger being together, “Why not?”

  He looks just as irritated as you, all civility that you’d built up just moments before knocked down like a house of cards. It’s as if the idea of you not listening to his request infuriates him, and in return that makes you equally angry.

  “I told you before.”

  “But we agreed that this isn’t your decision.”

  At this point, you aren’t sure why you’re continuing to act as if Roger is your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve let it go too far and to confess now would damage your dignity. Or maybe you want to see how far Brian is willing to go with his request. Surely he won’t force the two of you apart.

  “It’s not my decision, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?!” you raise your voice. This conversation is going in the complete wrong direction, but you can’t seem to stop it, or stop yourself. The two of you are both passionate people always speaking for what they believe in, and in this case you are on opposing sides. Like fire and ice, or darkness and light, the two of you battle against each other.

  “Yes! Uncomfortable!”

  “Go on then, explain to me why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “He’s my bandmate-”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You’ll be a distraction!”

  “I’ve known you all for years, and suddenly now that I’m dating one of you, I’m a distraction? Nice, Brian.”

  He goes to speak, but you interrupt, “And what about Natasha, huh? Is she not a distraction? Or is it just me then?”

  “She doesn’t come to the studio with us like you do.”

  “You were the one who told me that you love when I come to the studio.”

  He looks flustered, “I do, but-”

  “You’re not making any sense,” you say, exasperated, “what is the big deal about me dating Roger?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you with a burning intensity behind his caramel irises. A siren blares in the distance and a cloud sheathes the moon in a grey cast. It’s as if his answer is in his eyes, but you just can’t catch it. You’re both speaking two different languages.

  “I should go,” he says finally.

 Muddled thoughts race through your head. You want to say so many things but nothing comes out, your mind a jumbled mess of intertwined wires. Goddamnit,  Y/N, say something.

  He turns to walk through the hotel room, and you have no choice but to watch his back as he retreats. But then he stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once more. He has hurt written across his face, you can see it even in the darkness.

  “Where is Roger, by the way?”

  He tilts his head to the side, challenging you to answer him. You stare in silence, no answer on your tongue.

 He nods, his own point proven to himself as he goes to turn back around, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

#omg omg omg #here it is #it's taken too long #part 1 #!!!! #brianmayxreader #Brian May #fem!reader #angst #slowburn #fic #queen #i have no excuses #Give It All For You

[blackmissfrizzle]

City Boy and His Country Girl- Part 2

Read Part 1

Characters: Erik Stevens x black!reader

Summary: Erik takes the reader to the shooting range and learns some interesting things.

Warnings: Language, a dash a violence, Fuckboi!Erik but mostly softboi!Erik, and mentions of smut

A/N: I’m loving this series, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Hanging out with Erik was a total shock. Back home you were used to people talking shit by dressing it up and making it seem like a compliment, but Erik, but Erik Stevens didn’t have no trouble speaking his mind.

If he didn’t like an idea you had for work it wasn’t a ‘Oh, it could be better.’ It was a ‘Texas, that shit fucking sucks. If you wanna beat them colonizers you need something better. Wake me up when you have something better.’

He had no filter on some of your outfits. “Y/N/N stop dressing like you about to go to the hoe down! This is New York City, dress like it!”

Sometimes you wanted to gouge his eyes out, but then you remembered whenever one of your coworkers insulted you, you didn’t break down and cry in the restroom, because Erik was already thickening your skin. You even found yourself snapping back at your coworkers when they tried you.

Then the self-defense training was a whole another beast! Erik was ruthless.  He trained you like you were gonna join the ghost operation, he was a part of in the Navy. It didn’t matter if you just threw up, your ass better be ready, his words, not yours.

Also, it was pure torture, but not because of the physical pain. It was because somehow someway Erik always ended up naked. His raised scars were a little jarring at first, but once you got used to them, it added to his appeal.

Erik was an Adonis, a Greek statute in the living flesh. Half of the time you got knocked on your ass because you were too busy gawking at his body. Sometimes it felt like he knew you were staring because he would just smirk at you.

And then those damn gym shorts he’d be wearing, do nothing to hide his dick print. And what you could tell from it was that it was nothing to play with.

Today he was teaching you a new lesson: how to shoot. Little did he know that you had expert marksmanship. Daddy-daughter bonding with your dad was spent hunting, fishing, and shooting. Erik Stevens was in for a surprise.

“Texas, you need to keep your legs shoulder width apart and keep your feet planted,” Erik instructed, sticking his leg in between yours, forcing you into the stance.

Having him this dangerously close to you made you tremble. His scent was intoxicating and having his hard body pressed against you made you want to lean back into him and stay there.

“Damn girl! You shaking like a damn leaf, you scared or something?” Erik joked, knowing him pressing himself against you had you shaking like that. Every time he trained you, he noticed the lust in your eyes. That’s why he always took off his shirt and wore his grey sweats. One time he caught you looking at his print when you thought he wasn’t paying attention and he made his dick jump to mess with you. The little gasp you made in reaction almost had you flat on the mat while Erik had your ankles up to your ears and deep in that puss.

“No,” you said, snatching the gun off the counter. “Can we start now,” you asked, annoyed at how easily Erik affected you.

Erik raised his hands in surrender. “Damn, my bad. Remember if you miss more than five, you gotta cook me some of your bomb ass fried chicken.” Erik reminded you of the bet before pressing the button.

The targets popped up instantly and for the first time in a while you felt like you were home. Effortlessly, you hit each bullseye, leaving you wanting for more.

Facing Erik, he was standing there slacked jaw. This was the first time you had him at a loss for words and you were gonna enjoy it. “Huh, you quiet now, Oakland,” you cuffed your hand around your ear. Teasing him some more you began crunk dancing in his space. “I can’t hear you, Stevens!”

Erik was doing his best not to laugh at your silliness. He still wanted to pretend that he was mad at you, but it was proving to be harder by the minute. “Girl calm your silly ass down! You had me go through all that, just for you to breeze through like you were the one in the military. What about my fried chicken? You know a nigga hungry!”

“Boy, stop being a cry baby,” you smacked your lips. “That’s what you get for assuming shit and I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging. I know them hoes ain’t feeding your greedy ass.”

Digging for his keys in his pocket, Erik grabbed your hand and rushed the two of you out the building. “Shit lets go then! A nigga hungry!”

“Ole greedy ass,” you mumbled, letting Erik shove you into his loud ass yellow, McLaren 570s.

--

Erik was tearing into his plate. The only time he got a home cooked meal was with Y/N or with his aunt and cousins, which was traditional Wakandan food. So when he got some soul food he had to savor it.

“So, Texas, tell me why you so good at shooting?” Erik asked you, when he finally stopped eating to drink some sweet tea.

“My daddy used to take me out back all the time and we practiced shooting. You should see me with a shotgun.”

“Makes sense,” Erik nodded his head, thinking on how you were raised in the south. “Y/N, lemme ask you something. Its been on my mind for a while.”

Dropping your fork of mashed potatoes, you responded with worry at the seriousness of Erik’s tone, “What is it, Erik?”

“You call anyone else daddy besides your dad?”

It took awhile to catch his drift, but when you did you threw a roll at his face, which he caught with his mouth. “Ewww, no! What the hell is wrong withch yo nasty ass?”

Erik busted out laughing, causing the roll to fall out of his mouth. He had inkling that you never did before, but he loved messing with you. “Awww, c’mon on ma, you ain’t have a nigga give you some dick that you couldn’t call him nothing but daddy?” He asked, licking his lips and tilting his head looking at you curiously.

You couldn’t handle the warm feeling Erik was causing to your little bundle of nerves, so a quick diversion was needed. Resorting to your old childish antics, you stuck a finger in each of your ears and yelled, “La la la la la la la la la la.”

Taking hold of each of your wrists, Erik pulled your fingers out of your ears. “Girl grow up! Why you always shying away from talking about sex?”

“Because it’s unlady like and you not my man, Mr. Stevens.” Talking sex was a regular with your friends on girl’s night and it could get graphic, but something told you talking about sex with Erik was whole another thing.

Off rip, Erik sensed you were an undercover freak, you just needed the right person to bring it out. “Man, I don’t need to be your man to give you that good daddy dick,” Erik said, smiling, clasping his hands behind his head so you could admire his biceps.

Rolling your eyes, you got up from your seat and grabbed both of y’all plates and went to the sink. “My mama warned me about men like you, Erik Stevens.”

Getting up from his seat, Erik crept behind you, caging you in between him and the sink. “Princess, I promise there ain’t no men like me,” Erik whispered.

“Shit, Erik! Stop scaring me like that!” You yelled at him, trying your best to calm your nerves.

“My bad, ma.” Erik apologized while he took the dirty plate out your hand and bumped you with his hip to move you out of the way so he could finish the dishes.

Taking this blessing you jumped on the counter besides Erik to keep him company. At this angle you had the perfect view of his profile. Erik had the most beautiful skin, smooth and rich. He was probably one of those lucky niggas who only used soap and water on his face while you had to use fifty-eleven million products just not to get one pimple.

Right now, studying him you didn’t realize how attracted you were to his jaw. Your favorite thing was when he was deep in concentration like now or when he was annoyed, his jaw would clench, and you swore you do anything for that man.

Feeling you stare at him, but wanting to lay off on the teasing, Erik asked you a question. “So, what type of men like me did Mrs. Y/L/N warn you about?”

“Silver tongued devils that make women lose all common sense.”

Flicking his tongue suggestively, Erik answered, “I gotta admit this tongue is talented.”

Smacking him on the back of his neck, you mumbled, “Nasty ass.”

“All you gotta do is ask, ma. You don’t have to revert to elementary days to show that you like me,” Erik joked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sudsy hand.

Ignoring his comment, you changed the subject before you do something stupid and ask him to show you how talented his tongue is. “Enough talking about me. How’s the work project going?”

“Oh, it’s dope, Texas! I feel like a slacker with the kids coming up with all the ideas. All I’m doing is the actual production of the filtration system.” Erik face lit up as he went on to explain how the kids at the Outreach Center were coming up with ideas for a water filter for Flint.

The way Erik got hyped about the kids he was helping, told you he’d be an excellent father. Before your brain could dream up what you and his nonexistent children would look like his phone pinged.

Since he was busy washing dishes, Erik asked you to get it. “Oooooo, it’s a text from Ashley.”

“Which one,” he asked absentmindedly.

Rolling your eyes, you forgot that Erik had a roster of girls. “She’s got a diamond emoji next to her name.”

“Ohhh, Anal Ashley. What she want?”

Shaking your head at his fuckboy tendencies you read the text in a ditzy but sultry tone. “Daddy, I need you.”

At the sound of your voice saying daddy, Erik almost broke the glass he was washing. He would have to remember that for a later date. “See, you can call a nigga daddy. And tell her I’m busy.”

“No, I can’t. I was just getting into character. And nigga, no you not!”

Erik finished washing the last dish and then dried his hands with a towel. “I’m hanging out with my bestie. Ain’t that doing something?”

Even though you didn’t want him to go, you needed him to go. Or those feelings you were ignoring were gonna grow deeper. “You can hangout with me anytime. Go see one of your hoes. You know you get cranky when you haven’t had sex in awhile.”

There was no way Erik wanted trade time with you with some random girl for meaningless sex and meaningless conversation. But he also had a painful erection since he heard you read that text and he didn’t want to push up on you that hard.  A poor substitution would have to do. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m about to watch Real Housewives of Atlanta guilt free without you judging me.” Whenever you put it on, Erik would grumble and complain about you watching trash tv.

Grabbing his keys, Erik walked to the door and you followed. “A’ight, imma head out. Lock this door as soon as I head out.” Erik commanded you, knowing you had a tendency to forget to lock your door.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you go now? Nene is calling my name.”

Before leaving, Erik kissed your cheek and bid you goodbye. Taking in that he kissed you, you floated to the couch, daydreaming about the man, forgetting to lock the door.

“Y/N, LOCK THIS DAMN DOOR!” Erik furious voice broke your daydream.

“Go away, Erik! Nobody’s gonna rob me while I’m here.” You yelled back, not moving an inch from your couch.

“I’m not leaving until you get your country bumpkin ass up and lock this door, deadass!”

Grumbling you got up and locked the door. “Happy now?!”

“Thank you! Imma hit you up when I’m done.” Erik told you.

Returning to your couch, you turned on your tv and tried not to think about how Erik was having sex with some one other than you.

—

“It happens to everyone, Daddy. Let’s watch some tv.” Ashley suggested, reaching for her remote with one hand and stroking his arm with another.

Erik couldn’t believe he couldn’t get it up. Especially with help from the henny.

Ashley was a beautiful girl, no doubt. A redbone version of Naomi Campbell with the attitude to match for no apparent reason, but that never stopped him before.

The thing was she wasn’t you. When Erik had his eyes closed, he could pretend it was you sucking him up, but once his eyes opened and he saw Ashley he instantly went soft.

“Nah, imma head out instead,” Erik said, lifting up from the couch.

Tugging his arm, Ashley pulled Erik back to his seat. “No, stay.”

“Listen, Ash, to be honest I don’t think this,” Erik motioned between him and Ashley. “is gonna work. I’m ending this tonight.”

Ashley’s mood changed.  “It’s because of that cow you’re always posting on your snap, huh?” She said, referring to you.

Lunging across the couch, Erik’s hands wrapped around Ashley’s throat. His hands choked her tight enough to let her know he meant business but not too tight to do any damage.

“Don’t you ever fucking disrespect her like that again!” He warned through gritted teeth.

“Now Killmonger wants to come out to play! Get your crazy ass out my house!”

Erik shoved her into the couch before he hopped up. “Lose my fucking number too! I don’t wanna hear from your ignorant ass anymore.”

“Nobody wants a limped ass dick nigga anyway! Good riddance!” Ashley shouted as Erik slammed the door.

While he was walking to his car, Erik texted the one person who he knew still be up.

MSG ERIK: Hey, I’m on my way over so get ready because we ain’t watching that RHOA shit. We watching The Godfather.

MSG Y/N: Already??? Damn Oakland, I didn’t know you were a minute man 😂 and who tf you think you are??? This my house and we’ll watch whatever I want PERIODT!

MSG ERIK: Girl, don’t play with me before I have to make an example of you 💪🏾 and like I said we watching The Godfather.

MSG Y/N: 🙄🙄🙄 whatever. I’ll leave the door unlocked.

MSG ERIK: Y/N KEEP THAT DOOR FUCKING LOCKED!

You read his message but didn’t reply. Erik hated being left on read. Happily, you skipped to unlock your door, knowing that was one more thing to piss off your bestie.

Sliding into his driver’s seat, Erik double checked his phone to see if he was reading it correctly. It said you read his last message, but you didn’t reply.

“This little girl really left me on read. Imma get her ass and that door better be locked when I get there,” Erik mumbled to himself while securing himself.

Soon as the car roared to life, Erik sped down the streets of New York rushing to get to the one woman who made him want to pull his hair out and cuddle her at the same time.

Tagging: @fd-writes @raysunshine78 @momobaby227 @thickemadame @twistedcharismaaa @marvelmaree @ladydragonpurplefire @l-auteuse @thehomierobbstark @titty-teetee @nerd-lovely @soufcakmistress @chaneajoyyy

#marvel fanfiction #black!reader #erik stevens fanfiction #erik stevens #erik stevens x black!reader #erik stevens x reader #erik x reader #erik x black!reader #killmonger #killmonger x reader #killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger x reader #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction #frizzlewrites #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #marvel fandom #city boy and his country girl series

[spencers-dria]

Turn for the Better

Someone To Stay Ch. 1

Spencer x fem!reader

Spencer POV:

I open my eyes and glance around the room. It's darker than I remember. I must have fallen asleep reading on the couch again. I glance down and see a pile of books on the rug. Oh yeah...I only made it through about four books this time before I nodded off. I sigh in frustration that I'm awake. Might as well get up I suppose.

I wander into the kitchen and pull open the fridge only to be met with a jar of peanut butter, week old left overs, and a half empty jug of juice. Next.

I try again with the pantry. Almost completely bare. I guess this is what happens when you stop going to the grocery store. I settle on a cup of apple juice and a bag of chips... better than nothing right?

I slump back down onto the couch and pull my green wool blanket over me. As I stare up at my ceiling, as I begin to let my mind wander. But this was dangerous territory. I have to keep my mind occupied, I just have to. So I quickly sit back up and turn the TV to one of my favorite Dr. Who episodes. They say that anxious people re-watch the same shows because they find the familiarity comforting. I could definitely understand the feeling.

It was the weekend, which meant I wasn't called into work. Cases had been slow lately, as we spent quite a bit of time doing paperwork back at the office. Unfortunately for me, this meant less distractions. Distractions were good. Distractions were necessary. They are the only way I make it through the days anymore.

Things had finally returned to normal for me back at work. I was going into the field, and it felt like my coworkers were no longer tiptoeing around me. I hate when they do that, and it bothers me more than any amount of teasing ever could. I'm not so delicate, so easily breakable. Look at everything I have been through, everything I have endured. Yet here I am, still alive, still doing my job. I didn't need to be babied. So it was a relief when I felt the regular rapport I shared with my friends return. They had gone back to the sarcastic remarks and silly nicknames. I was grateful for it. They did, however, continue to check up on me. This was something that I did appreciate. They've seen me go down a dark road once before. I have no intentions of ever returning. I was stronger than that... I think. All I know is I have held on this long without resorting to any unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Coping mechanisms...oh how I wish I had something to make the healing process easier. Having a fairly empty social calendar left me alone often. Normally I would find comfort in the peace and quiet of my solitary apartment, but not quite so much lately. I couldn't very well make plans to go out, and I wouldn't even know how to begin to do that. Who would want to hang out with me right now anyways? I'd be a damper on the fun, and everyone knows it. That's probably why my friends stopped inviting me to the nights at the bar.

There I go again, letting my mind slip into a dark hole of anxiety. Its not a safe place to be. I quickly turn my attention back to the show in front of me, letting it drown out all other thoughts.

The ring of my phone quickly draws my attention away. Finally...another case! I jump up to answer, seeing the name on my screen: Derek Morgan. That's odd. Usually Hotch or Garcia call to notify us of a new case.

"Hello?" I answer, confusion lacing my voice.

"Pretty Boy! Buzz me up!"

Well now I'm even more confused. Derek never comes to my apartment. I quickly press the button letting him into the building and opening my apartment door, waiting for him to arrive.

As he comes up the stairs, he gives me a grin shouting, "Come on man! Get dressed. We're goin' out!"

I roll my eyes and retreat back into the apartment, Derek close behind me.

I sink back onto the couch, my eyes glued to the television as I tune him out.

"Aw c'mon. Don't be like that. How long have you been sitting there watching TV? Have you done anything else today, at all?"

I don't answer, I don't even look at him.

"Oh, let me guess. You've been reading all day, huh?"

"Wow, can't get anything past you huh?" I say dryly, regretting my tone as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Alright that it. You've been cooped up in here too long. Like I said before, we're going out. And I'm not taking no for an answer" he says sternly, raising an eyebrow at me.

I finally look up at him as I roll my eyes.

"You know I can kick your ass right?" Derek smirks.

"Fine" I concede. "Well...where are we going? I don't know what to wear unless you tell me what our plans are."

"Don't pretend you don't wear the same fancy button ups no matter where you end up going."

I let out a small laugh...he's got me there.

"Dinner at Rossi's. I know pretty boys are high maintenance but, hurry up or you'll make us late!" I smile at the nickname. Same old Derek.

Y/N POV:

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched your coworker approach you, ready to receive report. It had been a particularly busy shift, and you were ready to get some much-needed rest. You walked to each patient room, giving Clementine summary of the day and the latest updates on labs and vital signs. You stepped into each room with her, checking one last time to make sure each of your patients was doing well and didn't need anything else before you left. Normally you and Clem would spend some time catching up and making jokes, but she could tell you were tired and needed to be home more than anything. You wished her good luck on her shift as you made your way to the break room. After putting away your stethoscope and the large collection of pens, pencils, and markers you kept in your pockets, you finally headed towards the elevator to leave for the day.

You opened the door to your apartment to be greeted by your dog, Juneau. She was a rescue you adopted a few months back. She still needed to make progress, but she had really warmed up to you and your friends and seemed much more comfortable in her new home. After feeding her dinner and taking her for a short walk, you heated up a quick frozen dinner and sunk into your couch.  Curling up in your blanket, you spent a few minutes browsing through different streaming services only to land on The Office, as usual.  Your mind drifts to what your next few days might consist off. You just so happened to land 4 days off in a row, but you had no idea how you would spend your time. You glanced down at your phone as it lit up.  It was your Uncle Will.

"Hey, whats up!" you chimed, glad to hear from your favorite uncle.

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm actually calling to invite you to a dinner some friends of mine are having tomorrow night. I know your schedule is real busy. But I haven't seen you much since you moved up here to Virginia! I know you haven't met many people here yet, but I think I can help you make a start. "

The kind gesture made you smile. You had always been fairly close with your father's side of the family. He had grown up in Louisiana and met your mother at a college in Texas. You spent your childhood in Houston but frequently visited the Cajun half of your family. Uncle Will had moved away once he fell in love with Jenifer Jareau, his now wife, and you hadn't seem much of him the past few years. But as luck would have it, your nursing career had lead you to a hospital in Fredericksburg, VA. You felt extremely lucky to have family nearby, or else you would have been completely alone. But sometimes you still felt that way, which is why you were so grateful for his offer.

"That actually sounds great! I am off for the next four days, and I didn't really have anything planned. Who will I be meeting at this dinner?"

"Well it's some of JJ's coworkers. They're like a second family to us, and I know they'll be just as welcoming to you. I already told them you moved up here, and they've been begging to meet you."

"Aww I can't wait to see Aunt JJ and my sweet little cousin, Henry! Its been so long since I came to visit you guys. I think Henry was barely two years old the last time I saw him."

"Well we all hope to see you a lot more now that you're here. You're like a daughter to us, Y/N. You are welcome to visit any time you like. I know nursing is a stressful job, and it can take a toll. Its important to have family and friends around you when things get tough." You could hear that this was a genuine offer and you fully planned to take him up on it in the future. Being alone in a new state was taking its toll.

"So where and when should I plan to meet for dinner?"

"I'll text you the address real quick. Everyone is planning to meet around 6. It shouldn't be too far of a drive. It's one of JJ's coworker's houses. David Rossi. He's a real easygoing guy, and he loves cooking for everyone. He loves meeting new people even more, so you should feel right at home!"

"Sounds like a fun time. Thank you again for thinking to invite me. I'm really looking forward to it!"

"Alright boo, talk to you later."

You smiled at the pet name used by the entire Louisiana side of your family. I guess the north had yet to steal his southern roots. You hung up the phone. You finally had plans. It would be nice to talk to someone who wasn't a coworker.  It would also be your first excuse to dress up since moving and starting your new job. Too excited to wait, you jumped up from the couch and began to rifle through your closet for something to wear. You didn't want to be too over or underdressed. You grabbed a black spaghetti strap fit and flare dress and throw it on with some black panty hose, a lightweight maroon cardigan, and some black heels. You snapped a quick photo in the mirror and shoot a text to Aunt JJ.

Y/N: Apparently I'm joining y'all for dinner tomorrow night...is this too much???

Aunt JJ: I heard! I can't wait!

And oh my goodness, no! You look gorgeous! It will be perfect.

Also...Henry is so excited to see you!

You smiled, more confident in your choice. Aunt JJ had great taste. You had only had the chance to meet her in person a couple times, but the two of you had clicked right away and stayed in touch over text and Facetime. Sometimes she felt more like the sister you never had.

Starting to feel the effects of your particularly difficult shift, you start to get ready for bed. You wanted to be well rested for tomorrow. You say goodnight to Juneau and crawl into bed, snuggled under all the blankets. You fall asleep with a smile on your face, with the feeling that things in your life are about to take a turn for the better. You couldn't explain it...but somehow you just knew.

#fanfic #writing #criminal minds #spencer x reader #spencerreid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #romance #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #original work #original story #Spotify

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Red-Letter Day

Summary: This week has been the cherry on the top of the month. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

Vernon X Reader

Word Count: 1,380

Requested by @sweetie-yoongi7 : hi can i request a vernon imagine where he's been neglecting you lately and not being the best boyfriend and the stress of comeback gets to him and he snaps at you and its angsty but then it ends in some good ole fluff ? 💖

Oneshot

This week has been a week from hell, my boss has forced more work onto me. While my other coworkers get to relax and create things at their own pace. I have to put in twice the work in for a deadline on Monday. From spilling hot coffee all over my favorite work shirt. To forgetting my coat when it was pouring down rain. And to top it all off my boyfriend, Vernon, has completely forgotten our anniversary. I know he has a tough working life too, but I made arrangements way ahead of time. Putting reminders everywhere and I circled red on our calendar. But when I showed up dressed to the nines, with him being a no-show. I ended up eating a full course expensive meal by myself, on our anniversary. It’s our fifth anniversary, I know I shouldn’t be as mad as I am. But this, I can’t believe it, through thick and thin we’ve always been by each other’s side. I finished my massive project at work today. It would have been nice to finally relax and talk with him over a nice dinner.

I thought he would remember, but I guess the comeback is getting to him. This month he’s been in the studio way more than my arms. I know it’s their fifth year together as a group and this is a crucial comeback. But even when they debuted and we first got together. It’s like he’s a different man, when he does come home it’s only to sleep or pick up a snack. No hi or bye, and with this week being hell I just wanted to see him again. Talk about everything and work through it together. But no, he decided he had better things to do then celebrate our fifth anniversary. My hands tighten up on the steering wheel, why is everything so hard. I want a hug, and for us to make each other’s worries go away.

When I get home the lights are all out, and he’s not home. I know the boys wouldn’t make him miss such an important night. I decide to wait for him to come home and pull on my comfy pajamas. I sit on the couch watching a sit-com waiting for Vernon. It’s about 1 am when he shows up and when he reaches the couch I ask him softly, “Where were you?” And that’s when he snaps, “WHERE WAS I? I was at the studio making a new song, where do you think I was?” Here, we go, I know I’m not going to be able to hold my tongue. “WOW, THANKS FOR REMEMBERING SUCH A RED-LETTER DAY. You know I’ve had a fucking bad week too, you don’t have to snap at me like you’re all that.” He glares at me, “I’m all what?” his voice condescending, “That you’re better than me because you make music all day. Our anniversary was today and we made plans--” He rolls his eyes, “OH BOO HOO, YOU SIT IN AN OFFICE ALL DAY. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME MY JOB IS LESSER.” I square my shoulders and stand up, “I WASN’T CALLING YOU’RE JOB LESSER, BUT YOU JUST MADE MINE SOUND LIKE THAT. SO, IT’LL ONLY BE FAIR, VERNON!” Our yelling is probably loud enough for our neighbors to hear. “OH FUCK OFF, it must be so easy just to sit there and twiddle your thumbs and type a few words a day. I have to make a whole fucking album--” I cut him off, “YOU MAKE THE WHOLE FUCKING ALBUM, WHAT ABOUT ABOUT JIHOON HUH? MY ASS, VERNON I WORK JUST AS HARD AS YOU, AND STILL FIND TIME TO TAKE CARE OF OUR RELATIONSHIP!” He rolls his eyes at me, “I FORGET ONE TIME--.” “THIS ISN’T JUST ABOUT THAT, YOU’VE BEEN PUSHING ME AWAY THIS WHOLE MONTH, JUST TO WORK ON AN ALBUM. When we made plans you were so ready to celebrate, and then this month you’ve just been a dick. From not sleeping in the same bed, or leaving before I even get up without a goodbye. You’re gonna tell me that you forgot one time? THIS WHOLE MONTH YOU’VE BEEN ANYWHERE BUT HERE! You know what, that’s a good idea, I’ll see you when you get over yourself.” 

I grab my wallet and throw on a jacket and my shoes. With my keys and phone in hand, I run out to my car. I know tears are streaming down my face as I open my car door and lock it. I put my key into my ignition and turn the engine over and play my music too loud for this time of night. As I get ready to pull out of my parking space I see Vernon running out to me. I shake my head and speed off with tears in my eyes. 

I end up at a convenience store, wiping my tears. I walk in and grab two pints of ice cream. Eating my feelings out felt nice, as I sat in my car thinking of everything. Why can’t I just be an eighteen-year-old running after my dreams and not knowing how painful life is again. The older I get the more life hits me with bricks. Crying in my car and eating ice cream had to be the best decision I’ve ever made. I let it all out before deciding to return to our apartment. I know nothing will ever be solved unless we work through it. I walk up the steps, trying to avoid the apartment as much as possible by not taking the elevator. I get there and see Vernon sitting against the door. He sees me and looks like a lost puppy, my heart aches and forgives him without even thinking twice. We’ve both had a hard month, this week was just the cherry on the top.

He sees me, he gets up, he's visibly shaking and still crying. I don’t know how our neighbors deal with us. My tears start flowing down cheeks again, with a shaky hand he pulls out a box of chocolates. I pull the other pint of ice cream out of my coat pocket. I ask him softly, “You got locked out of the house, baby?” He nods, his lips pouty, and I unlock the door. “Let’s talk this out in the living room.” He nods when we sit down at the coffee. We apologize at the same time, “Jinx” I say softly, “I’m sorry for snapping.” I nod, “I’m sorry too”  We place our stuff on the coffee table, and I carefully grab his hand. 

He laces our fingers, “I know today was a red-letter day for us,...” I nod, “It happens,... we both have so much on our plate.” He nods, “Well, I made a song,...” I nod for him to go on, “It’s about us,... It’s going to be released on the album, Jihoon likes it. He told me, ‘Young Love, ahh, so sweet’.” I laugh, “I was told to write a paper while my coworkers got free time. I wrote about you,... I was asked to write about what makes me calm down. But what makes me calm is you, you just know what to do. Your energy is so mellow--.” He grins, “That’s why I like your energy, you’re so vibrant--” I shake my head, “Yeah, but your style, have you seen it?” He laughs and squeezes my hand. “I love you, Vernon.” He grins, “I love you too, (Y/n).” 

We both get up from the coffee table. “How about tomorrow, we both go wherever you want?” He asks and I shake my head ‘no’ and tell him, “How about we go where we both feel comfortable.” He grins and kisses my forehead, and agrees. After putting away the ice cream and chocolate, we go up to our bedroom.

With that we fall asleep, tuckered out from everything, holding onto each other. Arguments happen, they’re not preventable but it’s solving them is what makes a relationship work. Working together is hard especially if your views conflict. But in a relationship, you look past that and into each other’s souls. For we all are lonely, just wanting love and care when times get rough.

#venon #hansol #vernon x reader #hansol x reader #soft angst #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt #vernon angst #vernon fluff #hansol fluff #hansol angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #fluff #vernon x you #hansol x you #vernon chwe #hansol chwe #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #i meant for this to be hard angst but my heart is too soft for vernon :((

[soliverse]

SAY YOU LOVE ME - PART 2

rockstar!taeyongxjournalist!reader

genre: angst, suggestive, romance

warnings:  alcohol, a bit of cursing

1 ⭒ 2 ⭒ 3 ⭒ 4 ⭒ 5 ⭒ finale pt 1

Length: 1.6k

ps: I didn’t proofread this so forgive the typos and grammars errors. Will edit this in the future.

A series of clicks can be heard from your cubicle. You only have a few more minutes before the deadline of the article that you’re currently working on and so you’re furiously typing like your life depended on it. Your head was buzzing and your vision was getting a bit hazy, but you pushed through and managed to hit the send button before the website closes. You didn’t even notice that you were holding your breathe until you relaxed your body and you were gasping for air.

Massaging your head, you take a few more deep breaths to calm your nerves down. You didn’t even notice that you were holding your breath just as you were typing. Once you’ve managed to rest and clear your mind for a bit, you stood up and fixed yourself up before saying goodbye to your coworkers.

While on the commute going home, you decided to check your messages. It’s mostly just business contacts or some friends asking how you’ve been doing. You missed your old pals and decided to contact them for a night out. A little gathering just to unwind. Unfortunately, most of them seems to be doing something for that evening. You just sighed and  got off on the convenience store near your apartment and just decided to chill on your own. You grabbed the first row of chips that you can find, a few bottles of soju, and frozen pizza to stuff your face with while you’re watching some really sucky horror movies.

You were already daydreaming on the walk home of how you will spend the evening when you turned the doorknob and you noticed that it wasn’t locked. When you got in, you were met with a very occupied Taeyong, who was clearly very invested in whatever it is that he was playing.

“Oh, hey.”

He paused the game as soon as he acknowledged your presence. He was wearing his favorite gray hoodie and sweatpants ensemble that he usually wears when he’s at home. His long brown hair was messy because he never bothers with what he looks like at home. It was effortless, and yet he still looks ten times better than you and the “corporate zombie” style that you’re currently rocking.

“So… No show tonight, huh?”

You asked him as you made your way inside the house. He smiles boyishly and grabbed took the grocery bad from you.

“Yep. Bossman said that we need a few days rest before we leave for next week. It’s a pretty big scene so they’re taking preparations seriously.” He explained as he made his way to the kitchen. You followed suit.

Taeyong’s band is a regular attraction at the bar a few streets over. He usually leaves just shy a few minutes after you came home to tune some equipment or change into whatever they need to wear that night. The house would be clean, Felice is full and you enjoy the peace and quiet to yourself in your room. Then, he wraps things up around midnight and he comes home to you sleeping soundly. There are even times when they would be scheduled for some place out of town and you’ll be home by yourself for at least a few days. Your schedules made it hard for the both of you to meet. You’re glad that things are going well for him and his band. However, times like this made you miss hanging out with him just like the old times.

He gently placed the heavy paper bags over the counter and took the contents out. Just beside the kitchen cabinets, you saw an unenthusiastic feline resting beside her food bowl.

“Hello baby~ How was your day?” You squealed in this excited, high-pitched voice that you always use when babying your little one. You scooped her in your arms and snuggled with her fluffy body.

“I’m fine… Thanks for asking.”

He mumbles from the other side of the room, a bit jealous of the affection that you are giving to the cat instead of him, an actual human being.

You sat Felice down on the counter and sat at one of the stools.

“Nice. Haven’t had one of these for ages.”

He said as he was taking out the soju bottles from earlier.

“Guess that means you’re joining me then?” You rested your chin on one of your hands while the other is tapping your fingernails to the counter.

“You betcha.”

////

You’re no lightweight when it comes to drinking, but a few months without practice made it easier for the alcohol to get to you. You’re still sober, but it made it hard for you to focus and understand the film that you’re currently watching. You even forgot about the title, just remembered that it’s about some type of man-eating monster and stuff.

“Hey Y/N, are you even watching?”

Taeyong asked from below the couch, currently munching on some chips.

“I am! In fact, I know who’s been baiting all these men.”

He chuckled at the sound of your words slurring from intoxication.

“Well, of course you would! Her name is literally in the title.”

He takes another shot of the alcohol before speaking once again.

“The movie sucks by the way. Should’ve let me pick a movie.”

This time, it was your turn to chortle.

“Eww no. You would’ve chosen some cliché romcom movie starring Julia Roberts. We’ve watched all of those already!”

“Nope. We haven’t watched Pretty Woman yet. You’ve been missing out on a masterpiece.”

“Fine. But can you at least share my chips with me?”

You tossed over the remote to him. In other occasions, you would’ve been stubborn and stuck with the movie that you’re currently watching. However, your boredom and drunkenness aided your complacency. In turn, he tossed over a few bags of chips in your direction. One of them landed on your face, which earned him a glare. However, he just grinned and turned to the tv to switch the movies.

He had always had this fascination for Julia Roberts. He told you at one of your drinking sessions that his mother absolutely adored her to the point that his sister was almost named Julia. However, they opted to a more Korean name instead. It was one of those moments when you wondered if he and the performer Lee Taeyong was the same person. His fans would be surprised to know about the softy that he is.

“Alright!”

He exclaims excitedly as he finished setting up the movie. This time, he sat besides you so he can stretch his legs from sitting on the floor too much. You didn’t mind and scooted over to the other side to give him more space.

As it turns out, Pretty Woman isn’t the ugly duckling fairytale story that you expected it to be. It’s PG13 nature rendered you speechless all throughout the movie. Even Taeyong was quiet the whole time.

“So that’s why you like this movie…”

You said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood up. However, he just looked at your way and pressed his finger on his lips. He shushed slowly before going back to watch the film. Your eyes widened at the sight. The way he did it just looked so, hot.

You muttered some curses on your head and talked yourself to snap out of it. You just grabbed one of the remaining pizza slices and stuffed your mouth nervously while trying to divert your attention back on the film.

Well… that didn’t help at all.

The girl, Vivian, woke up by herself and started looking for the main guy. She saw him at one of the halls, playing the piano.

Taeyong gulped, knowing how this scene will go.

Meanwhile, your eyes stayed glued at the screen and watched as the scene unfolds. Unconsciously, you started imagining that the main guy was Taeyong… and… Oh god.

You were about to grab the last remaining bottle of soju to cool yourself but your hands touched Taeyong’s, as he was also thinking of the same thing.

Your eyes met. He had this look that you’re familiar with. It’s how he looked at you that night at the club. Suddenly, you see yourself being pulled by some unknown force towards him. So was his. The next thing you know, your lips met halfway. You can feel his breaths hitching which probably turned you on even more. He slithered his hands on your waist and pulled you in your closer to him, your hands now wrapped his neck. You can feel yourself heat up as he lays you down, his body now hovering over you. You find yourself getting drawn in deeper and you closed your eyes just so you can feel it more.

And then memories of him started flooded in.

Yuta.

This jolted you back into reality. You blacked out for a bit, not realizing that you pushed Taeyong off of you. His eyes were first met with confusion, and then he realizes what just happened.

“Shit. I’m sorry Y/N!”

You didn’t even speak a word to him probably because of a mix between shock and embarrassment. You just ran off to your room and slammed the door, leaving Taeyong alone in the couch, cursing himself out.

#nct au #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct u x reader #nct taeyong #nct fic #lee taeyong #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #rockstar au #journalist au #yuta nakamoto #nctcreations

[walkerismychoice]

Unwritten (Raleigh X MC AU)  - Chapter 1

Book: Platinum

Pairing: M!Raleigh X MC

Rating: This series will contain mature themes. Any necessary warnings will be listed before each chapter, but the overall series rating is 18+

Note: So I've been trying to come out of my unofficial writing hiatus for quite some time. Leave it to @choicesarehard​ having a birthday to get me to jump right back in with a whole series. This is an AU, and although some of the story follows along with parts of the book, there are major deviations as well. If anyone wishes to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know.

Word Count: 1369

Happy Birthday (belated) birthday @choicesarehard​!

Master List

"Ms. Campbell?"

"Huh?" Aria snaps out of her meditative trance. It feels as if she' been waiting for hours, but she's been too nervous to keep track of the time. "I mean, yes, that's me."

The young but already hardened looking executive assistant seems unimpressed as she gives Aria the once over, lips pressed in a thin line. "Mr. Knight will see you now."

Aria self-consciously smooths her pencil skirt and tugs at her thrift store blazer. What is she doing here trying to pretend she belongs amongst this designer-clad crowd? Just days ago she was working in a smoothie shop, and now she's meeting with Ellis Knight, owner of Overnight Records and probably the biggest name in the business. She hesitates, telling herself this is the last chance to turn around and run back out the door, but finds the courage to move forward following the assistant through Ellis's office door.

Aria had always dreamed of a career in music. With her parents both being music teachers, her musical talent and interest have come naturally. As much as they had encouraged her to follow in their footsteps and go the practical route, it wasn’t her dream. Singing and songwriting have always been her passion. However after multiple rejections and being stuck working a mall job, she’d been beginning to think her parents were right when fate stepped up to the smoothie shop counter in the form of pop-star Avery Wilshire. Too stunned to speak, she’d been mortified when her coworker and best friend Shane gushed about Avery being Aria’s musical idol and slipped him a piece of paper with the link to her YouTube channel. The only way it could have been worse would have been if she’d been wearing the store’s banana costume. She’d gone to bed replaying the embarrassing exchange over and over in her head, but it had been all but forgotten when she woke up to her notifications blowing up after Avery followed her on Instagram and shared one of her music videos. Several phone calls and one week later, and now she’s here in Ellis Knight’s office surrounded by important-looking people, wondering if this could be the start of something big.

“Ms. Campbell,” Ellis begins as he shakes her hand and they all sit down. He’s even better looking in person than in pictures with his perfect, bright white, probably veneered teeth and neatly coiffed, dark silver-gray hair, making him all the more intimidating, even if he is old enough to be her father. “I’ll cut right to the chase. I’ve listened to your demos and you have a raw talent; that’s undeniable.”

“Thank you, Mr Eliis,” Aria blushes.

“...But, I don’t see us being able to sell you as a mainstream artist.”

Aria’s heart sinks to her stomach and she’s wondering why he brought her here just for another rejection. ”Okay, well thank-”

“Wait, let me finish,” Ellis insists. “I meant yet. You do have potential, and that’s why you’re here. But like I said, your talent is raw and you need time to develop, and time is money in the music industry. While you aren’t ready to make it on your own yet, paired with the right artist, you could have hits on the radio in no time.”

“So what are you saying? You want someone else to sing my songs?”

“Not exactly. We have an artist that’s struggling, in more ways than one, to finish out the last album in his contract.”

“You can’t be serious!” A petite woman with a sleek black bob and striking blue eyes interjects. “Her style is all wrong for him.” 

“Fiona...” Ellis warns.

She shoots Aria a mildly apologetic glance. “No offense.”

Once he says her name, it sparks her memory, It’s Fiona Syed, manager of Avery Wilshire among other big names. Aria tries to play it cool. “None taken...I guess. I’m not even sure who we are talking about.”

Ellis clears his throat. “Unfortunately due to the need for discretion, you won’t know who this artist is until after the contract is signed. Like Fiona said, your style does not quite mesh with this artist, but there are elements there. As mentioned, we can’t use any of your current songs for him, but together, I think you could create something with real mass appeal.”

None of this makes sense. Why all the secrecy, and why her? Aria has so many questions. "What are the terms of the contract?”

----

On the way to the beach house, it all seems so surreal. Aria has agreed to spend the summer holed up with an unknown artist in an undisclosed location writing songs. At least Fiona, now also her manager, will be there. Wow, just even thinking about having her own manager feels so weird. Despite their rocky start, Fiona has been polite and professional, if not exactly warm towards Aria. Her chest flutters as they approach the light blue, cape cod style home on a secluded area stretch of Atlantic beachfront. Knowing that Fiona is also Avery’s manager has Aria both excited and terrified that he could be the mystery artist.

Aria steps out of the car just as a black Escalade with dark tinted windows approaches.

Fiona holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.” Picking up on Aria’s confused expression, she elaborates. “Remember the contract? We can’t risk anyone finding out about the location or who’s here. Streams of fan-girls traipsing along the beach trying to get pictures will not bode well for productivity.”

“Yes, that’s right.” It’s a little annoying because it’s not like Aria would break the contract even if she had access to her phone, and she’s most definitely going to feel like an appendage is missing the first couple days, but she gets it. She knows from her days in the Avery Wilshire fandom on Tumblr just how crafty those fan-girls can be. They can give the CIA and FBI a run for their money. Even one non-descript photo could lead to their location being found out. 

Aria has little time to grieve the loss of her phone before the Escalade stops and the back door opens up. She reflexively stops breathing as the figure emerges and has to make a conscious effort to pick her jaw up off the floor. It's not the sandy blond, squeaky clean, heartthrob she was expecting. Quite the opposite, in fact. Raleigh Carerra, the tattooed, dark, smoldering-eyed, hotel room-destroying, Puerto-Rican boyband member turned solo R&B artist, has an image that’s far from wholesome. Not that she’s a puritan saint herself, but she now see’s why Fiona had objected to Aria writing with him. What could they possibly have in common, musically or otherwise?

“There’s no fucking signal out here.” Raleigh holds his phone up, seemingly searching for service.

Fiona reaches up on her tiptoes and snatches the phone out of his hand. “Good thing you won’t be needing one anyway.”

"Hey, give that back. I need to let everyone know where the party is tonight since nobody would tell me the address before we got here." Raleigh reaches for his phone just as Fiona tosses it to the Escalade driver, an imposing figure in a navy suit and dark sunglasses.

"Hank...C'mon man," Raleigh pleads.

Hank slips the phone in his suit pocket and crosses his arms across his chest, face fixed in a stone-like expression.

"Fine, but we'll be discussing this later. Where are the guys? How am I supposed to write without my team?"

Fiona rolls her eyes. "Seeing as you've been working with them for months and all you have to show for it is a lot of late night partying and charges for property damage, we figured a new approach was needed. Meet your new writing partner, Aria Campbell.

Aria smiles sheepishly as Raleigh seems to notice her for the first time. He smirks ever so slightly, before his lips turn downward and his eyes narrow.

"What, am I supposed to write a fucking Kidz Bop album or something now? I'm sure you're lovely, sweetheart, but this isn't going to work. Hank, take me back home." Raleigh gets into the back seat of his car and slams the door shut.

#playchoices fanfic #platinum #raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera #my fic

[simple-heroics]

Snowy Nights in Tokyo

Part 1 of the “Let Me Take Care of You” mini-series Fuyumi Todoroki X fem!Reader (alternating between she/her and they/them pronouns) Word count: 11,919 someone stop me

Not to get too gay on main but @floof-reppu​ opened my eyes with their Fuyumi fic. Which inspired some assertive!Fuyumi. Everyone say thank you to her for helping me the NSFW scene. It’s my first one and tbh I still have a lot to learn in writing smut but here it is.

Me being me, I’ve also gone overboard and now have to make a mini-series for Fuyumi. I don’t even care that I won’t get a lot of notes for this. It just...feels like I need to write it, you know?

Anyway, this is dedicated to all the eldest daughters in the world who have had to take care of everybody but themselves. 

Content warning: Hyper vigilance, alcohol, references to drunk adults, references to high stress work environments, mild Quirk play (not previously negotiated), brief orgasm denial, possible naked book clubs, and VERY consensual sex between two sober adults. Emotional, intense topics brought up before, during, and after sex. It gets heavy, y’all. And a little awkward because surprise, surprise. Sex with a virtual stranger isn’t always all that sexy.

“To y/l/n - for kicking ass and finally taking a night off!” Your friend toasts you. Similar cheers echo her as shot glasses clink together.

Rolling your eyes, you throw your head back and take your shot. You are well-acquainted with burns but the shochu is an unfamiliar one in the back of your throat, making you cough. Your old schoolmates laugh, jokingly asking you when you last actually drank. A second later, you remember to laugh with them. The sound scratches itself out of your throat, hoarse from the recent burn of liquor. 

It feels...off.

Even if you weren’t on shift, even if you were having fun with friends and tossing back a couple of well-deserved drinks, you couldn’t help being hyper aware of everyone in the room: The group of salary men, somber when they first arrived, now laughing hysterically. Some girls’ night out, tipsy women giggling over cocktails. Random tourists in the back going nuts over sake bombs. You watch it all on the mirrored wall behind your friends. 

Eventually, your eyes wander to your unsmiling reflection next to your friends and realize… You look older than them. Your friends glow with this vibrancy, this carelessness, that made them feel younger to you. You listen to them talk - about classes, about apartment hunting in Tokyo and midnight convenience store runs, about dating. A whole different life than the one you live now. You’re the same age as them, have known some since high school, but you somehow feel ten years older. A part of you always feared your friend group growing apart as you all got older. But you never expected you would be the one to age so quickly ahead of them. There is too much weighing on your mind, too much you’d seen. 

You close your eyes and the images are vivid on the back of your eyelids. The memories sweep over you, drowning out the surrounding laughter and clinking drinks. Phantosmia clogs your senses like smoke. The taste of ash soots the back of your tongue.

“Seriously, though. It’s been forever!” one of them exclaims.

You jerk back to the present, blinking. 

“Does your new boss own you or something?”

You stiffen.

Another friend nudges her, shooting her a reproachful look. 

“I actually don’t see him that often,” you say, tone sharp. You don’t want to kill the mood, not when it’s been so long since you’d seen any of them, so you try to lighten it. “He’s busier than I am.”

There are few people you respect as much as your boss. It’s a privilege to work under someone with so much experience and skill. You worked your ass off for years before you became qualified to even apply, and that was only the beginning. If you couldn’t keep up with the team, you weren’t needed. Too many lives at stake. The only person held to higher standards were the ones your boss set for himself.

“Right, right,” says the friend who made the sarcastic joke. “And we’re grateful to him, really. But...”

“But we really do miss seeing you, y/l/n,” another chimes in, sincere. 

Your best friend intervenes. “Besides, he’s not all bad if he let you and that cute coworker of yours off for the night. Speaking of…”

Knowing what they’re getting at, you check your phone. “She says she got caught up in...something.”

“Really? Even the salary men over there are taking a break.”

Your table looks over to see the middle-aged men, completely sloshed, start their own improv karaoke. Your friends immediately crack up and imitate the off-key singing.

While you laugh with them, a part of you itches. You think of your coworker and the ongoing case.  It feels strange, almost wrong, to be joking with your old schoolmates and making fun of drunk salary men while they were risking their lives.

Maybe you are becoming something of a workaholic, you privately admit. But it’s good work, important work. You help so many people everyday. You love your job. 

But what’s the point of if you don’t have someone of your own to protect? a voice whispers, the same quiet voice that speaks up when you leave the bunks for your own lonely apartment. 

Now’s a good time for another drink.

Ignoring the teasing requests for another round from your friends (“C’mon, y/n, we know you’re getting paid more~!”), you slide through the small crowds until you find an open space at the bar. The bartender’s swamped with orders piling in from a sprawl of college boys. Some sports team, you think as you subconsciously size them up, too rowdy to be an academic club. Harmless but stupid.

Still, you watch them from the corner of your eye. 

“Could I get the matcha highball, please?” 

Her voice should have been too soft to hear in the loud bar but somehow it rings out clear as a bell. Everything slows down. Your eyes widen, snapping to look at her.

At about average height, she stands out among the bar patrons in her modest white blazer and high-waisted jeans. Her soft-looking hair is white like the snow outside, vermillion streaks ribboned throughout the light strands. She shifts from foot to foot, full hips swaying with the motion.

You stare.

“Oops~”

You snatch the college boy’s wrist before he could “spill” his drink after he purposely bumbled over. The boy (really, he could only be a year or two younger than you) jolts, gawking at you.

With a stony expression, you look him dead in the eye. “Careful.”

“Oh!” The woman startles at the sudden commotion. She turns and you still.

Her face is cuter than you’d imagined it: a pert nose, soft jawline, and pretty pink lips that look like they’re made for things like smiling and laughter and other nice, soft things. Large, bright eyes like a winter sky framed by glossy eyelashes blink at you behind glasses. 

The entire world around you just...freezes. The only conscious thought you can think is her, her, her, her. The inner mantra matches the tempo of your heartbeat.

“Uuh...hey?” the college boy speaks up. You realize that you haven’t let go of his wrist - oblivious to his attempts at pulling away from her vice grip. And that you’ve forgotten to breathe.

Feeling your face turn warmer than usual, you swiftly look away from her. It’s pure autopilot that allows you to say, “Be a little more careful. We don’t want any ‘accidents’.”

Driving your point home, you squeeze just a little - a silent show of your strength - before abruptly letting go. He stumbles back slightly, nearly bumping into another person, and stutters, “Y-yeah, whatever. Sorry.” 

Partially to avoid contact with pretty turquoise eyes and also to drive the intimidation home, you stare after him stoically until he disappears. 

“Thank you.” 

You take an extra second to breathe, willing the concerning heat in your face - and the rest of your body - to lower before you face her. 

Then she smiles at you.

The heat returns tenfold. Damn.

Light-headed, you quickly realize she isn’t merely cute. This stranger was so stunning that she knocked the air out of your lungs with just a look.

“No problem,” you croak.

The bartender saves your life. “Matcha highball!” 

You have exactly 5 seconds to breathe and get your shit together while she gets her drink. You flounder for something, anything, to say. You could bench press the bar counter itself but you can’t talk to a random (beautiful, alluring, breath-taking) woman at said bar counter. But would that be weird? Would that make you no better than the creep deliberately spilling drinks on people? 

Drink in hand, she turns back around and smiles again. It’s just as debilitating the second time around. Your knees weaken. “Thanks again.”

“You come here often?” you blurt out. And promptly wanted to blast yourself. 

You expect her to lift a dainty eyebrow and walk away, pretending your existence never happened, but instead she honestly answers your terrible cliche. “No, not really. I’m...usually at home around this time. But some work friends told me I couldn’t skip out on happy hour again.” 

Given her the simple sincerity of her answer and the way she completely missed the near “spill”, you deduce that she doesn’t come to bars often or at least doesn’t have much experience with the nightlife. You almost want to ask what a (beautiful, damn near ethereal) girl like her is doing in a place like this but thankfully quash the impulse.

“Me, too,” you say quickly, straight-faced. “Except they’re not so much work friends. More like actual friends. Not that friends from work can’t be actual friends but they’re my friends outside of work. Except I haven’t seen them in a while. Because I work. A lot. Not that I’m a workaholic or anything. It’s just an intense job. But I’m not intense. Well, kinda. Some people say I can be. Only because it’s important - the job, not me. Um. Not in like a self-deprecating way but like in a self-important way - which I’m not. Or I try not to be. I just care about people which is kinda a requirement for my job. Mostly. Or at least it should be. Some people, you know? And I’ll just stop talking now.”

It’s a wonder steam doesn’t hiss out of your ears with how hot your still stoic face is. You almost wish a villain would tear through the bar and knock you against the wall right. Now. Damn it, y/n.

Yet miracle of miracles, her polite smile slowly widens into an amused one - and one of those genuinely nice ones, without so much as a trace of mockery. “It’s like that with my job, too.”

How is she still here after that? And was she really...making conversation? 

You swallow and try not to seem overeager when you ask, “What do you do?”

Her face lights up. “I’m a teacher.” 

You can’t help the rare, almost timid smile that wobbles onto your lips. A teacher. Of course the angelic-looking woman is also a sweetheart with a sweet job. God, that sounds so precious. “Yeah? What grade?”

“Third.” Thinking about her class, her smile broadens. Your first impression was dead on: her face was made for smiles. 

“Third grade…” you repeat. Not just a teacher, an elementary school teacher. No wonder she seems so - wholesome? Patient? Kind? You damn near melt at the mental image of her working with little kids. 

She tilts her head, bangs moving with the cute motion. You try not to get distracted. “What about you?”

“I - “ You hesitate. It always feels weird when you tell people your vocation, almost like you were bragging. Besides that, another part of you - the increasingly paranoid, always on guard part - is cautious.  “I’m a civil servant. Public safety.”

She makes a small noise of interest. “That does sound intense.”

“It has its days. But your job is probably a lot harder.”

Something in her eyes flashes. “You think so?”

“Mm.” You nod. “Teachers have to take on a lot, right? You’re not just teaching kids - as if that’s not a big enough responsibility, teaching the next generation. You’re also their counselors, social workers, referees, lawyers, motivational coaches. Sometimes even surrogate parents.” 

Her expression softens into something more thoughtful. “Yeah… Yeah, sometimes.”

Whereas before you were hyper aware of everything, now your entire attention is narrowed in on her. It’s the first time in a long time you weren’t subconsciously counting every head in the room or checking for emergency exits. And she’s quiet, considering you. The two of you spend an unusually long time analyzing each other.

She licks her lips. You try to keep eye contact but can’t help yourself, gaze flickering at the deft movement.

“My name’s Todoroki. Todoroki Fuyumi.” 

You briefly linger on her familiar but common family name before zeroing in on her given name, Fuyumi. Fuyumi. As in winter beauty. You inwardly applaud whoever chose her name; they had the right idea.

You bow politely. “Nice to meet you, Todoroki-sensei.” 

She laughs a little, cheeks flushing pretty and pink. Her returning bow is shorter, a little awkward with a drink in her hand. “Please, you don’t have to call me sensei. I’m off the clock.”

“What should I call you then?”

“How about…” She seems to internally debate this. “Fuyumi? We’re about the same age and besides, hardly anybody calls me Todoroki outside of work.”

“Fuyumi-san…” Your lips naturally curl upward while saying her name.

Her eyes flicker away and back, catching your own. “And yours…?”

“Y/l/n y/n. But y/n is fine,” you say, an almost lie. No one but your closest and dearest call you by your given name. But you can make an exception for this stranger at the bar, for Fuyumi. A small, greedy part of you simply wants to hear your given name in her voice, see how those pretty lips move around it. And besides...

Something tells you it won’t be long before you can count her in the small, tight-knit circle anyway.

“Nice to meet you as well. Please take care of me.”

“Of course.” You pause, realizing what you just said. “Uh…

Her rosy cheeks brighten but she’s still smiling, still looking at you with those bright eyes. “Can I get you a drink, y/n-san?”

Yeah, your name definitely sounds good - really good - coming from her. Almost as good as her own name feels on your tongue.

“I’d love that, Fuyumi-san.”

Another kneecap-shattering smile is sent your way.

Cool it down, y/n. Cool it. Down. You tug on your collar to alleviate the growing heat under it.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Despite their earlier hassling over you not spending enough with them, your friends are more than okay with you (temporarily, you insisted, lying to them and yourself) ditching them to talk to someone new. They seem almost more excited than you are -- “almost” being the operative word. You feel like you’d been hit by someone’s electric Quirk, and the feeling persists the longer you talk to Fuyumi.

You find a little two-seat table near one of the windows of the bar. It offers you both an open view of Tokyo, bright and alive in the dark winter night, where flurries of snow roll through the neon-lit streets. A nice sight, you’re sure, but you’re all but ignorant to it in front of Fuyumi who sits across from you. White blazer draped over the back of her chair, she wears a form-fitting black turtleneck. A simple gold band glints on her wrist as she fiddles with her glass, tracing the rim with an elegant finger. You notice that despite having gotten her drink sooner, the ice cubes remain perfectly intact while your own drink is now a watered down version of your original order.

Not that either of you are really drinking, consumed in conversation - in learning each other. 

You learn that Fuyumi is 22 years old. Less than a year ago, she completed her bachelor’s in elementary education at Showa Women’s University. This is her first year teaching, and she loves it. She adores her class. You listen attentively as she talks with her hands and a brilliant smile, describing one shy student’s increasing confidence and another’s improved reading score. You learn that your earlier deduction was correct: she isn’t much of a nightlife person, preferring smaller get-togethers and home-cooked meals. You learn that she loves the weather outside, attention sometimes drifting to the falling snow outside. You learn that she loves to read but is weak to the same soap operas you are. You learn that she’s kind and smart and passionate.

And that if you look directly at her for too long, you forget how to breathe. 

Your conversation delves deeper. You both talk about your work, how a passion for helping people brought you to your chosen professions and how it's that very passion that sustains you through the hard parts. You talk about the constant paperwork, tracking every incident and expense and flickering concern, in order to protect the people you look after and yourselves. Fuyumi quietly expresses her frustrations with the Ministry of Education, the intense focus on academics and Quirk development, and how she can already see the pressure on her young (too young) students. Expression grave, you tell her about the moral concerns in your job, how people - people who have it hard, people who are just having a bad day - are practically dehumanized for their mistakes and how your colleagues treat even milder, non-violent cases like they’re scum of the earth. 

You and Fuyumi both lament over the bureaucracies that get in the way of actually doing your jobs. You talk about what it’s like to be in that weird “in-between” age, feeling too old around people your own age who don’t have the responsibilities which your jobs demand yet so young - naive - next to most of your colleagues. Compassion fatigue is common in both your fields, you find. It’s just as fulfilling as it is utterly exhausting, taking care of people. You talk about how tiring it is to work for the public, how underappreciated you sometimes feel, how helpless some cases are. 

“And then after all that, coming home at the end of the day can just be so…” Fuyumi cuts herself off, covering her mouth.

“Draining,” you finish, solemn.

She slowly lowers her hand, turquoise eyes wide and serious behind her glasses. “...yeah.”

You tap the edge of your cocktail glass, contemplative. You hesitate before saying, “Sometimes it’s hard seeing people I really care about…after taking care of people all day. I know my loved ones need me, too, and I want to be there for them. But sometimes it’s too much on top of everything else. Somedays...I feel too tired to care and caring’s the whole reason I even got into this job.”

You didn’t realize how true this was until you said it. It’s an ugly truth, hideous as it lingers in the air, but the truth nonetheless. You wonder if this is the real reason you don’t go out with your friends anymore, why you rarely saw your family as of late. 

You also wonder about the intent look Fuyumi wore. Intelligent blue eyes meet yours behind rectangular frames and you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t know how long you two stared at each other, only that you’d stopped breathing entirely.

Pop!

“Aaaayyy!” 

You shoot up and whip around, physically blocking Fuyumi - an automatic shield. Your hand goes to your waist and of course - of course you aren’t wearing your tactical belt. You’re off duty.

You start to activate your Quirk, let it hum unseen but ready under your hot skin. Off duty but still - .

But still, it was just the crazy salary men anyway. All drunk off their asses. One of them bought champagne, hence the pop. The man must be in his forties yet there he is, drinking straight from the bottle. The college athletes nearby start to chant and soon the rest of the bar is joining in. Somewhere, you hear your friends (the hooligans) cheering among them.

A gentle hand touches your arm, cool fingertips pressing against your wrist. Her touch sends off an immediate spark at first contact.

Electric Quirk?

Turning around, Fuyumi’s face is gentle but her eyes burn with an unexplained fervency. It kindles something in your stomach, makes you swallow. 

“Let’s go outside for a bit. Get you some fresh air.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

With the din of the bar behind you, you exhale and watch your breath condensate in the cold night air. It’s quieter here. Only a few other bar patrons mill about, one smoking several feet away and others waiting for a rideshare. The warmth from nearly activating your Quirk slowly seeps out enough to bring you back to a safer, more civilian-appropriate temperature but it’s still enough to keep you warm in your simple leather jacket.

You glance at Fuyumi. The falling snowflakes surround her like a vision, bright against the dark of turtleneck but blending in with her hair. “Aren’t you cold?”

She smiles, pushing her glasses up. “I’m fine.”

“Quirk thing?” you guess wryly, curious but also avoiding directly asking about her Quirk. It’s fine as a kid but as people get older, outright asking people about their Quirks is something of a social taboo. It would be more polite to ask what her bank statement said.

“Something like that. What about you? Are you cold or is it a ‘Quirk thing’?” When she speaks, you notice that her breath doesn’t come out in a misty cloud. Trained to automatically identify hints of what a person’s Quirk could be, you pick this out. Ice Quirk then, maybe snow? It suits the winter beauty.

The corner of your mouth twitches. You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and lean against the building behind you.  “Something like that.”

You both stand in companionable silence. It’s easier to breathe outside with the city lights to distract you, though you sneak occasional glances at the way the blue and red neon lights reflect off Fuyumi’s snowy hair. The red streaks glow burgundy under the lighting.

“About what you said earlier…”

You say nothing now, simply pressing your lips together and staring obstinately at a distant flashing billboard: First a soda commercial, then some car insurance ad. You glance away when you see an ad for Burning Coffee and the familiar face with it.

“I get it.”

Schooling your expression into a neutral one, you look at her from the corner of your eyes. 

Fuyumi tucks a stark white strand behind her ear. You try not to get distracted by the way she bites her lip. “Even before I started this job, I…I have two younger brothers. I love them a lot but it's - I…. I’ve had to take care of them for a long time now.”

You mull over this for a moment. “Because someone had to, huh?”

“Someone has to.”

You nod slowly. “Caring for other people is why humans are here but it’s hard. There are limits.”

“Yeah, there are...” That intense light in her eyes appears again. “But someone has to care, even when it’s hard. Someone has to bring people together.”

What about your parents? You want to ask, want to know who left her alone with such a heavy responsibility when she was so young. Something dark simmers in your stomach at the thought of a small Fuyumi burdened with the care of two little brothers while a child herself. But you bite your tongue. 

Instead: “Who takes care of you?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Who takes care of Todoroki Fuyumi?” 

“Who… I - “ Her face is pink from the cold, you vaguely notice. Which is odd, if your hunch about her Quirk is right. “I... My brother does. The older one, Natsuo. He…” 

You realize too late that you’re raising your eyebrows, high and skeptical in your otherwise neutral countenance. 

“People care,” she finishes lamely. At your unimpressed stare, she turns her head away. The gesture is as bashful as it is stubborn.

“...there’s a difference between caring for someone and taking care of them,” you say softly.

Lifting her face, Fuyumi meets your gaze. You step closer without breaking eye contact. Her lips part, and you’re undeniably staring now - more than staring. You’re leaning closer, into her space, and she tilts her head back.

“Te ni shitai hikari ga aru kiiiimiii wa ima yorube mo naku hitori de kiro niiii tatsu~”

You both jerk away.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi mutters, covering her mouth. You catch a pink flush before she turns her head away. 

Clearing your throat, you fumble for your cell. “No, my bad. Uuuh, hold on. Lemme just turn it off.”

Even saying that, you habitually check the caller ID and immediately turn serious. You look at her apologetically. “It’s work.”

Still pink-faced and cute, Fuyumi waves a hand. “It’s fine!”

“One sec…” Praying it’s not an emergency but prepared nonetheless, you answer brusquely, “Talk to me.”

“Woah, there, y/l/n. No need to sound so serious. You’re off the clock, remember?”

“Are you?” you retort.

“Yeah, just got off and on my way. Your friends still there or you guys get bored waiting for me? ‘Cause I also know this one place in Shinjuku with some cute girls who maaay bat for our team if yanno what I - “

You nearly choke on your own spit. “Uuh, no. No, that’s not necessary.”

“Y/l/n, you need to get laid. Like, I’m pretty sure boss man gets more than you and - “

“Hey!” You cover the receiver, as though fearful Fuyumi would hear about your sad (lack of a) sex life. Also you never want to hear anyone talk about your boss like that. It’s worse than if someone were to bring up your father in that way. You shudder at the thought. “I do not want to think about that. Do not put those images in my head!”

Your coworker cackles. “Then get out and get some! Pretty sure with the overtime you pull, you got some cobwebs down there.”

“I will report you to HR,” you warn, too low for Fuyumi to hear.

“See? This is why he hired you. He needed a bigger wet blanket than him in the office to make him look chill in comparison.”

Ha. Your boss. Chill. Even you can privately admit that’s a good one.

“Then he owes me a raise,” you grumble. After some thought, you also add, “...besides, Shinjuku isn’t necessary.”

“Wait. You met somebody?!”

Hyper aware of a pair of pretty blues on you, you choose your words carefully. “We just received word from Team Lambda that things were...unexpectedly successful.”

“SHIT IS SHE WITH YOU NOW! Why are you still talking to me?!”

“Do you still require back up at the agreed location?”

“Pffft. Y/l/n, you dork. Nah, I’m good. I’ll swing by for a drink and say hi to your cute friend but you do who you gotta do.”

You clear your throat. “I’ll do my best.”

“Damn right you will. With how diligent you are, you’re bound to be a good lay.”

“I do have HR’s number saved on my phone,” you deadpan.

“Of course you do, you stick-in-the-mud. Now get off the phone and talk to your girl!”

Even when she abruptly hangs up on you, you can’t help the sudden grin while you silence your cell. Your girl.

That has a nice ring to it.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself.

“Is everything okay?” Fuyumi asks, tipping her head. She looks at you with such concern your heart flutters. “You sounded real serious.”

Your voice comes out half-strangled and high-pitched. “Fine. Ahem. Everything’s fine. My coworker was just checking in. We were supposed to meet up and, uh…”

“Oh.”  Fuyumi lowers her eyes. She adjusts her purse over a dainty shoulder. “My coworkers are probably waiting for me, too. We should…”

No!

“Something came up,” you say quickly.

She pauses mid-step.

“Do you want another drink?”

 “I think I’ve had enough to drink,” she admits.

 “Oh…” You visibly deflate despite your attempts at keeping up a nonchalant demeanor. “I...I understand.”

 “...didn’t you come here with your friends?”

 “I met someone,” you say bluntly. You pin her with a look, one that sears through Fuyumi and says ‘you’. “They’ll understand.”

 That pretty blush returns tenfold, rising in her cheeks and spreading all the way down her neck. You want nothing more than to discover where else it goes. “Oh.”

 You tuck your hands in your pocket to hide how they shake, try to relax your body but even you can feel the intensity in your own gaze. “And your coworkers?”

 “They’ll understand, too…” She fiddles with her purse’s strap, shifts her weight from foot to foot. Again, her hips sway with the motion and you start to wonder if there’s anything Fuyumi could do that wouldn’t attract you. “But I still think I’m ready to leave this bar.”

 “Just this bar?” You peer at her from under your eyelashes.

 If just looking at her wrecks your breathing, the way she bites her bottom lip will be your absolute end. “Just this bar,” she confirms quietly. 

 “Hm.” You step forward, edging closer but just shy of her personal space - maintaining a respectful distance but near enough to feel the energy passing between you two, the intense and immediate chemistry. It’s strange and unfamiliar and gravitational. 

 Fuyumi stands completely still but she’s tighter, tenser, with a white-knuckled grip on her bag and fair skin brightening to new shades of red. There’s a light in her eyes that keeps drawing you in, like a moth to a blue flame. They dart heatedly between your own darkening gaze and your mouth.

 “Do you have plans for the rest of your night, Fuyumi-san?” Maybe at least a dinner, you hope, somewhere warm and cozy and private. Something you think she would like.

 She shakes her head, blushing yet unhesitant. 

 You swear you can feel your own heartbeat in your throat. “Any younger brothers to take care of tonight?”

 After some deliberation, she says, “They’re 19 and 15. I think they’ll survive one night without me.”

 “Yeah?” you ask breathlessly.

 “Yeah,” she says, just as quiet, and she just...looks at you. Really looks at you.

 Then she steps closer and suddenly she’s right in front of you. A cloud of vanilla-and-jasmine fragrance surrounds you. You do nothing, say nothing, simply let her come to you. You watch her with a deliberately calm mien. Fuyumi lifts up a delicate hand and brushes through your hair. A whirl of snowflakes scatters around you.

She sees you shiver and whispers, “You’re going to catch a cold out here.”

Her hand lingers in your hair. The touch is light but it’s like being connected to a live wire. A second more passes. Then her hand flutters back to her side. 

“Then I guess we should find some place warmer.” 

“Y/n-san…” 

“Let me…” Let me call you a rideshare. Let me walk you home. Let me take you home. Please. Just let me stay with you a little longer. You swallow all those other words, better words, and come out with, “Let me take care of you.”

Those impossible blue eyes widen. “What?”

Face much warmer than you’re used to off-duty and braver in ways you’ve never had to be before, you ask her softly, near pleading, “Can I take care of you tonight, Fuyumi-san?”

Fuyumi’s lips part. Then slowly, shyly, they curl into that heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “Okay.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

You nearly trip over a chair on your way over to your friends’ table. 

“Aaww, did you strike out?” your best friend teases you.

You let out a shaky laugh, pushing your hair back. “Actually, I came to say bye real quick.”

This earns you a chorus of jeers and whistles around the table. 

“That’s my teammate!” a familiar voice crows behind you. You catch tendrils of green flames from the corner of your eye before you see her.

“Kamiji!” 

Kamiji moves easily between the tables, as graceful as a cat and grinning like one, too. “What are you still doing here?” she teases while pulling you into a side hug. “Didn’t I tell you to clean out some cobwebs?”

You add a little heat to your embrace - enough that would have made anyone else flinch away but with Kamiji, with anyone in the Flaming Sidekicks, it’s more like a playful punch. “I’m calling HR on Monday.”

“They’ll be the only ones you’ll be calling if you don’t catch up with your girl,” Kamiji retorts, nudging you away with a discreet flicker of flame at the tip of her finger.

Your girl.

“Look at that grin! Just an hour ago, she was moping over her shots,” a friend teases.

“I can count all the times she’s smiled at work on one hand and still have fingers left over,” Kamiji says, joining the min roast session. Her eyes gleam. “Introduce me to her later, yeah?”

“We’ll see,” you say non-committedly.

“Pfff - get outta here. Some people need a drink.”

“I gotcha,” your best friend volunteers. You notice them already making eyes at Kamiji and silently congratulate yourself on introducing them.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you say with a quick wave.

“How much later?” a friend snarks.

“Have fun!” another offers, waggling their eyebrows.

“Be safe,” one teases, a joke coming from a civilian.

“For real,” Kamiji adds. From her, regardless of her playful demeanor, it’s definitely not a joke. “Call me tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever you wake up.” 

“Sure.” 

It’s a good night, you think as you wander back to the entrance to meet Fuyumi. You have a feeling it’s about to get better.

So caught up in her, you miss your best friend and Kamiji lingering on their way to the bar. Both are curious to see who could possibly catch their overly serious workaholic of a friend’s attention. They exchange sneaky grins, instant co-conspirators, as they shadow you.

“Y/l/n’s usually the first to pick up when we’re being watched on stakeouts,” Kamiji confides in your friend. “Either she’s had too much to drink or this girl is something.”

They snort. “A couple of us literally walked by their table five times and she didn’t so much as glance our way. You literally came by the one time this entire evening where she’s taken her eyes off her.”

Kamiji’s sharp canines glint in her grin. “Oh, really~?”

She peers over at the door to take a look at your mystery girl and...stops. Her grin drops like a stone.

“Oh, shit.”

Your friend quirks a brow. “What?”

“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” Kamii mutters. “Y/L/N! HEY, Y/L/N!” 

The bar’s noise drowns her out.

“Fuck.” Kamiji whips out her cell and dials your number. When she goes straight to voicemail, she tries again. And again. She sends you a barrage of texts.

“What’s wrong?” your friend asks. “Do you know her?”

There’s no humor in Kamiji’s caustic laugh. “Pretty much everybody at the agency knows her - except our newbie apparently.”

“At the agency? Is she a villain?”

“Worse.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

On the way to your apartment, you check and double check if this is what Fuyumi wants. She laughs a little as she reassures you. You insist that she texts someone, anyone, and give her your address ahead of time. You even ask her to sing the English alphabet backwards to make sure it’s not alcohol’s decision rather than her own certain and sober one. Between your protectiveness against...well, in this case, yourself and her laughter, you two trade giddy glances and secret smiles throughout the entire drive. 

You’ve never seen anyone who looks so...pretty in the city lights. You’d long lost any awe over Tokyo’s shining lights but find yourself gaining a new appreciation for them. They look good on her, reflecting off her hair and fair skin and glasses. It’s like Fuyumi is made of light and glass and something so bright that comes from within you can’t even fully fathom it.

And holy hell, she agreed to come to your apartment. Is this actually happening?

Your fingers tap a nervous rhythm in the middle seat. Suddenly, a cold hand slips over them - halting them. You jump, glancing over. She smiles and squeezes your hand, reassuring you even with that blush and her own fidgeting. 

You’re the one who's supposed to be taken care of right now, you think.

But now you’re so focused on leveling your breathing you can’t risk looking at her. You do, however, lace your fingers through hers. 

And it just fits. 

When you arrive at your place and slide out of the car, you’re the one to reattach your hands while you jostle for key with your other hand. You’re suddenly entirely too grateful to have a first floor apartment.

Reality socks you in the stomach when you’re inside. With Fuyumi. 

It’s strange...seeing her in your apartment. You can’t remember the last time you had anyone else in your home, hardly in it yourself between patrols and paperwork and stakeouts. But having Fuyumi here? With you? Barely visible in the dim light of your entryway, hair bright like a halo and face barely visible?

It’s like a dream.

But it’s not. Your heart wouldn’t be hammering like this if this were a dream. 

Fuyumi still hasn’t let go of your hand. If anything, the situation seems to dawn on her, too, going by how she clutches it. You both stand together in the dimly lit genkan, quiet, a little awkward. But the small space between you is purely electric.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Fuyumi admits quietly.

“Me, neither…”

“Work?” she guesses.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You?”

“School. Then work.”

You force a smile through your nerves. “And taking care of other people?”

Her words are hushed. “Yeah… That, too.”

“Guess we both missed out on the crazy party phase other people our age got,” you say dryly.

That earns you a soft laugh. “I guess so. Never looked all that great anyway.”

You snort. “Yeah, I’m not too upset that I missed out on all my friends’ college hangovers. But when was the last time you got to just...let go? Not care what anyone thinks or says?” 

You yourself could at least count some fond high school memories.

Fuyumi, however… 

She says nothing, bangs covering her eyes. 

Tonight, you decide. Tonight is her night. 

And suddenly, something clicks into place. You’re not nervous anymore.

“In that case...” Hands still connected, you step out of the genkan. “I think it’s about time someone took care of you.”

Her eyebrows furrow in concern. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But… Aren’t you tired from caring so much?”

I don’t think I could ever get tired of caring for you.

Gently, you bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and smooth light, unhurried kisses over her fingers. Your lips trail along her knuckles until they press against her wrist and linger there over her pulse. You look at her through hooded eyes. Her breath catches. 

Then you drop your hands.

“Trust me,” you say, your voice low in your own ears. “This is as much for me as it is for you. But only if you want it.”

There’s an unspoken question there.

Fuyumi meets your gaze directly, heat rising in her eyes, almost like blue fire in how they scorch you with a single look. You start to rethink your original guess about her Quirk.

“I want it.” 

You. I want you.

Sucking in a long, slow breath, you smile at her. “...then come get it, Fuyumi-san.” 

She stumbles forward, as though in a trance. Shaky hands land on your strong shoulders, seeking stability, and she steps into you. Your chests brush against each other, and you’re submerged in her creamy vanilla and jasmine perfume. That gravitational pull tugs at you but you stop yourself just shy of her lips.

Hers. This is her night, her decision.

Her cool breath fans across your lips. Starlit eyes peer into your darkening ones.

You wait.

“May I?” The words vibrate against your mouth. 

Your heart melts.

“Of course.”

Fuyumi closes that last centimeter of distance and presses her trembling lip to yours. She tilts her head, mindful of her glasses. The kiss is slow and careful, closed mouth, testing the boundaries. Even with your verbal consent, it asks, Is this okay? You follow her lead, tenderly coaxing her lips along your own. Warm and welcoming and reassuring her yes, yes, yes. This is okay. This is perfectly okay. 

I want you, too. 

Her hands tighten on your shoulders. Yours slide into her feather-soft hair. You tug out the ponytail holder and delve your fingers in the tresses. You pull away, separating you with a soft pop, and watch the silky strands float to her shoulders.

Breathing hard, Fuyumi is still clutching your shoulders. Her face is flushed, roses blooming in her cheeks, and her pupils are blown wide. 

“Whoever named you had the right idea,” you mutter, completely dazed.

You don’t get a chance to recover.

Fuyumi surges forward, grabbing your face, and pulls you to her. You slant your head just in time to meet her kiss, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips are soft, soft yet pleasantly chilled. And they move fervently along yours. Currents spark from her to you, tingling down your spine and electrifying your senses. You meet her passion with your own, shaky and reverent hands moving up to grip her blazer. 

Without breaking the kiss, she steps out of the genkan and strides forward - backing you into your own apartment. Her hands slide from your cheeks and into your hair, tugging. You gasp, startled, and Fuyumi’s tongue is like ice in the warm cavern in your mouth. You groan. She uses her grip on your hair to angle you just so, completely taking over the kiss, and you let her. You want her to.

You move your hands up her back, into her hair - earning you another tug in reprimand - and down again until they find her full hips. You squeeze, enjoying the plush give under your fingers. Fuyumi hums, low and appreciative. You smooth your hands over her curves, slipping your thumbs under the shirt and rubbing circles against her hip bones. 

Fuyumi breaks the kiss just long enough to slide off her blazer, lets it fall to the floor with a muffled foomp and your leather jacket joins it soon after. Then she’s on you again, looping her arms around your shoulders. Pressing close, closer, her full breasts soft against yours. Her lofty exhale condensates in your warm apartment, chilling your lips. Your eyes flutter.

Gripping her hips, you kiss her - kiss her like you wanted to from the moment she first smiled at you. You kiss her like you want to consume her. And Fuyumi meets you, passion for passion, ice for fire. 

You slide your hands further up her turtleneck and skim along cool, soft skin with heated palms. Fuyumi arches, making soft appreciative noises that falter into disappointment when you remove your hands. Next you wind your arms around to fully embrace her, crushing her to you. Fuyumi moans. 

You pull back enough to land several pecks on her smiling lips, making her giggle, and then shower the rest of her face in kisses. Your eager mouth finds her swan-like neck and becomes more sensual, mouthing along the arch. Kissing and sucking and just breathing her in. Fuyumi leans her head back to accept your affections in full.  

“You’re so warm,” she sighs happily. 

Your brain dies and comes back to life. And then you promptly realize the full implication of her words.

Panting, you pull away. You’re still foggy and lost  and looking at Fuyumi, Fuyumi with that glazed over expression and slightly parted lips, certainly does help. But you have to check yourself - make sure you’re still in control.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Just wanted to look at you,” you say. Not a complete, as your gaze sears up and down her body.

“Don’t just look then.” Fuyumi tugs you forward by your shirt. You lean back at the last moment and grin at the frustrated sound she makes in the back of her throat.

“Y/n-san…” 

You kiss her, a quick peck, and dart away before she has the chance to deepen it.

Her nose scrunches up. You kiss that, too. She chases after your lips but you dodge, her lips landing on your cheek instead. You snicker.

“Y/n-san.” There’s a warning in her tone. The sternness in it, the sudden assertiveness, makes you light-headed and eager to obey.

Damn. You make a mental note to explore this later.

“Just wanted to be extra sure this is what you want,” you say breathlessly.

“I told you that I wa - “

You catch her open mouth in yours, kissing her longer, deeper. Your lips smolder against hers. Her responding hum shoots straight to your core. 

When you go to move away again, Fuyumi snares your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls you back in. A hand on your waist slips under your shirt, teasing the skin it finds there. She palms the small of your back. Pushes you closer. You squirm at the unexpected cold, inadvertently pushing yourself closer. She uses this to pull you into her, hands skating up your ribs, palms freezing, touch burning. The air grows hot and humid, a perfect clash between your Quirks, and you’re shivering from something far beyond temperature, beyond arousal. 

“Oh, god…” you eke out as she sucks on the corner of your jaw. You’re too far gone to process it, lost in a strange space between too much and not enough.

It’s only Fuyumi’s mercy that allows you to catch your breath. She pulls back, leaving our lips kiss-swollen and red and panting. You gawk at her.

Her demure smile isn’t kind; it’s the calm before a storm. “Where’s the bedroom?”

A small, pitiful sound - a whimper - escapes you.

This woman is going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, you grip her thick thighs and lift her up enough to wrap her legs around your waist. Fuyumi yelps. She winds her arms around your shoulders, beaming down at you. You grin up at her adoringly, even when she laughs at you when you bump into your own furniture in your own damn apartment.

“I can’t remember the last time anyone’s carried me,” she says.

Nudging your door open with your foot, you hum thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the last time I had a pretty girl in my arms.”

Fuyumi hides her burning face in your neck. “...you, too.”

“Mm?” 

“You’re pretty, too,” she murmurs, burrowing in your shoulder. She nestles into you endearingly. “Prettier.”

You press a kiss to the side of her head, nuzzling into her hair and breathing in her conditioner. You whisper, “Don’t get in a fight over who’s prettier with me, Fuyumi-san. You’d lose.”

Then you promptly drop her on your bed.

Yelping, Fuyumi bounces on the mattress. She’s still smiling and giggling even when she tries to glare at you. “No, I wouldn’t,” she protests.

Amused, you place one knee on the bed. “Yes. You would.”

“No. I wouldn’t. Have you seen yourself?”

“Occasionally,” you drawl, raising your other knee to fully kneel in front of Fuyumi. 

“But you’re so fit and strong and - “ She bites her lip again, face tinted pink. “You’re gorgeous.”

You take your sweet, sweet time looking Fuyumi up and down. Body half sprawled across your bed, her beautiful hair fans out like a halo. The hem of her shirt is partially pushed up, revealing her pale stomach where a diamond navel piercing gleam and the full flare of her waist.

“I don’t compare,” you say simply, bending down to crawl over to her.

Fuyumi rises up on your elbows to meet you halfway. You straddle her hips, having to stretch out your thighs to fully seat yourself over them. Damn. They’re so solid and soft underneath you. You never want to sit anywhere else again.

Fuyumi’s breath hitches, staring up at you as though entranced. Her hands slip over your thighs. “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.” 

“I think you,” you carefully slide off her frames, removing the one thing between you and the intensity of her gaze, “need new glasses, Fuyumi-san.”

You fold up her glasses and lean over to put them safely on your side table. The movement moves your hips, unintentionally grinding. The small friction makes you release a stuttery breath.

Hearing it, her own breathing starts to get heavier. Fuyumi tightens her grip on your thighs and pushes back. You groan, long and low in your throat. You start a slow rocking motion, core grinding down. Fuyumi’s hips meet you movement for movement. Her hooded gaze flares.

You place your hands on top of hers, looking down at her with half-lidded eyes. Taking all of her in hungrily. “Fuyumi-san, when you say you haven’t done this before…”

“I mean going home with someone I just met,” she murmurs, caught in the rocking motion. “This isn’t - it won’t be my first time.”

Her earlier ferocity - and the current undulations of her hips under yours - suggested as much, but it’s always good to check. 

You brush your fingers over her slim wrists and up her arms and down again. Feather light. Your touch ghosts over her exposed stomach and then up her lower ribs, pressing fully against her velvet skin. 

Fuyumi arches her back, eyelashes fluttering. Her lips quiver. 

She’s already starting to sweat, slick under your palms. You slide your hands back down and curve over her waist, kneading the bit of fat there. Her fair skin pinkens where you touch her. A small, desperate sound escapes her. 

“God, I love the sound of your voice,” you rasp, grinding harder. “From the moment I first I heard it.”

She laughs a little. “I’m surprised you even heard it. The bar was so loud.”

Rather than respond, you scoot down her thighs in order to bend down and nip a hipbone.

“Y/n-san.”

You groan at the sound of your name before trailing your lips from one hip to the other, your tongue briefly circling around her piercing. Throughout your loving ministrations, you push your hands further up her shirt to her heavy breasts and squeeze softly. Fuyumi arches her back, crying out. 

Eventually, you push her turtleneck up. Fuyumi sits up and you help pull it over her head. Your mouth dries.

Her beautiful hair is a beautiful mess, red tangled in white. Darkened blue eyes stare at you hazily. You finally learn that her flush extends from her round cheeks to her sternum, rosey and warm in the ivory of her skin. Her simple black bra barely restrains her heaving breasts. She’s all curves and supple skin and vanilla-and-jasmine perfume and - 

“How did I get so lucky as to bring you home with me tonight?”

In answer, Fuyumi kisses you. Her insistent lips move from your needy mouth to your neck. You gasp when she finds the sensitive place behind your ear. Her chilled breath makes you tremble. 

“How did I get so lucky as to end up in your bed?” she croons. Then she sucks your earlobe into her frigid mouth.

“Ah!”

She wrangles your shirt off and sends her mouth down the valley of your breasts. You wrap your legs around her waist, squeezing her between your thighs and pressing her into your aching core. Your head lolls, hair falling back. Your breathing is heavy under her. Her fingers tangle with the back of your bra and unclip it with ease. 

Peppering your shoulders with chilled kisses as she slides the straps over them, Fuyumi tosses your bra over the side of the bed and pulls back to admire. You shiver at the dark, glassy look in her eyes. And then put up absolutely no resistance when she pushes you down on the bed.

Freezing hands caress your breasts, making you hiss and raise your back, as they come in contact with your sultry body.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi says, not sounding the least bit put out. “Quirk thing.”

Your chest heaves. “S’fine. Do whatever. Just - just keep touching me.”

Her eyelids lowered, and that demure smile returns. “That’s not a very polite way to ask for what you want, y/n-san.”

You’re not a proud person, and you know what you want. “Please, Fuyumi-san, please keep touching me - aah!”

Fuyumi leans down to circle a nipple with her ice-like tongue, sucking it in with a lewd suctiony sound. Glacial fingers pinch the other. Her other hand trails down, breezing across your ribs, until they find the hem of your pants and toying with the zipper. You pant, grasping at her shoulders for purchase. Forgoing the zipper entirely, Fuyumi cups you through your jeans - fingers rubbing tantalizing circles against your heat. 

“Fuyumi-san!” you whine.

“Such pretty noises…” Fuyumi murmurs against your breast. “And you looked so stoic and serious at the bar. But look at you.”

Fuyumi grinds the heel of her hand into you. You squirm helplessly underneath her wintery body. It feels so good but so intense. You wonder if you’d somehow managed to lure a yuki-onna to your bed.

“You just fall apart at the simplest of touches.” She bends her head over your other breast, biting down gently. She continues to palm at your throbbing core.

You buck your hips, desperate for more friction. “Please…”

Then, in retribution for your earlier teasing, she removes her hand out from between your trembling thighs. You whine. Making direct eye contact with you, Fuyumi pulls back with your nipple still pinched between her teeth. Only after you let loose a satisfactory whimper does she release it. Your other nipple, however, she continues to roll leisurely between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Apologies. You seemed to like how assertive I was earlier. Was I mistaken?”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you say weakly, “Didn’t expect this from an elementary school teacher.”

Smiling amusedly, Fuyumi nuzzles into your too-warm cheek. “I can’t be nice, patient sensei all the time.”

“So you like to get back some control in the bedroom,” you say dryly.

Fuyumi’s answer is scraping her teeth down your throat and sucking a mark into your collarbone. Cold hands seize your breasts, squeezing. A knee slips between your thighs to push against you. You cry out.

“Based on that lovely reponse…” Fuyumi croons, running her hands up and down your sides, “and your clear deflection from my original statement, you like to let go of control in the bedroom. It’s a release.”

Somewhere in the haze of your lust, you catch on. You raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “Let me guess: high stakes civil service job, demanding work environment, lots of pressure, extremely stressful. You have to be in complete control at all times on the job, always alert, and need your phone on even after hours just in case.”

“...maybe.” She has a scarily clear cut understanding of your “civil service job”, even without the full details such as what exactly it is. 

She smiles understandingly, though there’s a strange twist to it. “I noticed how..alert you were at the bar. Even though you came with friends. You really don’t let yourself relax, do you?”

You turn your head, averting your eyes. 

Gentle fingers pinch your chin and bring them back to meet Fuyumi’s compassionate gaze. “It’s okay, y/n-san,” she soothes. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place - “

“No, you’re right,” you cut her off, voice hoarse. “I - it’s just I… I love my job.”

“I know,” she murmurs, caressing the side of your face. 

Your draw in a breath. “I’m lucky to have it. Especially being a woman. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little kid. And it - I get to help so many people. Every day. I feel like I make a real difference, you know? But it’s not easy.”

Fuyumi strokes your hair. “When was the last time you took some time off?”

You scoff, covering your eyes with a forearm. “I just transferred to a new agency a little while ago. I still have a lot to prove.”

This makes Fuyumi frown. “They chose to hire you. You shouldn’t have to prove anything!”

“Fuyumi-san,” you drawl, “you’re taking care of other people again. Didn’t I say it's your turn to be taken care of tonight?”

“Is you taking care of me just ‘helping people’ like you do everyday?” she asks.

“No. Is you asking about my work life and the personal toll it has just another way of asserting control?” you deadpan.

Fuyumi sputters, turning red. “N-no! And how’s wanting to help others ‘control’?”

“‘Help is the sunny side of control,’” you quote, bone dry.

Semi-amused, you watch realization dawn across Fuyumi’s face. “That’s - I never thought about it that way. That’s...quite insightful. Did you come up with that? Or is that from somewhere?”

“Anne Lammottt,” you say dryly. “She wrote this sorta half self-help, half memoir on hope and how to find it when things are at their bleakest. My therapist recommended it. I’ll lend you my copy.”

The bed creaks as Fuyumi sits up, straddling you. Poker faced, you make a herculean effort to keep your gaze directly on her face rather than stray to...well, the gorgeous half-naked body on top of you.

“You have a therapist?”

“High stakes job with heaps of pressure and stress, remember?” you quip. “It would be irresponsible of me not to take care of my mental health. Like skipping a dental cleaning or a vaccination.”

“Yeah…” Again, Fuyumi has that intent, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave you after admitting how tired you were, how draining caring can be. Without her glasses, it’s only about 100 times more intense. 

And there you are, titties out, laid out like a spread eagle underneath Fuyumi like you’re her personal throne. Not a bad position to be in, of course, but a little odd when her face looks like she’s trying to solve the world’s hardest math problem and not contorted in the throes of passion as gifted by yours truly. You wait it out, though. It seems important.

It’s a nice view anyway.

Finally: “You’re really something, y/l/n y/n.”

You smile up at her lazily. “Thanks. You’re something special yourself, Todoroki Fuyumi.”

Fuyumi smiles down at you like a real life Madonna icon. You’re suddenly reminded of your recently developed Fuyumi-related asthma. And how her luscious thighs are actually a little warm after hugging your body for so long.

You drum your fingers against them, enjoying the feel even through her jeans. “Hey, Fuyumi-san?”

“Mm?”

“How did we go from the hottest foreplay of my life to talking about our mutual tendencies for compulsive caretaking?”

Fuyumi slaps her hands over her reddening cheeks and groans. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, y/n-san!”

“It’s cool,” you say, nonchalant. “We can do a naked book club instead, if you like. Anything you wanna recommend?”

“No! No naked book club - well, maybe later. Wait!” She drags her hands down her face and half-heartedly glowers down at you. Somehow, that stern look makes you throb. “You’re making fun of me.”

“A little,” you admit. You stroke her thighs soothingly. “But I’m also a little serious. If you’d rather do something else, that’s okay. I think I have some puzzles somewhere.“

Snorting, Fuyumi shakes her head. “I want to keep going. I do, I really do. But if I made it too weird or - “

“Great. I want to, too,” you state bluntly. 

“I didn’t make it weird?”

“Sex is weird sometimes. Besides….” You look up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, feeling your desire thrum back to life at her bold reassertion. Your voice turns smokey when you speak next. “I want to make you feel good, Fuyumi-san.”

Fuyumi shudders above you. 

Gripping her thighs, you slowly sit up to avoid jostling her from your lap. Warm hands smooth up her thighs, following the curves of her wide hips and her waistline. Fuyumi shivers when you linger on the sides of her plump breasts. You trace her bra’s outer edges up to the elastic straps and unhurriedly lower the right one. You press a kiss to her bared shoulder, as soft as the newly fallen snow outside.

“I want to make you really, really good.”

You feel how the exhale shudders out of her. “Y/n-san…”

“Will you let me? Will you let me make you feel good, Fuyumi-san?”

She laughs softly, hugging your shoulders. “How do you do that? “

“Do what?” you mumble, sucking at a beauty mark you find.

“Just - mmph, right there - just turn the situation around? It was so a-aah! Awkward and now it’s like this again.” 

You laugh huskily. “A little trick I learned on the job.”

“Seducing people?”

“Are you seduced?” you purr.

“Y-yes. But seriously...” 

“Let’s just say... I learned how to assess a situation and Turn. It. Around. In my favor.” You kiss up her neck with each word, breathing in deeply.

She gently scratches down your back, soft lines that make you shudder. “Mm, you’re a good civil servant.” 

This draws a smirk from you. “Thanks. Now...back to my question.”

“Mm?” Fuyumi’s eyes flutter.

You whisper hotly against her ear, “Will you let me make you feel good?”

“Yes, please.”

Grinning, you kiss her ear and set to work.

You unsnap her bra clasp, sliding the silky undergarment off and lazily letting it fall from your hand. Her supple breasts fall free with gentle bounce. Hand on her shoulder, you lightly push her onto her back and Fuyumi goes down willingly. Lips parted, you stare down at her darkly. 

Expression hazy, she smiles up at you. “Please take care of me.”

“I’ll try my best,” you promise, voice low and gravelly.

You cup her breasts, relishing the soft weight of them in your hands, and rub slow circles over them. Then you bend down to tongue a slow circle around a dusky nipple before sucking it into your eager mouth. Fuyumi sighs, cupping the back of your neck. You hum, then go to turn your attention to the next. Gently heating your lips, you press gossamer-like kisses all over her flushed chest. From there, you kiss down her sternum and down her chest.

“Y/n-san,” she calls softly as you leave marks along her stomach.

You sink blunt teeth into he left hip and she gasps. Trembling underneath you, Fuyumi grips your hair and moans.

You slip a finger under her jeans, looking to her with lifted eyebrows. At her nod, you unbutton her jeans and - in return for her icy teasing - unzip the fly with your teeth. She gasps. You tug at the loosened denim, to which she lifts her hips, and you slide down her jeans past her hips where you kiss and suck and nip. Then you pull the jeans down her thighs. You swallow at the sight of her pink panties, pupils dilating at the dark stain over her folds.

Still, you take your time - gently pulling her jeans off one creamy leg at a time. You kiss every inch of new skin revealed, reveling in Fuyumi’s increasingly shallow breathing. You watch her chest rise and fall, breasts heaving. 

She’s easily the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Not looking away once, you toss the jeans to some far corner and settle between her thighs. You’re not even aware of where you are, so consumed with the sight and smell of her. 

“Y-y/n-san,” she calls.

“Shh, darling,” you murmur, landing a kiss on the inside of her knee. You trace your lips down the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I know, I know.”

“Hurry.”

“Almost there. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

She moans, the precious noise pitching louder when you press your lips to the sweet wetness pooled between her thighs. You flick the full length of your tongue over her. Delicate fingers grip the back of your head, cold and insistent, and you groan. The vibrations send her hips rolling and you follow along with the motions, licking and sucking through her underwear, breathing through your nose, tenderly thumbing circles into her hip bones. Despite the delicious press of her clenching thighs against your ears, you hear her call your name - broken between a plea and a command. And you obey.

Without wasting another moment, you pull away and hook your fingers under the hem of her panties. You slide the garment down her hips, groan at the pearly strands of her essence clinging to her puffy inner lips, and pull it down her lush thighs. 

Impatient, Fuyumi sits up enough to shove her panties the rest of the way off. Then her hand returns to the back of your head which she immediately guides to her cunt. You grasp her thighs, spreading them open for better access. You latch onto her hot bundle of nerves and suck into your mouth. Encouraged by her cries, you lave your tongue between her folds while your thumb continues toying with her clit. 

Nails scrape against your scalp, sending shocks of pained pleasure through you and inciting another moan. You bury your tongue inside her, reveling in the full taste of her. A mewl rewards your efforts. Chin shiny with her juices, you pull back only to return to her clit. You press a kiss there, two, three, before sucking it back into your hot mouth. Your fingers slide inside her; velvety walls clench around them, pulsing rhythmically as you slide in and out. 

Lashes fluttering, you lift your gaze to meet Fuyumi’s piercing blue eyes - bright and demanding above the flush of her cheeks and her neck and her heaving chest. Her grip tightens in your hair. You close eyes, blissed out, and delve your tongue deeper inside her until your nose is pressed against her clit. You delight in the wet friction. 

Her legs tremble, one hooked over your shoulder. Her cries rise - higher, higher, pitching into the dark ceiling. The sweetest of noises. You whimper when her thighs clench around you, following the undulations of her hips. Your own squirm against the sheets, arousal pooling in your underwear, as you listen. You feel it before she cries out: hands grasping, thighs shaking, labia twitching, her inner walls clenching around you. 

Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. All because of you.

Fuyumi calls your names.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes -

Cold. 

Cold, cold, cold.

Under Fuyumi’s hands, ice coats your shoulders and spreads down your back. Your hair is stiff and frozen. Where her juices coated your lips and chin, now frozen. Even the tip of your nose has frost.

You blink.

Fuyumi gapes at you, horrified. 

“You know...when the weather forecast said snowy night in Tokyo, this isn’t what I expected.”

“I am SO sorry!”

You burst out laughing.

She hides her bright red face in her hands. “I’m sorry, y/n-san! Do you have a hair dryer? Let me -- “

“Nah, I’m okay. See?” You channel your Quirk, focusing on the warmth always present in the center of your chest, and let the heat spread throughout the rest of your body. Steam rises from your skin as the frost melts, not leaving so much as a droplet of moisture behind. 

Hands lowered, Fuyumi’s jaw drops. “You...you have a fire Quirk.”

“Opposites really do attract, huh?” Eyes crinkling, you laugh. 

It’s the only sound in the bedroom. 

“...Fuyumi-san?”

Speechless, Fuyumi stares at you with wide, wide eyes. The climax-induced flush is gone, bleached from her skin. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand.

You immediately recognize that expression. It’s the look a civilian had before they were saved, before help arrived. Fear. Seeing it on her face makes your stomach turn. It reminds you of the time you rescued a child from a burning building after a villain set off an electrical fire - the initial relief on the boy’s face evolving into sheer panic when you activated your own flames to fight the villain off before back-up came. You’d hated yourself for reigniting that fear so soon after the initial trauma.

And now? You’re bewildered and cautious. 

“Hey...you alright there?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Fuyumi swiftly looks away, shrinking in on herself. She brings her arms up to her bare chest. 

Resisting the urge to frown, you put up an air of calm. You wordlessly lift a sheet and - avoiding sudden movements - wrap it around her shoulders.

She blinks at you.

“A lot of people have had bad experiences with fire,” you say, non-judgemental. You smile softly. “I get it. It can be pretty scary sometimes. But I can guarantee you that I have better control over my Quirk than most people. Haven’t had an accident since I was 10.”

“I’m not - that’s not it, y/n-san.” Even saying that, Fuyumi pulled the sheet tighter around herself.

You lifted and lowered your shoulders in a languid shrug. “It doesn’t matter what it was or wasn’t. And you don’t have to explain it to me, either.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Y/n-san - “ 

“Fuyumi-san,” you say, hushed. “It’s okay.”

You won't lie to yourself, though: It hurts. But you recognize a trigger when you see one. If years of general wariness of your flames didn’t teach you that, your training certainly did.

It’s that same training that allows you to smile at her reassuringly. “Hey… Look.” 

You hold your hand out, palm side up. Watching her face carefully, searching for even the slightest flinch, you focus the heat under your skin to converge at the center of your palm: A spark, then a shimmer, and a small flame comes to life. No bigger than a birthday candle, it casts a soft light across your face. 

Fuyumi’s eyes flicker between your tender expression and the tiny fire. Your own gaze doesn’t waver from her face, even as you slowly twist your hand and will the flame to move sluggishly along your palm, your wrist, over your knuckles, and between your fingers. Fuyumi watches all the while. 

You urge the flare to your to the very tip of your index finger and hold it up to your mouth. You purse your lips, not unlike a kiss, and extinguish it with a small puff. You wink at her. “See? Perfect control.”

While she is still hunched under the sheet, it at least earns you a small, wobbly smile. 

You hold out your hand, again palm side up. She immediately looks at it, clearly expecting another flame. The corner of your mouth twitches and you wiggle your fingers a little. 

It’s a relief when she accepts the silent offer, placing her small hand in yours. Your fingers wrap around hers. Tenderly, carefully, you brush your over her knuckles. Like you’re holding something infinitely precious.

“I was a pretty stupid kid, you know. You would’ve hated having me in your classroom,” you say suddenly, still fixated on your joined hands.

Fuyumi looks almost offended. “No, I wouldn’t!”

It makes you grin a little. “You’re right. You’re an amazing teacher - one of those saintly ones with tons of patience for even the brattiest of kids. I can tell. But trust me, even little me would have given you a run for your money. I was pretty full of myself, just because of an accident of being born with some flashy Quirk. Always showing off and playing around with it.”

At this, your smile fades into a grim line. “But you know what they say about playing with fire. ‘Cept I can’t burn but others sure can. I learned that the hard way...at someone else’s expense.”

“...the accident when you were 10,” Fuyumi recalls, voice faint.

“It was someone I really care about,” you say. Your mouth twists into a self-contemptuous sneer as you shake your head. “I knew how to start fires but hadn’t yet learned how to put them out. So much for the little show off.”

Suddenly, her hand squeezes yours. You blink.

“You were only a child, y/n-san,” she whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch together and without her glasses, there’s nothing between you and those fierce eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone else paid for it,” you say, uncompromising. She opens her mouth to protest. You raise her hand to kiss her knuckles which immediately snaps her mouth close. “And I’ve been a whole lot more careful since then. I promised myself that I would use my Quirk to protect people, not hurt them. Especially not someone I care about.”

At that, you press your lips to her slim wrist. You gently suck at the blue-ish veins beneath delicate skin, kissing the heel of her hand and then her own palm and finally the tips of fingers. You look up to see Fuyumi’s cherry red face.

“Are you hungry?”

“W-what?” She sounds half as breathless as you felt most of the evening. Payback, sweetheart.

“I promised to take care of you tonight, remember? So. Are you hungry?”

Fuyumi stares at you, taking in your still half-dressed state and kiss-bruised lips. “What about you? I didn’t...you know.”

You shrug. “It’s fine. Lemme get you a glass of water at least.”

After her near panic attack and the sudden turn in conversation, you figure she might not be in the best headspace to...reciprocate. Besides, nothing dashes the libido quite like your partner almost freaking out at your Quirk.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stretch your arms out, oblivious to Fuyumi’s sharpened stare where your back muscles ripple with the movement. You push your hair back, lightly scratching your head as you lazily search the floor for your shirt. 

“Wanna watch a movie or something? I think I have some popcorn. We could - “

Cool hands smooth over your waist, meeting in the middle of your stomach. You feel the swell of her breasts against your too-warm back, tight nipples on your shoulder blades. Chilled lips brush the junction of your neck and shoulder, following the curve of your neck. She catches your earlobe between her teeth and tugs. 

Your breath hitches. 

Her hands trail up your abdomen, leaving shivers in their wake, before cupping your breasts. You arch your back, consequently pushing yourself further into her. Her thumbs smooth twin circles around your nipples, her natural chill sensitizing them. 

“Fuyumi….” Her name is a weak moan from your mouth.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” comes her wintry whisper. “Let me return the favor, okay?”

“A-are you sure? A-ah! Fuyumi!”

“I told you, y/n, I want it. And I’ll take it if I have to.”

There is a higher power and apparently, that higher power fucking loves you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

It’s habit that wakes you up in the early morning. Drowsily, you blink up at your ceiling and then turn your head on your pillow to find Fuyumi’s face inches from yours. Her cheek is squished against a pillow, snowy strands caught in her mouth. 

You stare at her in silent awe. 

Eventually, your stomach reminds you of your basic needs and by extension Fuyumi’s eventual needs as well. Breakfast then. You sit up slowly, taking care not to wake her. You swing your legs over the bed and pad your way around fallen clothes. You pick them up, sorting out which were whose. Your cell drops out of your pants.

You remember your promise to Kamiji. Turning on your cell, you grimace at the low power and then pause at the many...many messages on it.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: RED ALERT RED ALERT

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: YO Y/N PICK UP

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: As GREAT as a time you’re having right now...pick up.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Yl//n.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n. 

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n y/n.

Frowning, you press “call” on her contact. A few rings carry on, setting your nerves at ease. You know that if it really was an emergency, she would be awake and pick up immediately.

A groggy voice answers. “Must’ve been a fun night.”

“Kamiji, what’s up?” you murmur.

“Did you take that girl home with you?”

“Uuh…” You glance at Fuyumi’s curled up form. The sheets drape over the curve of her hips and tangle between her legs, leaving her mostly bare. Her arms stretch out above her head, feathery hair a tangled mess, carmine streaks vibrant in the sunrise. A few of your marks stand out, red and violet, on the fair skin of her waist and chest. Perfect matches to the ones all over your chest.

You don’t realize you’re smiling like an idiot until you hear your name repeated, louder and louder. “Y/l/n… Y/L/N! HEY!”

You scowl, soundlessly slipping out of bed and snatching a robe on the way out. You muffle your phone against your collarbone until you’re safely in the kitchen where Kamiji’s yelling won’t wake Fuyumi up.

“Yes, Kamiji, I took her home with me and now I’m going to make her breakfast. There a problem?” 

Coffee. You need coffee. 

“Well, at least you’re treating her right. Hopefully that’ll work in your favor.”

“What are you talking about?” you grouse, getting your coffee maker ready. You mentally go over what you have in the fridge. Do you have enough to make something? Or should you run to the cafe to grab something? Would you get back before Fuyumi wakes up? Maybe you should wait and see if she’d want to go with you...

A dark laugh from the receiver. “You really have no idea who she is, do you?”

You freeze. Tightening your grip on the phone, you glance warily at your closed bedroom door. “...why, is she a villain?”

“You wish.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“You’re completely fireproof, right?” 

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “It’s pretty much why Endeavor hired me.”

Kamiji makes a small, aggravated noise. “He hired for more than that, y/l/n. But we’ll get into that later - before our boss gives a whole new meaning to firing you.”

“Fire me? For what?”

“What’s his name, y/l/n? His actual name?”

You really do not like where this conversation was going. “Todoroki Enji?”

“And who did you take home with you last night?”

“...that’s not funny, Kamiji.”

“I’m not joking.”

“It’s a common last name,” you protest, “and they look absolutely nothing alike - “

Except.

Except for the red in her hair. 

And the color of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows...

The same family name.

Her reaction to your fire Quirk.

You even met at a bar close to the Endeavor Hero Agency.

“No.”

“Yeeeaaah. You slept with the #2 hero’s only daughter.”

For the first time since you were 10, you lose control of your Quirk - setting your favorite robe aflame.

“SHIT!”

Kamiji’s laughter is barely heard over the smoke alarm. Burnt cotton fills the kitchen air and you tear off the robe to throw it in the sink, immediately turning on the faucet. And then there you are, wearing nothing but a few love bites, as you fight with the smoke alarm to shut it up. 

Having taken the batteries out, you snatch up the phone and hiss, “I slept with our boss’s daughter? Our boss boss? Endeavor?”

“You work for my father?” 

You swear you feel the blood draining from your face. Slowly, mechanically, you turn around. She stands just outside your room, a vision in white sheets. The girl you met last night, the girl you’re pretty sure you fell a little in love with at first sight. The one you took home with you.

Todoroki Fuyumi.

Endeavor’s only daughter.

The higher power fucking hates you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Note: When Fuyumi says “Please take care of me” during introductions with reader, it’s actually an English translation of “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” which is more of a concept than a direct translation. Cool explanation here for my fellow language nerds.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero scenario #boku no hero fanfiction #mha #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #self insert #self insert fanfiction #bnha self-insert #bnha fic #mha fic #todoroki #todoroki fanfiction #todoroki x reader #fuyumi todoroki #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki fuyumi x reader #fuyumi todoroki x reader #fuyumi x reader #fuyumi smut #n/sfw #fuyumi also has daddy issues

[kinqjaehyxn]

Homebound

— jung jaehyun

genre: angst

warning(s): arguments, swearing, almost cheating(?)

word count: 1,591

a/n: i really had lots of fun writing this!! its late and i have work at 9am but whatever jaehyun angst is #1 priority heheh

==================== This was not the Jaehyun you knew. This was not the Jaehyun you fell in love with. This is not the Jaehyun you married and started a family with. The Jaehyun you knew and fell in love with was a completely different person than the Jaehyun who standing in front of you. You don't remember when everything went wrong; you were happy, both of you only a year ago. You gave birth to your now one year old son and your 3 year old daughter was gleaming with joy. For some reason, that felt like years ago.

You starting seeing Jaehyun less and less within the year, his children missing him dearly. Maybe it was because of his new job, you tried to convince yourself. Yet even during his vacation time, he'd always be out with the boys or going to a company dinner to grow closer with his new coworkers. It felt like Jaehyun would only come home to sleep and to be honest, that's how it was for a while. You confronted him about it, how you'd never see him anymore and how your daughter would look for him late at night. He promised you that he would try to be home more, for you and your kids. He kept his promise, only for it to be broken a couple weeks later. Promises are meant to be broken right?

The emptiness you felt without Jaehyun almost made you go crazy. You began to miss his familiar scent, the way he would hold you in the late night, everything about him you missed. You watched as your relationship turned sour; normal conversations with him would turn into full-blown arguments. The last fight you guys had ended up with you kicking Jaehyun out of the house. Sick and tired of him coming home late drunk, you forced him out for the night which lasted into a week. He only came back to grab a couple of his things.

The sight of seeing Jaehyun in your shared home made you livid. All the pent up anger and frustration in you suddenly exploded, yelling and shouting at the man who you call your husband. "You've got some nerve to come back here." Your voice low and stern, careful not to wake up your children. 

"I'm sorry, are you forgetting who's paying for this house?" He retaliates.

"Both of us you asshole." You scoff. "Why the hell are you even here anyways?" 

"I still live here."

You can't help but laugh at his statement, your mind going back to all those nights you spent alone. "Oh do you now?" Sarcasm dripping in your words. "Last time I remember, you were rarely home." 

He groans and rubs his face in his hands. "Oh my god Y/N not this bullshit again. You know damn well why I'm not home."

"Because of your friends? Because of your 'company' dinners? You always come home drunk Jae, if you even decide to come home!" Your tone slowly raises, anger slowly spilling out of you.

"For fucks sake, am I not allowed to relax and spend some time with some friends? God forbid me from having any fun." 

You feel your heart breaking, like it's a fragile piece of glass that's about to shatter at any moment. "That's not what I said!" You defend yourself. "I don't care what you do with your friends, all I'm asking you is to spend some time with your family once in a while."

His face was turning red, the veins in his neck began to pop out. "I do spend time with you guys!"

"Do you? Jesus Christ Jae, you missed Youngji's birthday 2 weeks ago, your own fucking daughter. How could you?"

Jaehyun knew he was in the wrong, he wanted to stop and apologize. But his ego said otherwise. "I was—"

"At work, of course, you were. Do you have any idea how disappointed she was to not see her dad at her birthday party?" 

"Do you want me to quit or something?"

"Jung Jaehyun, you know that's not what I want at all!" 

"Fuck this, I'm leaving." He stormed off, slamming the door on his way out. The tears that you didn't know you were holding back finally poured out. Your glass-like heart finally shattering into a million pieces.

Jaehyun slammed the car door as he pulled out his phone and texted the boys. 'Meet you guys at the club!' 

His big hands gripped onto the steering wheel as he drove to their usual meet up, anger still coursing through his veins. He tries to calm himself down before entering with his buddies. They immediately notice his mood, jokingly poking fun at him. "Aww did mama bear rip you to shreds today?" One of them teases.

Jaehyun ignored the remark and orders drinks for himself. A few shots later, his swaying back forth on the dance floor. He was drunk, but not to the point where he was messed up. Jaehyun stumbled over to the lounge couch, sitting down to regain himself. He rubbed his face in his hands when he felt the cushion beside him sink down. "Hey cutie," An unfamiliar voice called out. "What are you doing here alone?"

He rubbed his eyes to reveal a girl who looks much younger than he was. She was pretty and she smelled of flowers. She was wearing a sleeveless dress and her long, silky hair was tucked behind her ear. "Why don't I give you some company yeah?" She said seductively as she moved closer. 

Jaehyun chuckled, the alcohol spreading throughout his body. Her hand rubbed against his arm, batting her eyelashes at him. Her eyes trailed down to his hand where the silver band wrapped around his finger. "Oh, you're married. Well then," She brought her face closer to his as she whispered against his lips. "don't tell your wife."

It was like something inside of him snapped back to reality. He aggressively shoved the girl off of him and she looked annoyed. "Get off me!" He shouted, standing up. 

"C'mon, it'll be our little secret." She clings onto his arm.

"Just get lost will you?" He says sternly. She rolls her eyes and scoffs. 

"Whatever, jerk."

Jaehyun feels the urge to go back home to his family. He sobered up quickly and left the club, leaving his friends behind without a word. The drive home felt oddly long. Her voice echoed in his head. He felt so utterly guilty of what could've happened. You were the love of his life, the mother of his children. You were his wife that he loved unconditionally. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he realized how close he was to losing you and his kids, his family for good. He realized how selfish he had been for the past year. To say he felt absolutely awful was an understatement. 

The view of the familiar house came into view. He parked his car in the driveway and went straight up to the door. He moved his hand to knock, but quickly remembered that he still had the key. He twists the knob open and went inside, frantically looking for you. He found you sitting in the living room, hugging yourself into a ball. "Y/N" He called out. 

You lift your head and stood up to see a distressed Jaehyun. "Jae—"

Jaehyun interrupts you with a bone crushing hug. "I'm sorry," He mutters, "I'm so sorry for everything, love." 

You felt tears hit the top of your head and you inhaled his calming scent that was mixed with alcohol. "Did you drive drunk?" You ask, worry filling your voice. "How many times do I have to remind you to never do that Jae! You could've have died!"

He hugged you tighter, amazed at how you still cared for him no matter what. "That could never compare to losing my family. God, I'm so sorry for the way I treated you guys." He sobbed. "I'm so sorry for not being here, for not being the husband and father I promised you I would be." 

Your own eyes started to fill with tears at his apology. "You're here now, so it's okay." You whimper. 

"You know damn well it's not. Fuck, I can't believe I put you through all that. I'm so sorry honey." His soothing voice made you cried harder, letting out all the sadness that you kept inside. "I promise I'll be better. I promise I'll be here for you guys more. Just please, don't leave me, I can't bear to lose you."

"I could never leave you, love."

Jaehyun pulled away and cupped your face. He wiped the remaining tears away with his thumb and gave you a long, passionate kiss. "I love you so much, never forget that." He says, kissing you once again. 

"I love you too Jae, so much." He kissed you once more before pulling you into another hug. You two stayed like that for a while, feeling peace and comfort once again. 

"Daddy's home!!" The sound of your little girl rung through the living room. 

Jaehyun pulled away and bent down, opening his arms to the little girl running towards him. He peppered her face in kisses as she giggles. "What is my little angel doing up this late?" He smiles, carrying her in his arms. "Let’s get you back to bed sweetheart."

You watched from behind as he walked away with your daughter to her bedroom. You smiled at the sight. He's finally back home. 

#nct #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 angst #nct u #nct u scenarios #nct u angst #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #nct jaehyun #nct u jaehyun #nct 127 jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #angst #kinqjaehyxn

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (ii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt 1: x

Word Count: 1,874

Warnings: Swearing, but that’s it.

June - three days earlier

"We need to have any photos before the start of the run, so you have until next week to finish them. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Miss Gerhard."

"Oh, please, call me Abby. Dannie did say you were too polite for your own good. I don't bite, you know."

Therese blushed and glanced down, fiddling with the buttons on her camera as Abby led her backstage. The stage manager gave her a quick tour, and Therese scanned the premises, looking for the best angles to see the stage from the wings. The seats were empty and the lights were dim, focusing on the minimalistic set of a living room as the backdrop of the show.

"Anyways, it's an early preview so there'll probably be loads of kinks to work through as the show progresses tonight, and knowing our director, she'll probably pause the show a lot. You have free range of backstage and the seats to do as you please. The last photographer we worked with during rehearsal only showed up with blurry photos, which sent the PR team into a fit."

Therese was testing out her camera on stage, moving from the wings to the front seats as Abby gestured around. There were few workers around, cleaning and preparing for the preview of the theatre's production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

"So! All we're asking for is some good photos of our lovely actors, the stage, and whatever tickles your fancy. It's a small show and we need all the promotion we can get," Abby continued. Therese nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek as she glanced around the theatre, taking note of the lights and seats.

After agreeing on her deadline and payment, Abby was typing in her theatre contact in Therese's phone in case anything came up, and the young photographer was quick to hurry out of the theatre, bustling with excitement for her job later that day.

-

August

"Cheers to finally being done!" Dannie exclaimed dramatically, popping open the bottle of champagne.

"Oh, stop it Dannie! I've been crying since the curtain call," Gen scolded him, whacking his arm with her purse. The actress was dressed impeccably, a silk silver dress draped around her voluptuous frame like she came straight from the silver screen. Therese felt inadequate with her simple green turtleneck and black dress pants.

"Seriously though folks. Congratulations on an incredible run," Dannie said. "I almost cried this time around. Almost."

"You sound just like old bat Gerhard, y'know," Richard stepped in, who was sitting across from Therese with a wide, arrogant posture and his arm slung over Gen's shoulders possessively. "I swear that lady has a stick the size of a tree trunk up her fuckin ass."

"Maybe she wouldn't be so uptight if someone just hit his marks," Gen said coldly. Richard's gaze darkened considerably, but all Gen did was sip her champagne, flicking auburn hair over her shoulder in that celebrity-style manner that Therese couldn't help but admire.

From what Dannie had told her, Gen and Richard had been on and off during the show, creating tension left and right. A classic backstage romance filled with just as much drama as the show they were in. Apparently it helped the actual tension needed during the performance, though that was really the only thing it was good for.

Closing night had been a huge success either way. Critics had raved about their electric performances, tiny hiccups going unnoticed by the audience. Therese was overjoyed to see her images in papers, on posters and on the theatre's website, her name printed in the corners of the photos. Gen had asked Dannie to bring Therese to their small celebration at the restaurant they were sitting in. She desperately wanted more female companionship after being surrounded by the likes of Dannie and Richard.

"Speaking of the fucking devil," Dannie commented, nodding his head to the front door of the small restaurant. Therese turned and caught the sight of Ms. Gerhard -no, Abby, she corrected herself- wearing a stunning jumpsuit. On her arm was a tall, familiar blonde beauty and Therese sucked in a breath as time slowed down for her while watching the two walk in.

Director Ross was dressed in a timeless black suit, bowtie and high heels, hair swept up in a sleek hairdo. The way they walked together was like watching power and confidence personified in the two women.

Therese took a sip of her water to help the blush that she felt creeping up her neck.

"Ah, shit, no way, why they gotta go out for dinner the same place we are?" Richard grumbled. "I really don't want to talk to them."

"Nonsense! They deserve just as much praise as we do," Gen snapped. She stood up from her seat and waved at Abby, who caught sight of the actress easily. Gen always had a way of commanding the room whenever she felt like it.

Therese felt her excitement plummet as she noted that only Abby was approaching their table. The blonde stayed back in their booth, shrugging off her blazer, revealing a crisp white button down that made Therese squirm.

"Fancy seeing you lot here," Abby said, leaning on their table. "Celebrating, I assume?"

Dannie held up the champagne and grinned. "You got that right, boss."

Therese kept her eyes fixed on her glass, afraid that by looking at Abby her gaze would give her away. Were the two a couple? No, of course not. They  were coworkers. Nothing more, right?

"Well I saw Gen and just wanted to come over and congratulate you guys. It was a terrific run, despite everything," with a pointed look at Richard, "so you deserve a well-earned night out."

The other three all responded to Abby with some sort of thanks and Therese forced herself to look up at her and smile. Her eyes were met steadily by the brunette, and though the gaze was firm, Abby smiled nonetheless.

"Good to see you again, Therese. A wonderful job on those photos, by the way."

Therese smiled, beaming proudly. "It was an honour, Abby."

What the fuck? An honour? Am I even saying coherent things? Therese tried to keep herself nonchalant and cool, though a prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her flustered. She looked around and found a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her from the booth across the restaurant. Ross was looking at her intently, fingers grasping a martini glass. Therese felt her mouth go dry.

"I best get back, enjoy your night," Abby said and with that walked away. Therese lost contact with the blonde's eyes as Abby got back to their booth, their sudden and immediate chemistry forgotten.

Reminding herself to breathe, she tried tuning into Dannie arguing with Richard over some theatre related technicality, and she was filled with the sudden and desperate urge to abandon the three and run over to Abby and the director to hide away, just to get to know this Ross lady better.

"But hey, Terry, you're gonna come back to the theatre soon right? With your pictures and all that?" Richard's annoying voice brought her back to reality.

"Oh, I don't know," she shifted uncomfortably. "I've got a different job starting next week, so photography might be on hold for me for a while."

She chewed her lip, not wanting to say anything else. She had nothing against Dannie or Gen, but after her and Richard had broken up she tried to avoid talking to him as much as possible. In group settings, she was fine, and with their intimate circle of friends it was hard to avoid him so she didn't mind putting up with him.

But no, this job was hers. Not Richard's, Dannie's, Gen's. It was a step into a different direction for herself. And even though she told herself it was more for the pay, she couldn't help but be excited about the kids she was going to meet.

Dannie shifted the conversation to some lewd story from a theatre when he had been just starting out and Therese felt she could breathe again.

-

"Who is that girl sitting next to Dannie?"

"Therese? Oh, she was the photographer we had in just before the run, don't you remember?"

"Hmm right. I thought she seemed familiar," Carol sipped her martini slowly, eyes darting over to the petite brunette again.

"Stop it," Abby scolded.

"Stop what? I'm just getting a good look. It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"Whatever you're thinking of, Ross, you better cap it. I'll have you know she's a terrific photographer and I want to hire her again, though I won't be able to do that if my artistic director decides to... involve herself."

Carol smirked but backed down, leaning back against the seat and glancing out at the dark street, illuminated by hazy lights dancing in the fog that had spread over the city.

"You all set for September?" Abby asked. Carol's smile disappeared, her fantasies of the brunette forgotten as she looked at the year ahead.

"I have no idea, Abby. I haven't had Rindy for a full month since, well, since this whole mess started. Plus it's the beginning of the school year for her, you know how anxious that can make her."

"And you. You're always a mess when those things start up."

"Hush. At least the first week is cleared up for me, I can relax and take Rindy to school, pick her up, make her meals..."

Carol drifted off again in her non-working, stay at home mom dream that was finally happening in just over a week. Her and her daughter together without a show, without court, without fights... Bliss, she thought.

"You haven't forgotten our meeting with Jeanette though, right?" Abby asked cautiously, brows furrowing. Carol's head snapped up.

"What?"

"The meeting to finalize that you're stepping away from the theatre? C'mon, Carol."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Abs. I genuinely forgot." Carol whipped out her phone and hastily looked up the email Jeanette sent them. Wednesday. 3pm. At the exact time she was meant to pick up Rindy, she'd be on the other side of the city.

"Fuck," Carol groaned. "I guess I gotta get a sitter for Rindy then." God, she couldn't wait to be done work.

"Do they not have an after school program at Rindy's school? Just let her hang out there and we'll pick her up once we're done. It won't be more than an hour, Carol, I don't know if it's worth getting a sitter."

"No, you're right. I'll call them tomorrow and see what they can do," Carol sighed, putting her phone away.

Suddenly feeling the urge to check, she glanced over at the party from across the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographer again. She was disappointed to see that only Gen and Richard were left, who were at it with their usual banter at their table while eating. Dannie and Therese had disappeared.

"Carol," Abby warned.

"I know, I know. Sorry." Carol forced herself back to the conversation. "I'm hopeless, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, you nitwit."

A/N: Life is insane, y’all. This story stumped me for a bit, but here I am. Hope you’re all good, let me know your thoughts <3 

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol x therese #carol 2015 #cate blanchett #rooney mara #sarah paulson #wlw #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #merry writes

[maybedefinitely404]

When the Darkness Feels Like Home - Chapter 1

Warning: Future chapters of this fic include sexual assault and domestic abuse.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

World: Human AU

Content (ch1 only): panic attack, injury, implications of past self harm, Prinxiety fluffiness. 

Pairing: Romantic Prinxiety, background romantic logicality.

Word count: 1.5k

AO3

Roman woke up to the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen and jumped up before his mind had even processed it. A glance at the empty bed he had just leapt from gave him pause though, realizing it was probably just Virgil dropping a plate or something by accident. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and checked the phone on the bedside table. 6:47. Odd. Virgil should have been driving to work already, why would he still be in the kitchen? 

With a stretch to pop his aching back, Roman opened the bedroom door and walked downstairs, nose wrinkling at the change from carpet to cold hardwood under his bare feet. It kind of bothered him that he was up at the ass-crack of dawn on his day off, but at least he got to say goodbye to his boyfriend before he left. As he rounded the corner however, he slowed. Virgil was kneeling in the dining room holding the splintered remains of a large picture frame, struggling to pick the pieces up with shaking hands. Roman sighed quietly and dropped to his knees, gently stopping Virgil from grabbing the tiniest shards.

“Hey, Virge, look at me.” He whispered. The boy in front of him didn’t move, instead focusing on the thin glass pieces in his clenched fists. “Viiiirge,” Roman tried again in a singsong voice, letting one of Virgil’s hands go to gently lift the other’s chin so their eyes met. His lip quivered and his face was flushed pink due to his panicked, short breaths.

“Keys,” he whispered, and the glass cracked as he unknowingly squeezed his fists tighter. Roman barely needed a second to understand the situation; the shelf where the frame had sat previously was a mess, the drawers all pulled out and all their contents, mainly Roman’s old art supplies, were dumped onto the dining room table. Virgil must have bumped one of the open drawers and knocked the frame down looking for his car keys.

“Can’t find your keys? Did you check in your hoodie from last night?” 

Virgil nodded shakily.

“Bathroom?”

Nod.

“Kitchen counter?”

Nod.

“Couch cushions?”

Nod.

“Key hanger by the door?”

“Yes Roman, I checked everywhere! Why would I be looking in your goddamn pencil drawers if I hadn’t looked everywhere else first?!” He finally snapped, throat thick with tears. Roman took a deep breath, almost like an example, but said nothing. 

“Alright, I’m sorry love. You’re right. What time do you have to be at work?”

“Seven,” Virgil choked out, suddenly becoming aware of the glass chunks in his hands and the blood dripping down the sides of his palms.

“That’s in ten minutes-”

“No shit, Sherlock,”

“I was going to say, ‘that’s in ten minutes, let me give you a ride,’” Roman said gently, helping Virgil to his feet and walking him to the kitchen, a supporting arm around his waist. 

“No, you don’t have to,”

“I’m going to though. And then after, I’ll come pick you up and we can look for your keys together. When we find them we can watch a movie and just chill, okay?” Virgil’s eyes continued to flit back and forth; the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but Roman’s eyes.  

“I really don’t want to make you-”

“Hup bup-”

“It’s a twenty minute-”

“Hup bupbup-”

“Roman I don’t even know-”

“Hup bupbupbupbup!” Roman smiled and leaned down, silencing Virgil’s complaining with a kiss. “I’m driving you, and that’s final.”

Virgil pouted for a second before leaning onto the sink heavily, his shaking frame still unsteady. He turned the faucet on with his elbow. “Fine. Just promise never to “hup bup bup” me again. And put clothes on, you’re not driving me in just your pajama pants,” With that, he plunged his glass covered hands into the sink and gritted his teeth.

Roman hummed an affirmation, knowing Virgil wouldn’t let him baby his bloody hands, before grabbing his boyfriend’s phone from his pocket and walking upstairs to change. After tapping in the passcode (it was the same as his, 0315) he scrolled through the contacts until he found the one he needed. The phone rang as he shuffled out of his pajama pants and pulled on a pair of jeans.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, is this Virgil’s boss?”

“His supervisor. Who is this?”

“Name’s Roman, I’m his-” he faltered, not remembering if Virgil was ‘out’ to his coworkers or not, “-roommate. Virgil’s roommate.” He didn’t know if Virgil being gay was a secret to the people his boyfriend worked with, but he’d rather not ‘out’ him without his consent.

“Is everything alright?” The man finally put a bit of concern into his otherwise drab tone.

“Mostly, Virgil was just picking up some broken glass and cut his hands pretty badly. He’s just cleaning himself up, so he’s gonna be a few minutes late to work. He’s on his way, though.”

“Alright. As long as he gets here.” With that, the man on the other line hung up and Roman tossed the phone onto his bed, pulling on a red shirt with his free hand. Asshole, he thought, grabbing the phone again and taking the stairs down two at a time. The sun was just peaking into the kitchen window when he walked in on Virgil trying and failing to wrap his bloodied hands. 

“Need a hand?”

“Ha. Ha.” He handed the thin bandage to Roman anyways and let his boyfriend patch him up. He concentrated with smolder-like intensity, determined to wrap it properly.                                                                                           

“How’s the anxiety?”

“Settling but still there.”

“Okay. Your supervisor sounds like a swell guy,” 

“He’s a piece of work. He’s not all that bad though, at least he does his job,”

Roman remembered all the times Virgil had come home ranting about some of his useless coworkers who couldn’t seem to get anything right, and chuckled slightly. A minute and a couple of pained hisses from Virgil later, his palms were thinly wrapped and good to go.

“Are you sure you should be working like this?”

“They’ll stop bleeding in like ten minutes, I just needed a way to keep the blood from getting on my work clothes. They weren’t deep, and they’ll be totally good in a couple days. Don’t worry,”

“Ten minutes? That’s oddly specific,” Roman laughed teasingly before meeting Virgil’s saddened smile, remembering with a sigh how Virgil knew the time cuts took to heal. “Right… sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” Virgil said, taking his turn to give Roman a gentle peck on the cheek, “Can we go?”

“Mmhm,” Roman grabbed his keys from the hook in the entryway and locked the door behind him, taking Virgil’s hand in his delicately as they made their way to his car. It was a used white Civic, nothing fancy, but Roman called it his Noble Steed any chance he got. He opened the passenger door for his boyfriend like the sappy romantic he was. Virgil laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, still trying to get the heavy knot in his stomach to dissipate. He could feel his hands begin to shake again as his phone alarm went off, signalling on a normal day that it was time to finish sulking in his car in the hotel parking lot and clock in. Only now, Roman was just backing out of the driveway. 

Roman seemed to notice the mood shift in his passenger and reached over to take his boyfriend’s bandaged hand again, rubbing his thumb over the knuckle gently. 

“It’s okay, Stormcloud. I talked to your supervisor, remember? He’s not mad that you’re late.”

The nickname seeped through Virgil like a wave of ice water over his flushed skin, making a smile pull at the edges of his lips. Still, it wasn’t doing much to soothe the nausea in his gut. The half an hour drive to work was quiet, broken only by the gentle radio and Roman humming along to the songs. By the time they got to the hotel that Virgil worked at as a breakfast attendant, Virgil felt considerably calmer. They parked near the door and Virgil groaned.

“I don’t wanna go to work,”

Roman entangled his fingers in Virgil’s hair and tugged him closer, pressing their lips together. He pulled away quickly and scratched the back of his boyfriend’s scalp lightly, making him blush. 

“I’ll see you later. Done at noon, right?”

“Mmhm,”

“I’ll be here. Love you,”

“Love you too,”

“Love you more,”

“Love you most,” Virgil slammed the door before Roman could get a word in, and he watched with a goofy smile on his face as the love of his life straightened his black button up and pushed his purple bangs out of his face. The slow sliding doors opened for him and he gave Roman a final wave before disappearing into the building.

The rest of this fic is on AO3 - Link here

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #prinxiety #sanderssidesau

[lightsupinthenorth]

Read me like an open book part 2/2

Thanks a lot to the people who liked/reblogged the first part ;) I hope you’ll enjoy the second part as well :) 

*

Part 1

Read on AO3

“Are you a drug dealer?” Steve asked him out of the blue, one day, as they were eating dinner.

 Billy nearly choked on his lasagna and had to down half his glass of water to recover from it.

 “Of course not! Where the fuck did that come from?” He asked, once he was done coughing.

 Robin was laughing freely, either at Billy or at Steve (or at both).

“Well, I don’t know… The other day you told me you were working, and I went to the garage because I had some trouble with my car, but you weren’t there. And you keep going to Indianapolis, and you always come back with these big ass envelopes. And you keep buying us nice stuff… and okay, you always have an explanation for how you got the extra cash, but it’s… it’s weird, is all.” Steve summarized.

Okay, so Steve might have been more observant than most people gave him credit for. Thank God he hadn’t asked for him at the garage. Billy had asked Charlie, one of his old coworkers, to cover for him if Steve ever came by, but what if Charlie had not been there?

 Robin was now staring at Billy, her eyes shining with mirth. It was so not funny! Billy was in deep shit.

 “And the only explanation you can come up with is me being a drug dealer?” Billy asked to delay the answers he would have to give (and which he had yet to invent).

 “Well… yes.” Steve admitted, with a frown.

 Maybe Billy would have laughed too, if he hadn’t been in such a precarious position.

 “Uh… I… Yeah, it’s just that the rich client from Indianapolis keeps asking me to come check his cars… that’s probably where I was when you went to the garage. And he always puts the money in envelopes. The guy’s weird, what can I say? He pays really well, hence the nice stuff I buy, so it’s not like I’m going to complain.” Billy explained, before stuffing his face with lasagna, just so the chewing would give him some time to think if Steve called him out on his bullshit.

 Robin rolled her eyes but kept mercifully silent.

 “Oh… alright. Sorry. That was dumb.” Steve said, pushing his food around his plate with his fork.

 “That’s fine... I can see how I might have looked suspicious. I’m not a fucking drug dealer, though.” Billy grumbled once his mouth was empty.

 “It did seem a bit far-fetched.”

 If only Steve knew what Billy was really doing, the drug-dealing theory would probably not appear far-fetched anymore. Billy felt more and more guilty about lying to Steve, but he couldn’t tell him the truth. Steve would instantly know Billy was in love with him, if he did, and it would ruin everything. So, Billy kept ignoring the dilemma, hoping it would go away on its own. No such luck, so far.

 *

 A few days later, Billy came home with a book he thought Steve would like. He found him on the couch, drawing on a sketchpad Billy had never seen. Before he could catch a glimpse of the drawing Steve had been working on, Steve noticed him and snapped the sketchpad shut so hard that the noise echoed in the room.

 “Hey, Billy, how are you doing?” Steve asked in a high-pitched voice.

 Billy narrowed his eyes but chose not to question Steve on his suspicious behavior. He didn’t really have a right to, considering how he had been behaving himself.

 “Good. I brought you a book, we can read a bit if you’re done with whatever you were doing.”

 “Oh… yeah. That’d be cool. I… I am totally done with… with whatever I was doing.” Steve stammered.

 “Cool.”

 “Come here.” Steve said, patting his own lap.

 Billy got the message and laid on the couch with his head on Steve’s lap. Steve started playing with his hair before he even started reading. His gentle touches made it hard for Billy to focus on the words, and he ended up tripping over them.

 Steve didn’t stop touching him, nor did he react in any way to Billy’s stumbling. It made Billy suspicious, so he started saying something that had nothing to do with the book, using the same tone he’d use if he were still reading. Steve didn’t catch on.

 “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Billy asked in a conversational tone, so Steve would actually register he was being addressed.

 He gave Billy his famous ‘deer caught in the headlight’ look.

 “I… uh… I… wasn’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t get my mind off Long live the King. I don’t think I can focus on another novel right now.”

 Billy sighed. He didn’t understand why Steve had loved the book so much. “It’s fine. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

 Steve shrugged. “I probably won’t be able to focus much on that either but knock yourself out.”

 Billy would have gladly stayed there in peaceful silence while Steve was caressing his hair, but it would probably look dubious, so he reached out for the tv remote and put something at random before going back to his initial position.

 Billy felt so safe and relaxed that he started dozing off. He tried to resist, so he could enjoy Steve’s hands on him for as long as he could, but he ended up falling asleep anyway, betrayed by his own body.

 *

 That night, Billy woke up from a wet dream and found the star of the said wet dream in the living-room. What was Steve was doing there at this late (or early, depending on how you were looking at it) hour? It had yet to be determined. Billy approached slowly, his bare feet not making a sound on the carpeted floor.

 When he was a few meters behind the couch Steve was sitting on, Billy saw that Steve was finishing up a drawing… of a woman… a woman who looked like Billy’s mother. He gasped, before he could even think about staying discreet.

 Steve jumped and whipped his head in Billy’s direction.

 Billy instantly felt bad. Steve was often jittery, especially if he hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep (which he obviously hadn’t), and Billy should have known better than to sneak up on him.

 “I’m sorry for startling you, Pretty boy.”

 “Uh… it’s fine… I guess it’s too late to hide this from you.” He said, gesturing to the drawing before he got up from the couch to face Billy.

 “’m afraid so.” Billy replied. “Is that…?”

 “Your mom? Yes…” Steve’s voice was slightly shaky.

 “But how?” Billy had no picture of his mother, and Steve had obviously never met her.

 “I… Please don’t be mad… You know how you told me about almost forgetting how your mother looked like before Eleven showed her to you when she got into your mind at Starcourt?”

 Billy nodded. He wanted to tell Steve he could probably never be mad at him, but he didn’t want to interrupt him for fear Steve would let his nerves get the better of him if he did.

 “Well… I asked Eleven to show her to me, too. I… I wanted to do something nice for you, because you keep doing nice things for me… and I thought it was a good idea… after you told me you had nothing to remember your mom by… But then I got nervous… I thought that maybe you’d find it creepy that I saw one of your memories… so I didn’t actually know how to go about telling you.” Steve was speaking faster and faster until he finally stopped, leaving Billy’s head spinning.

 Steve had asked Eleven to go into his mind just so he could draw Billy’s mother…

 “Please, Billy, say something.” Steve sounded properly panicked.

 Billy wanted to reassure him, but he still couldn’t find his voice, so he lunged himself at Steve.

 “Oh…” Steve’s air was punched out of him. “Hey there, big guy.” He hugged Billy back with one arm, still holding the drawing in his right hand.

 “Thank you” Billy whispered, as a few tears made their way down his cheeks.

 “It was my pleasure.” Steve replied.

 Billy separated from Steve and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand before he reached for the drawing.

 “So that’s what you hid from me when I caught you drawing earlier?” That was more of a rhetorical question, really.

 “Oh… uh. Yeah. Yup. Totally.” Steve answered.

 He was looking at everything in the room but Billy, who was too engrossed in the drawing to question Steve’s peculiar attitude.  

 The next morning, Billy bought a frame for the portrait and placed it on his nightstand.

 *

 When Billy went to Indianapolis a few days later, he tried very hard to avoid his agent. He knew he should have asked for his mail to be forwarded to him in Hawkins instead of leaving it at the agency, but he had wanted to avoid Steve stumbling upon anything that would clue him to what was going on. Now Billy was reduced to lurking down the corridors with his precious envelope in hand, like a thief. He was blessedly out the door without having crossed paths with anyone he knew when he bumped into his agent a few meters down the street. Fuck his life.

 Billy’s agent had been pestering him about agreeing to a book signing for weeks now. Billy liked her well enough, but she could really be a pain in the ass when she tried hard enough. He had always denied her request, not wanting to show his face to his readers, since Robin was the only person from his life who knew he had published a book. Also, everyone thought he was a woman because of the penname he had chosen. He had an inkling that some people wouldn’t react well to knowing a book written in the first person, in which the narrator was in love with a man, had in fact been written by a male novelist. The narrator was not gendered, which Billy had done on purpose. He was almost certain most readers had imagined a girl, but if they discovered the author was a man, they might question it. Billy didn’t really care about that, or at least he didn’t care nearly as much as he did about Steve potentially finding out Billy had written Long live the King, but it was a reason he had used with his agent to justify his many rebuttals.  

 “Trying to run away from me, are you?”

 “Absolutely not.” Billy replied, with more confidence than he truly had.

 “Right. So, what about that book signing?” She asked for the umpteenth time.

 She was like a broken record.

 “Like the last ten times you asked: no.”

 Billy’s tone was firm, but it didn’t deter her. Oh no.

 “But come on, your readers would be so happy to meet you. Don’t you think it’d be nice?”

 Billy had received and kept receiving heartfelt letters from some of his readers, which made him realize his book had touched a lot of people. Of course, meeting these people would be nice, but it did not change his stance on the signing. It could not.

 “Plus, you don’t have to really show yourself. Wear a cap and sunglasses, a wig, come in full drag for all I care. It doesn’t matter as long as you talk to the readers.”

 “Wouldn’t that be… you know… weird?”

 Who came disguised to their own event?

 “Sure, but you’re an author Billy, you’re entitled to being at least a bit weird.” She assured him.

 Maybe she was right…

 “Okay…” He finally agreed.

 “Okay, you’ll do the signing?” She asked for confirmation.

 “Yes, I’ll do it.”  

 Billy regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but there was nothing he could do about it now. They were out, and his agent would never let him take them back. At least she wouldn’t pester him about it anymore. He wouldn’t relax too much, though. He knew her, by now. She’d find something else to annoy him with sooner or later.

 He waited until he was back home to open the envelope containing the letters from his readers. He was eager to read them, as he always was. And he could really use some cheering up these days, what with his longing for Steve and the fact he kept lying to him and could barely deal with the guilt. That was why Billy had gone to Indianapolis despite wanting to avoid his agent. He had really wanted, almost needed, the letters.

 He read them sitting on his bed, and when he found a drawing of the King that looked exactly like himself, Billy cursed loudly, in shock.

 A knock came on his bedroom door a few seconds later.

 “Billy?”

 “Uh… yeah?”

 Panicking, he hid the pile of letters under his bed sheet and didn’t have time to find something inconspicuous to do before Steve opened his door.

 “You sounded… bothered, just now. Are you okay?”

 “Oh, yeah. Never better.”

 Never better? Why in the world had he said that? Had his brain gone to mush?

 “Okay… that’s… good. What are you doing?”

 “Uh… Nothing. Just chilling.”

 This was a train wreck.

 “Mmh… if you say so.” Steve narrowed his eyes. “See you later, then. When you’re done… chilling.”

 “Right, see you, Pretty boy.” Billy forced a smile.

 When Steve was gone, Billy unraveled the pile of letters again and took the drawing back in hand. He turned the sheet of paper and found a written paragraph on the back.

 “I wanted to thank you for writing Long live the King. I loved it a lot, and I really related to your narrator. I have feelings for someone… someone quite like the King in your story. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have a happy ending like your narrator did, but at least your novel showed me how it could feel if I did. I’m not very good with words (sorry about the handwriting too), so I made a drawing to better express how I feel about your amazing work.

 Thank you again,

 S. H.”

 Steve had drawn Billy as the King, crown included, and had sent it to the author of Long live the King without knowing it was Billy. He felt delighted, freaked out and guilty all at once. He needed a minute, or an hour. Oh Lord, this was such a mess. He should have listened to Robin and told Steve the truth a long time ago.

 And he couldn’t believe Steve was seeing him that way. He imagined Billy as the King! How was that possible? Steve was the King all along in Billy’s mind. Billy was nothing like that. He wasn’t brave and kind like Steve, and by extension the King in his novel, was.

 Billy stared at the drawing, in a daze. He appeared so beautiful on the paper…

 Steve had some better version of him that lived in his mind, and he thought this version was the real Billy. But Billy was a coward. He was lying to Steve because he was too weak to tell the truth, to face Steve, too afraid he would lose him.

 Instead of putting the drawing back in the pile of letters he had received, Billy carefully folded it and put in the pocket of his hoodie to carry it around with him, in a streak of masochism or a bout of sentimentalism (or a mix of both).

 That evening, when Steve had left the living-room for a bathroom break, Robin whispered:

 “You went to Indianapolis today, right?”

 “Yeah…”

 “You got the drawing?”

 “You knew?!” Billy whispered-yelled.

 “Of course, I was the one to suggest he sent it when I saw it.”

 “Right. I should have known.” Billy rolled his eyes.

 “Sure, thank me later, whatever. My question is, why aren’t you two making out like crazy right now? You’re head over heels for Steve, and now you know that he’s head over heels for you too. So, why haven’t you done anything about it?” Robin asked with a frown.

 “I just… you’ve seen the drawing, Robin. Steve sees me as far better than I actually am… and if I tell him I wrote Long live the King and lied to him all this time, he’ll realize his mistake, and I will lose him.”

 “Oh, Billy.” Robin gave him a pitying look. “I don’t know how to make you see how wrong you are.”

 Billy shushed her, as Steve came back into the room. Robin sighed but didn’t say anything else and Billy relaxed a little.

 He would keep on ignoring the problem and lying to Steve despite the guilt crushing him. At least, Steve was still his friend. As long as he had him by his side, Billy could deal with the rest.

 *

 About a month later, on Friday night, Steve insisted that Robin and Billy go with him to a stupid party.

 “Come on, I promised Dustin we’d go with him and the others!” Steve pleaded.

 “But why in the world did you do that, Pretty boy?” Billy asked, not looking away from the tv screen, even though he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening on it.

 He had a few ideas on how to spend his Friday night, and going to a high school party was not one of them. Plus, he had to go to his book signing tomorrow. He couldn’t use that as an excuse to decline, though, for obvious reasons.

 “He wants to impress the new girl, the one hosting the party, so he said he’d bring his cool older friends. I couldn’t say no!” Steve explained.

 “Pff, the kid is delusional.” Robin replied, “I’m obviously the only cool person out of the three of us.”

 “You used to be a band geek.” Steve pointed out.

 “Yet, I’m still cooler than you, dingus, I wonder what that says about you.”

 Billy rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t even argue about that.

 “Whatever you say. Does that mean you’ll come? Apparently, the girl has an older sister who’ll also be at the party with a bunch of her own friends, so it won’t even be that weird if we go. It might be fun.”

 “Sure.” Robin shrugged, flipping the pages of a magazine.

 “Billy?” Steve asked, turning to him with a hopeful smile. “If you come, you can keep an eye on Max.”

 Steve had a point. But Billy would have agreed anyway, just because Steve had been the one asking.  

 “Okay, okay. But you’ll owe me.”

 “Sure, whatever you want.” Steve beamed. And really, he shouldn’t go around saying things like that.

 Billy had to close his eyes for a second.

 At the party, Billy mostly kept to the couch, sipping on a cup of punch. He’d have made conversation with Robin, who was also on the couch, but she was having a conversation of her own with one of the older sisters’ cute friends. Billy didn’t want to cockblock her, or so to speak, so he stayed in his corner like a loser. Parties weren’t really his scene anymore. It wasn’t as fun now that he barely drank.

 Steve had been dragged God knew where by Dustin, and Billy felt lonely. He regretted whishing Steve would be back when he did actually come back, though. Indeed, Steve only came to Billy to ask him to play truth or dare so he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

 “Absolutely not, Steve. What are we? Children?”

 “Come on, please… I’ll owe you a second favor. Pretty please.” Steve joined his hands together and gave Billy his infamous puppy dog eyes. This was so not fair.

 “Ugh, I hate you.” Billy lied.

 “Thank you!!”

 Billy wished he could be impervious to Steve’s pleading, as Robin was. Steve hadn’t even tried to drag her into the dumb game, already knowing that was a lost battle. She was so lucky.

 Billy followed Steve but didn’t pretend he was happy about it.

 “Wow, Billy, nice of you to grace us with your sunny disposition.” Max said as Billy sat down next to Steve with a scowl on his face.

 “Shut up, shitbird. And no funny business.” He warned.

 “What are you insinuating?” Max gasped, faking offense like the drama-queen she was. “I would never!”

 “Shut up you guys, let’s start the game.” Henderson said. And okay, rude much? He would have never disrespected Billy that way when he was still afraid of him. At least not to his face. Good old times.

 There had already been about ten teenagers sitting in the circle before Billy and Steve had joined. The nerd squad minus Will and Mike was here, as well as the hostess of the party and a few other people Billy didn’t recognize and didn’t care to. He wanted to ask Steve why they were the only grown-ups (or well, semi grown-ups at least) in the circle, but he was pretty sure he knew the reason already. Henderson had most certainly roped Steve into playing as some kind of wingman duty or some shit (Billy would have bet his life on it). So, Steve was here because he couldn’t say no to the nerds (especially Henderson), and Billy was here because he couldn’t say no to Steve, which was rather unfortunate in situations like this one.

 The bottle mercifully didn’t fall on Billy for the first six spins. When it did, he picked dare and was asked to do a handstand by El, bless her pure soul. The others grumbled slightly, finding the dare boring, but no one protested too hard. She was very cute but could also be quite scary, and most people knew not to cross her. Thankfully, Billy’s shirt was tucked in so it didn’t slide down and reveal his scars. He was comfortable enough to display them around Steve and Robin, but it stopped there.

 Billy thought he would be safe for a while after that. However, his evil sister wouldn’t have it that way. As Sinclair spun and the bottle fell on Steve, who picked dare, Max whispered something in her boyfriend’s ear. Sinclair tried to protest, but Max glared at him and his protests instantly died. He then sheepishly dared Steve to kiss Billy. He had said “no funny business”. What was wrong with Max?

 Steve, blushing beet red, turned to Billy.

 “Is it… is this okay?”

 Billy should say no, because kissing Steve would just make everything messier, which was saying something, and also because he didn’t imagine his first kiss with Steve happening in front of a group of teenagers, among which was his very own sister. Then again, he had thought his first kiss with Steve would stay in his imagination, so maybe it wasn’t so bad.

 Who was he kidding? There was no way he was saying no, despite his better judgement. He wanted Steve too much for that.

 “Sure.” He therefore said, with a nonchalance he didn’t possess.

 Steve put both his hands in Billy’s hair and gently slotted their lips. He could have just pecked Billy’s lips awkwardly and called it a day, but no. Steve had to try to kill him with softness. Billy had to use all his restraint and then some so he wouldn’t deepen the kiss and ravish Steve’s mouth, lest he scar their audience for life. When Steve broke the kiss and let go of Billy’s head, they were both breathing a tad raggedly. They stared at each other, and Billy nearly lost himself in Steve’s big dark eyes, but he was brought back to earth by Henderson clearing his throat.

 Billy really wanted to shoot him a threatening look, but Max did it for him. It made Billy a little bit less mad at her.

 The game ended soon after that. Thank God. And Billy and Steve decided to go home. They looked for Robin. When they found her, she didn’t seem too keen on leaving.

 “You can stay the night. I’m staying too. There’s plenty of room.” The girl she’d been talking with for hours said.

 “That sounds great! You’ll be fine to go home on your own, boys?”

 Robin was only teasing, but Billy considered answering no for a second. Being alone with Steve right now would be pure torture. Billy would combust with longing.

 “Of course, see you tomorrow. Have fun.” Steve said.

 “Thanks.”

 *

 Steve was their designated driver for the night, which was stupid because Billy had barely drunk anything, and now he didn’t have anything to do with his hands and the awkwardness was killing him. They hadn’t even argued over what station to put on the radio. The radio was turned off, for God’s sake. They were not in their right mind.

 Billy ended up turning the radio on about halfway through the drive, just to have something to do. Abba was on, and Billy didn’t even switch stations. What was happening to him?

 They stayed silent until they reached the flat, where they bid each other good night before retreating to their respective rooms.

 Billy sighed with relief (and maybe with disappointment, too, if he was entirely honest). However, he shouldn’t have believed he was already out of the woods: the door of his room flew open a few seconds later, revealing Steve (of course, who else could it have been?).

 Billy opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he couldn’t get a word out before Steve’s lips were on his once again.

 This time, Billy didn’t even think about resisting. He didn’t think, period. His brain was broken. Steve had broken it. His mouth still worked fine, though, and Billy kissed back eagerly.  

 They didn’t even take the time to get undressed before they tumbled onto Billy’s bed, momentarily breaking the kiss. Billy grinded his hips against Steve’s, making him moan and arch his back. Steve’s hands were back in his hair, lightly tugging on it. Steve reversed their position so he was on top and joined their lips again. He pulled harder on Billy’s hair, pulling a whine out of him in the process, and proceeded to devour his mouth.

 Fuck, he really could kiss.

 Billy didn’t last long the first time around (not that he had hoped he would). In fact, he came in his pants from the friction on his clothed hard-on, as if he were still a teenager. The thing was, Billy didn’t have much experience when it came to sex, contrary to what most people thought. He had given and received the odd hand job or blow job, but between Neil walking in on Billy and his first (and only) boyfriend, the move to Hawkins, the whole possession thing, the long recovery and falling in love with Steve, he hadn’t had many occasions to have sex. And he had wanted Steve for so long that something like this was bound to happen. It wasn’t Billy’s proudest moment, nonetheless, but he powered through the embarrassment and was quick to bring Steve to orgasm too, which reassured him a little.  

 Once the rush of desperation had passed, they slowed down considerably. Then, they were all soft touches, gentle hands and deep kisses. They fell asleep hours later, before dawn, sweaty and sated.

 Billy had never felt so right. However, such blissful peace could not last.

 *

When he woke up the following morning, Billy went through an emotional rollercoaster. First, he noticed that Steve wasn’t in bed with him anymore. Then, he found a post-it not on which Steve informed him he had left to get them breakfast. Billy smiled and instantly relaxed. It was only the first loop of the rollercoaster, though.

 Indeed, when Billy looked for his clothes to get dressed, he couldn’t find his favorite hoodie. Steve must have borrowed it. After all, he loved nicking clothes from Billy.

 Billy really didn’t mind. Seeing Steve in his clothes always warmed his heart.

 But then, Billy remembered he had been wearing the said hoodie when he had received Steve’s drawing, and he also remembered putting the folded drawing in the front pocket. Oh Lord, no. He frantically searched for the pile of letters from the other day in his nightstand drawer, and Steve’s drawing was indeed not in the pile.

 Billy all but ran out of his room. Maybe, if he found Steve quickly enough, he could prevent him from noticing the piece of paper.

 He immediately knew it was too late when he stumbled in the living room. Steve was in one of the chairs, sitting ramrod straight with his arms crossed over his chest. On the coffee table in front of him, there were two paper cups, a bag of pastries from their favorite bakery, and, more importantly, the drawing.

 Billy’s heartbeat went haywire. How was he going to make things right, now? He had been too much of a coward to talk to Steve, and now Steve had found out without him. It was a catastrophe.

 Steve’s face showed no emotion, but his eyes were full of hurt.

 “Steve…” Billy started before being immediately interrupted.

 “How could you Billy? You knew how I felt all this time and you didn’t say anything. Don’t you care about me at all? Was last night just bullshit to you? And why the fuck did you sleep with me? Was it a pity fuck? Or did you think that I’d be an easy lay because I’m in love with you? What the fuck? I can’t believe you’d do something like that.”

 Steve was asking him question after question but didn’t leave him an occasion to answer any of them. His voice was getting louder and louder, making Billy flinch. He wanted to cut in and explain himself, but his own voice failed him.

 At the world bullshit, Billy winced, but still kept silent. When Steve said he was in love with him, Billy’s heart shattered. He had yearned to hear those words for years, but not like that. Never like that. He felt like crying, but for once the tears would not come.  

 Steve had gone from thinking too much of Billy to thinking too little. Billy had been hiding the truth from Steve, yes, but he would have never slept with him knowing how he felt if he didn’t love him too. Steve should know that. Billy would never be that cruel, and even less to him. How could Steve think even for a second that last night had only been about sex to Billy? Billy knew he lacked confidence ever since Nancy had broken his heart in high school, but surely he had to have felt the love their night had been filled with.  

 Steve, faced with Billy’s silence, got up to leave. Billy held him by the wrist and finally found his voice.

 “Please, Steve, let me explain… I…”

 “Save it.” Steve snapped, shaking Billy off before walking out the door and slamming it shut.

 Billy had to sit on the floor, as his legs were on the verge of giving out. He had ruined everything.

 He stared into nothing, his head filled with regrets and fears concerning what was to come. Had he lost Steve forever. Oh God. He had, hadn’t he?

 The tears he needed to shed didn’t start flowing until Robin came home. She found him on the floor, sitting with his knees to his chest. As soon as she asked him if he was okay with concern etched upon her face, Billy started crying hard.

 “Oh Billy, what is it? Where’s Steve?”

 Billy tried to reply but he couldn’t speak through his sobs.

 “Nothing happened to him, has it?” Robin asked.

 “He… he… he hates me.” Billy managed to say in between heaving breaths.

 “Billy, come on, he could never hate you.”

 “He… he knows… I had the drawing...”

 “So, he’s mad… but he doesn’t hate you. He’ll come around.”

 Billy drowned in another wave of tears. Robin wouldn’t think that if she knew Steve and he had made love last night. Steve would never forgive him.

 “I… I can go talk to him, if you want. Would that help?”

 Billy nodded hesitantly. Maybe it would just make Robin hate him too, but she was probably his last chance to get Steve to hear him out, so he should give it a try.

 “Are you going to be okay to go to Indianapolis on your own?”

 Billy nodded again, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He wasn’t in a fit state to go to a book signing (in fact, he wasn’t in a fit state to do anything), but at least having something to do might take his mind off of his monumental fuck-up. He didn’t have much of a choice, anyway.

 *

 The book signing went as well as could be expected. Some people looked surprised to see a man, and some looked quite uncomfortable, but no one said anything outwardly rude to him, probably because Billy was a scary motherfucker without even having to try. He was intense, what could he do?

 He tried to focus on the people he got to meet, and on what they were saying, but his mind couldn’t help but drift to Steve every couple of minutes. It was exhausting.

 The event ended hours after it had been supposed to, which wasn’t surprising. It was always hard to estimate how long this kind of things lasted, considering the number of people participating could not be known beforehand. And Billy couldn’t possibly quit before everyone in the line had seen him. Some people had been waiting for several hours. He was not that much of a bastard.

 As Billy was finally getting ready to leave, someone barged into the bookstore. When he heard the bell above the door jingle, Billy looked up and froze. It was Steve.

 Had he come all this way to tell Billy he never wanted to see him again and that he should find another place to live? Wouldn’t he have waited for Billy to get back to the flat to let him know?

 As Steve got closer, Billy noticed he was carrying a book. Was it… his book?

 He stopped right in front of the table Billy was sitting at and placed the book on it.

 “Hey”

 “Hey…” Billy greeted him back tentatively.

 Steve looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck.

 “I… Could you sign it for me, please?”

 “Really?” Billy asked.

 He tried not to let his heart fill with hope, in case it was some kind of sick prank, but there was nothing to be done. The hope latched on too quickly to be stopped.

 Steve nodded.

 “I… I’m sorry for getting so mad this morning… Robin knocked some sense into me, and I realize I shouldn’t have yelled at you. And I should have listened to you… No matter how hurt I felt.”

 Steve was apologizing? To Billy? That didn’t sound right.

 “I… I should be the one apologizing, Steve. I should have told you the truth as soon as I got the drawing… I should have told you before that even… I just…”

 “It’s okay… you don’t have to explain now. We can talk things through once we’re back home… we have time… Just, just tell me one thing.”

 “Anything you want, Steve.” Billy assured him.

 “Well… at first, I didn’t even think about what you having my drawing meant… beside the fact that you know how I feel now… Then it finally registered that it meant you were the author of Long live the King… and Robin suggested that the book made it clear that you… that you had romantic feelings, for me. Was she… maybe… possibly… right? Is it true?” Steve asked, his voice so low that Billy had to strain to hear him.

 Billy signed the book and handed it back to Steve before saying anything.

 Steve opened the book to read what Billy had just written: “For my king, my light, my love, my everything”.

 “Yes, it is. It is true. I love you, Steve.” Billy finally replied.

 Steve beamed, making Billy’s heart flip.

 “I love you too.”

 Billy could fully rejoice in hearing these words, this time around.  

 He still had some explaining to do. But he hadn’t lost Steve. Steve still loved him. And he now knew Billy loved him too. The rest could wait.

 “Let’s go home, Pretty boy.”

*

Thanks for reading :) 

#Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #fanfiction #fluff #a bit of angst #first kiss #first time (non explicit) #Read me like an open book part 2

[mood-swings-for-days]

Thunderstorm Ι Ch. 3 Ι JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Werewolf!au

Word count: 6, 829

Warnings: Characters in a less than healthy state of mind, violence, slight body horror, an addicted to cigarettes Jungkook (don’t do drugs, kids!)

Summary: An accidental encounter triggers a series of events that shatter your monotonous life. A new relationship starts to develop, following the stages of a thunderstorm.

Note: Written under the influence of beautiful music

1   2   3   4

Chapter 3: Drizzle

      Propping the old umbrella on your shoulder, you struggled to lock the driver side door of your truck. Raindrops were falling heavily on the hood of your car and covering your face in a fine misting of rainwater. You were scowling in frustration, straining the key in futile efforts to make it fulfil its purpose. Water pooled around your feet and seeped into your sneakers, egging your irritation even further. With the fading sunlight, cueing you were already late for your shift, you couldn’t help but think that this was the worst possible time for the old lock to start acting up. Abruptly, you turned the key in the opposite direction and back again, repeating the movement several times before the lock finally reacted. With additional effort to turn the thing all the way, you were finally rewarded with a resounding click. A relieved sigh tore itself from your lungs as your hand flopped down to hang beside you. With throbbing fingers, although victorious, you headed up the street toward the store.

      The bell above the door and your wet, squelching shoes notified of your arrival before you could do that yourself. Your coworker was leaning against the counter, already changed out of his work uniform.

        “I’m late, I’m sorry!” You decided to forego a proper greeting in favor of trying to explain yourself. “Yoongi, my car was acting up and I-”

      “Spare me.” The hostile tone he cut you off with immediately struck you as odd. He had opted to work a 12 hour shift today and was going to be absent for the next week so you could only assume he was tired and cranky and wanting to leave already. That being said, the look in his narrowed eyes went far beyond mild irritation from a tiring day. Yoongi looked mad; his eyes were quite literally burning your soul. You stood unmoving under his glare, blinking up at him owlishly and wondering what you did to piss him off to that extent. He couldn’t have gotten angry because you didn’t show up on time as he was notorious for coming to work late. With a quick glance toward his crossed arms, you noticed he was squeezing his fists so hard, his knuckles were turning white. You carefully swallowed the saliva, built up in your mouth and his eyes immediately snapped to your throat. The tiny movement seemed to finally set him off. He pushed off the counter and headed straight for you, staring you down. You tensed up and held your breath until he brushed past you. A cloud of his natural scent hit you in the face and, as if on autopilot, you mumbled:

        “Have a nice evening, Yoongi.”

        His reply came in the form of the store’s front door slamming behind you. The little bell shook for several moments after his departure and when the shop was finally silent again, that’s when you snapped out of your initial shock. Sheepishly, you walked behind the counter and signed your name into the evening protocol. The rest of your shift went by quietly and with minimal human interaction.

      On your way back home your thoughts flip-flopped between the botched lock on your car and Yoongi’s unusually hostile behavior earlier. No amount of pondering could help you figure out either one of the two problems. On the flip side, there was another question whirling around in your head for a while now and it wore the name of Jeon Jungkook. For over two weeks he was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t show up for lectures, you didn’t see him frequenting his usual spots and he never came around to your store ever since you two exchanged numbers. Lately you found yourself sitting in bed, looking at the piece of cardboard, carrying his name and wondering if it would be ok to call him.

       Your throbbing heart quickly became forgotten when an acute howl broke the silence of the night. Chills immediately made your stand on high alert and blood ran cold. In your peripheral you could see shadows moving at the edge of the woods. Ever since you rented a house near the forest, you started to develop this irrationally vast fear of wolves and other nocturnal animals, and sounds like this one freaked you out to no end. With a shrunken heart you gripped the steering wheel tighter and prayed that nothing would jump out on the road in front of you. You started shaking when you looked in your rear view mirror and saw reflective eyes keeping pace with the back of your car.

        “Oh-nononono. Please go away!” You whined pathetically

      In your mind you imagined some rabid creature jumping in the trunk of your old pickup and charging at you through the back window. You imagined sharp teeth and claws, broken glass and copious amounts of blood spilling everywhere. You suddenly remembered the pain of something tearing into your throat in your dreams and tears started pricking at the corners of your eyes.

      You were quickly approaching the intersection that lead to your house and this time you were sure as hell not going to take that thing straight to where you lived. Instead of continuing straight when you entered the intersection, you took an abrupt turn left, in the opposite direction of the woods. The street lights were more and closer together here and you quickly lost your pursuer as the light seemed to scare it off. Still, you drove a few blocks further until you parked your car under a street light to try and calm down. You released the steering wheel and curled in on yourself. The light rain was tapping against the windows of your car, but other than that there were no other sounds. The street lamp above you provided soothing yellow light, but in that moment you felt so very alone. You stayed like that for a minute until a voice you certainly wouldn’t mind hearing crept into your head and clenched around your heart. You shakily reached for your bag and pulled out your phone along with a small slip of cardboard that had been recently taped to the back of the device.

      23:01 said the screen. You wondered if it’d be ok to call. You punched in the numbers and your finger hovered over the green button. With a thumping heart and a lump in your throat you figured it was now or never. Once the first ring sounded, you put the phone on loudspeaker and stared intently, breathlessly anticipating the 0:00 to appear on screen. Across the street from you, Jungkook’s hand was hovering over his buzzing phone. The screen showed a number he had positively memorized by now and adrenaline was spiking high in his system. With a deep sigh and a clenched jaw, he picked the device up, pressed a button on the side and made the buzzing cease. Back in your car, you felt worse with every passing second you kept hearing the monotone dial tone. Finally, the zeroes you so desperately wanted to see flashed on screen.

      “Hey, Jungkook here. I probably can’t talk right now, but I’ll listen to your message, if you decide to leave one.” Came the generic message he had recorded who knows how long ago. For a moment you panicked, wanting to hang up as quick as possible, but the adult in you knew you needed to explain why you called so late in the first place.

      Beep. You coughed dryly “Hey, uh, it’s y/n. Sorry to bother you, but I accidentally dialed your number… That’s all. Good night.” You lied through your teeth and hurriedly hung up. Somehow, you felt completely humiliated once the silence surrounded you again. You threw your phone on the passenger seat and kicked your truck into high gear, heading straight home.

      Jungkook watched his phone until the screen faded to black, seconds later the “Missed call” notification appeared and under it there was another one, signaling he had voice mail. He heard your engine roar to life outside and waited until he could no longer hear it. At this point guilt and curiosity were eating him alive and he lunged for his phone.

      “Hey, uh, it’s y/n.” your voice sounded weak and shaky “Sorry to bother you, but I accidentally dialed your number…” a sniffle “That’s all. Good night.”

      Jungkook dropped the device next to him and laid back on his bed, covering his face. He felt like a jackass. His heart was throbbing heavily in his chest and every fiber of his being screamed at him to go out and run after you. Instead he lay motionless, allowing himself to get swarmed by remorse and frantic worry until he fell unconscious for the night.

      Your sleep wasn’t any more peaceful either. All night you kept tossing and turning, your clothes drenched in cold sweat and face contorted into a pained expression. Your dreams turning into full-blown nightmares as you ran through the woods, nearly naked and completely barefoot. The wind savagely tore into your exposed flesh, but the pain from the cold was nothing compared to the agonizing feeling you had in your legs. The souls of your feet were all sorts of cut up and bleeding profusely, every other step you took granted you with another nick or tear. Your bare calves and thighs were also cut up from the bushes and branches you kept running into in your frantic dash to escape whatever had given chase after you. Your muscles were aching, begging for mercy and making your knees rattle helplessly, but you couldn’t stop.  No matter what, you couldn’t stop running. Deep in your gut you knew that if you stopped, you would be no more. An ancient primal instinct to survive at all costs was pulling you forward, forcing your legs to move and lungs to breathe despite the burning pain. Behind you, heavy footsteps were quickly gaining on you. Whatever was chasing after you, sounded as if it were walking on two legs. It was big and fast, and, judging by the sound of it crashing through the bush, it possessed immense strength as it snapped the branches in its way like toothpicks. If it weren’t for the low growling, coming from the thing, you would have assumed it was human, but the sounds it was making forced you into a desperate prayer that you wouldn’t have to find out what it was. It was snarling, sniffing the air and panting and you could feel hot rivets of tears staining your face. You tried to scream out, but your voice was long gone. And, God, the forest was endless; thousands of tall pines looming over you, but doing nothing to stop your pursuer. Dark and heavy rainclouds covered the sky and suffocated the moonlight. The wind was slamming into your front and seemingly trying to slow you down, howling in your ears and disorienting you.

      You felt so alone and scared, as if nature itself was out to get you. In that very moment you thought of your family and every pet you’ve ever had, you thought of your professors and classmates, you thought of Yoongi and your store manager, you thought about your roommate and about Yara, and finally about Jungkook. In that very moment you knew you would give anything in the world to at least be able to share another conversation with them. Suddenly, your life seemed much more valuable than it did the previous days and you deeply regretted depriving yourself of a happier life for all these years.

      Incoherent wheezing tumbled from your mouth, your chest being rattled by loud sobbing. With all you might you tried to form words. Your throat was dry and painful and your lungs couldn’t swallow enough oxygen, but you still pushed. Heavy coughs scratched at your insides.

      “Pl-p” followed by a broken inhale “Plea…ease” you managed quietly “Please, please, I’m begging you!” your cries steadily grew in volume. You couldn’t even recognize your own voice. Words mindlessly poured out of your mouth and all you knew is that this was your last chance to survive.

      “I don’t want to die!” you knew it sounded stupid as the sentence echoed in the night. You weren’t thinking straight and the heavy footsteps behind you showed no signs of stopping. You were growing desperate.

      “Please! Somebody, help me!” you started screaming out random names that came to mind. “Yara! Jungkook, please! Jun-” Just like it would play out in a bad horror movie, your foot got caught in some raised roots and you plummeted to the ground. You fell heavily on your shoulder and heard an audible crack. Burning pain slithered down your arm, across your chest and up your throat. As much as you tried, you couldn’t push yourself up. Your heart was positively about to burst both from fright and complete exhaustion. The huge lungfuls of freezing air you were swallowing were making you lightheaded. Just behind you the bushes rustled and the last thing you saw before you fell unconscious was a pair of reflective eyes about 6 feet off the ground.

      You sat up in bed. Your heart was still thumping wildly, but you were relieved. Tears were streaming freely down your face and sweat rolled off your temples. “It was just a nightmare” you chanted repeatedly, but dull pain was still throbbing in your left clavicle and feet. Your room was dark and quiet. No light slipped through your blinds so you could only assume it was still too early for the sun to have risen. You brought your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around your cold legs protectively. Sheer will power wasn’t enough to stop you from shaking like a leaf. Even if it was a dream, why was your body still aching? It couldn’t have been the force of memory. If that was the case, the pain would have faded in the ten minutes you sat curled into a ball.

      Jungkook too was tossing in his bed all night. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his jeans and t-shirt when he fell asleep and in the earliest hours of the day he found himself tangled in the bedsheets, covered in sweat and with a heavy chest. In his dreams he could smell blood all around, he was running like a madman and his instincts were kicking into high gear. Everything was a blur and he wasn’t sure where he was headed, he didn’t remember, but adrenaline was pumping inside him at the thought of reaching it. A woman’s voice and then something resembling his name reached him. He needed to run faster, he had to know what was calling him. He felt like he was coming in and out of consciousness, noises becoming very loud and then completely muffled. His body moved purely on muscle memory. Before he could come to his senses, he heard a crash and then abruptly stopped. That’s when he woke up with the image of your tear-stained face on his mind. His chest felt tight and he pounded his fist into it a couple of times to make the feeling go away. He sat up in bed and leaned back against the headboard. Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, he planned to finish the whole thing until sunrise.

      When morning came, you finally willed yourself to unravel from the fetal position. You tugged some jeans and a sweater over your chilled body and headed for the bathroom. In no time you found yourself seated at the back of the hall, alone and waiting for the lecture to start. Yara had called in sick earlier this morning. You didn’t really speak to any of your other classmates, your friend was the one who did most of the talking anyway. At this point you had stopped hoping Jungkook would show up either. You didn’t even know if he attended this class. You were barely holding your face up with the palm of your hand, your eyelids heavy and head pounding with a migraine. You were zoning out, staring at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling when someone bumped into the back of your chair.

      “Oh, sorry!” a sweet male voice apologized and for a moment you couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. You turned to look at the someone in question with a dumb expression. There stood a guy of average height with fluffy brown hair and a warm and smiling face. Absentmindedly you stared at the single long earring that dangled from his left ear.

      “Did I make you mad? I didn’t mean to.” The guy explained with a humorous smile and just then you realize he was talking to you.

      “I’m not mad.” You mumbled and the guy giggled at the dull way you said it.

      “Haha, I’m relieved” he laughed and began walking away “See you around?” He waved and when you reciprocated the gesture a sweet smile stretched his face, finally turning his back to you. You watched him walk down to the front of the room and sit down. He had a nice posture and carried himself with confidence, but that earring still captured your attention until you lost sight of it.

      Your lectures came and went one after the other and after that you went straight to work. Nothing particularly spectacular happened that evening and you went home only to be terrorized by your ambiguous and repetitive dreams all night long. That’s how the next couple of days played out too. Yara was still sick as a mutt and every now and then you would email her the notes you had halfheartedly taken during the lectures you two shared.

      Today however was your day off of work and honestly you felt kind of lost after your lectures ended. You didn’t want to go home, because you knew you would fall asleep and have nightmares again. Taking a walk was out of the question as it was pouring rain and you didn’t really want to waste gas on driving. You would have gone to visit Yara, but becoming sick on top of your by now chronical exhaustion wasn’t something you wanted to go through.

      That’s how you found yourself sitting alone on a table for two at your local coffee shop. Your hot cup of bitter black coffee was keeping you company as you watched customers come in and out of the café. A shiny new psychology textbook lay open on the table in front of you and every now and then you forced yourself to read a paragraph or two. Yawns tumbled out of your mouth lazily as you read some article about mental illness. ‘Symptoms of depression include, but are not limited to: isolation from friends and family, inability to concentrate, reliance on alcohol or sedatives, feeling unhappy, guilty or overwhelmed, irritability, headaches and muscle pain, exhaust- ‘Before you could try and self-diagnose yourself someone interrupted you.

      “Hey, is this seat taken?” You looked up from your textbook to see a familiar face. The guy from a few days ago smiled down at you warmly. You looked around the nearly empty café and wondered why he decided to come over to you.

      “Sure?”

      Once he was seated across form you, he extended his hand and politely introduced himself “I’m Park Jimin. We have psychology together.” You completed the handshake, but didn’t know what to say to him. He mistook your awkward silence for confusion and explained further

      “I’m the ass that bumped into you a couple days ago.” That managed to pull a laugh from you and he seemed pleased.

      “Yeah, I remember you. I was just wondering why you decided to sit with me.” You clarified

      His smile turned sheepish “Because you’re cute and looked like you needed some company?” You weren’t expecting that answer and just stared at him dumbfounded.

      “I may or may not need some help with psychology, too.”

      “Oh, so there’s the catch.” You remarked sarcastically.

      “Not at all. Everything I said is true. I do think you’re really cute and do really suck at psychology.” That sneaky smile made its way on his face again. “In all fairness, I didn’t come here to ask you to tutor me… I just happen to see you alone all around campus lately and today fate brought us together. Will you at least tell me your name?”

      “I’m y/l/n y/n. We have psychology together and the chair your ass bumped into was mine.” You imitated with a grin that Jimin seemed to take a liking to. He was very confident and also unexpectedly flirty. The next hour or two you got lost in his jokes and remarks as you two got to know each other. You talked about so many things, but in hind sight you couldn’t gather much personal information about him. All you learned was that he was born in Busan and moved to your small town with his family. He refrained from sharing more, which was fair enough, you thought.

      When the sun started to set, Jimin offered you a ride home which you politely declined. When it was time to leave, he paid for your coffee without asking and silenced your protests with a dazzling smile. Outside the shop he unexpectedly wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed your body into his in a gentle hug. Out of instinct your arms quickly made their way around his shoulders. After a moment he pulled back, but didn’t let go of your body completely. His warm palms rested on your waist as he looked fondly into your eyes.

      “Thank you for sharing this afternoon with me.” He mumbled and for the first time since you spoke to him you noticed his pointed canine teeth. His plump lips formed every syllable with care. You were staring at his mouth which was at your eye level. He quickly caught on to what you were doing and moved to lean in for a kiss. You flinched, suddenly realizing the situation you had gotten yourself into. Your heart sank and you were quick to push your hands against his chest. Jimin didn’t insist further and immediately withdrew. You were expecting to see bitterness when you went you look into his eyes, but instead he chuckled, baring his teeth.

      “Ah, sorry. I got a little carried away.” And there they were, his canines, just slightly sharper than the average man’s. His hands dropped from your body and he took a step back. A darker smile now played on his lips. Jimin didn’t look angry in the slightest, perhaps amused would be the correct word.

      “I’m sorry if I-” you started but he cut you off

      “You didn’t do anything, dear.” He pronounced the pet name slowly, deliberately “I just got the wrong impression. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.”

      You looked like a deer in headlights. Your heart was drumming loudly in your chest. Jimin smirked at you, standing tall with his hands in his pockets and you felt like you were expected say something. Your mind went blank, try as you might you couldn’t come up with an answer. A few seconds passed like that until Jimin finally released his hold on you with a deep sigh of his own. His familiar sweet smile plastered on his face as he cocked his head to the side.

      “Well, thank you again for allowing me to keep you company. Don’t be shy and come say hi next time you see me, ok?”

      You nodded.

      “Before I leave, would you like me to walk you to your car?” he offered, but you declined. “Good night then. I’ll see you around? I mean it.” He emphasized the last part with a quirk of his brow and you managed to crack one last smile for him before waving goodbye.

      The next few days your accidental encounters with Jimin around campus became a little too frequent for you to chalk it up to chance. It was becoming blatantly obvious that he was deliberately seeking you out. One day you would be walking out of class and he would be leaning against the wall, offering to walk you to wherever it was you were going. The next day you would be climbing out of your truck, hurrying to enter the university and escape the cold, when you would hear him jogging behind you, calling your name.

      “Good morning!” he would greet happily and ask about your schedule for the day. Without fail, every chance he got he would ask “So, do you want to hang out again sometime? I really enjoyed your company last time!” And your chest would tighten upon hearing his confession.

      At first glance Jimin was the embodiment of a perfect man. He was fit and very attractive, had a great fashion sense and knew exactly what to say in every situation. He was always the perfect gentleman as well, never once getting hostile after you rejected his advances on multiple occasions. He was so polite, always watching his mouth in your presence and you truly enjoyed his company. There was something about him however that didn’t quite sit right with you. Jimin was incredibly persistent when it came to taking you out. The first few times you declined his offer you truly were busy, but as time went by you started to notice that his determination wasn’t faltering in the slightest. In your previous experiences, guys became discouraged after several failed attempts, but Jimin was different. You couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that it was so bizarre that he could go for any other girl on campus with great success, but instead he was stuck trying to get to you. He had made it undoubtedly clear that he was interested in you, sneaking compliments into casual conversations. The look he gave you after you pushed him away at the café still lingered in the back of your mind. Jimin had accepted the challenge you had unknowingly thrown at him. In that sense he resembled a predator, determined to snatch you up, the prey he had laid his eyes on and immediately knew he wanted. That realization had you keeping your distance as much as possible. There was also the heaviness you carried in your chest every time you caught him following the curve of your body or every time his compliments came sounding an octave lower than usual. There was a darkness hiding under the surface of Park Jimin’s friendly smile.

      Deep in the pit of your heart a dull pain buzzed every time Jimin pushed his hair back or crinkled his eyes with laughter, small gestures that reminded you of a different guy you were still yearning to see. Today marked the fifteenth day since you last saw Jeon Jungkook and you secretly hated yourself for counting. Yara was back from her brief vacation under the weather and she wasted no time and started pulling information out of your mouth.

      “What’s up with you and random hot guys when I’m not around, huh?” She gasped “Am I cock-blocking you?!”

      You couldn’t help the giggle that tumbled form your mouth. “Now that I think about it, you might be!”

      “That’s it, I’m leaving! Don’t contact me until you get laid!” Yara scrambled, pretending to gather her things and at that point you were full on cackling. “I’m serious, if that’s really the case, I will gladly let a beautiful boy take my place as your faithful companion in life!”

      You wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a side hug. “Nuuu!” You whined and both of you bursted into a cheerful fit of laughter. Yara was slapping your knee, gasping for air and losing her shit after hearing your occasional involuntary snort. It was so good to have her back. Tears were beading in the corners of your eyes until you felt a warm caress on the back of your neck. You quickly whipped your head around to see who it was, your arm falling off of Yara’s back in the process. Towering over your seated frame was none other than Park Jimin. He cocked his head to the side and grinned down at you, his hand comfortably resting on the junction between your neck and shoulder. You gulped when you felt his thumb stroking the cloumn your throat.

      “Speak of the devil…” Yara slipped up and you coughed awkwardly

      “Jimin? I thought you didn’t take this class.”

      His smile widened to show his teeth and he hummed “I don’t, but I heard sweet laughter while passing by and decided to check it out.” Your heart dropped when you saw him lick his lips. You probably had the same look on your face as when he tried to kiss you, because his eyes were locked onto yours, dark and sinister. “When will you let me take you out again, hm?”

      A beat of silence and then you tried to speak, but someone cleared his throat behind Jimin. Your adrenaline spiked when you saw messy dark hair peeking a good two inches’ over Jimin’s head. He abruptly turned around, revealing Jungkook’s larger frame. The moment you laid eyes on him, it felt like you had been missing him for months. He looked so good, wearing ripped blue jeans and a black hoodie, his hair had also grown longer in the time he’d been away. You immediately caught the faint scent of cigarette smoke, wafting from his body and warmth filled your chest. His face was taut, dark eyes staring into Jimin who was standing no more than a foot away. The latter was wearing a broad smile, but some other emotion played behind it.

      “Jungkook-ah, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Jimin spoke first, smooth and steady.

      “I’m fine. What are you up to, hyung?” Hearing his voice for the first time made you straighten in your seat.

      “Oh, you know I’m always busy.” Jimin chuckled “Actually, I’m in the middle of something right now.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Oh?” Jimin’s eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise “But I was just talking to lovely y/n here. I don’t think you know-”

      Jungkook cut in with a clenched jaw “I do know her.” Chills rattled your spine when you managed to catch the rumble of irritation in his chest. You weren’t the only one to notice, however.

      “Jungkook-ah, is something wrong? You seem awfully tense?” Jimin cocked his head “Am I doing something wrong?” When the younger didn’t answer, he smirked darkly. Jimin was fully aware of Jungkook’s hostile aura toward him. His shoulders relaxed as he pressed his hand to the back of your neck again.

      “I don’t think she’s off limits, or am I wrong?” It was a subtle challenge, intended to jab at Jungkook’s unfavorable position. Even though the exchange revolved around you, you subconsciously knew you had no say in it. You watched Jungkook intently, waiting for his response. He sighed, shoulders pulling back and spine straightening. His lips tugged into a smirk of his own and your heart leaped.

      “Hyung, I’m afraid that’s not for you do decide.”

      Your pulse skyrocketed as your gaze jumped form one man to the other. Jimin wasn’t smiling anymore when the feeling his touch left your skin. He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes coldly staring into Jungkook’s.

      “Anyway, y/n my offer still stands if you’re up for it.” Still, he didn’t look at you “I’m heading out now, but I’ll definitely see you around.” You weren’t sure who he was talking to at this point as he turned on his heel and simply walked away. Surprisingly, the brief exchange hadn’t attracted much attention from your classmates and you were thankful. You turned to look at his retreating figure in bewilderment. What was this all about?

      Cold fingers gently pressed to the underside of your chin and turned your head. You were surprised to find Jungkook’s soft brown eyes giving you all of his attention for the first time in a while.

      “Can I sit with you?” when his hand retreated from your face you could feel it heating up rapidly. You scrambled to move to the next chair over to make room for him. Yara quickly did the same and you reminded yourself to thank her for keeping her mouth shut throughout the whole ordeal.

      That’s how you stayed for the next hour and a half for the duration of the lecture. Jungkook’s shoulder lightly brushed yours every time he moved and you found yourself unable to focus on the professor’s words anymore. The scuffle with Jimin from earlier plus the fact that you were finally close to Jungkook again had your suddenly overwhelmed. Every once in a while you would steal sideways glances at him and sometimes he would catch you doing it. His response immediately came in the form a soft smile that warmed you from the inside.

      Classes ended quickly and painlessly today with Jungkook by your side. Somewhere along the way Yara had excused herself with a pat to your back and lots of questions and remarks burning on the tip of her tongue. Jungkook too remained mostly silent, following close behind you and occasionally brushing his hand delicately down the curve of your back. After all of your lectures were finished, you found yourself mindlessly walking around campus. The air was crisp and humid from the rain that had poured in the morning. The dull slapping of your wet shoes this time was accompanied by another pair. Jungkook strode beside you with his hands in his jean pockets and messy hair covered by his large hood. You somehow managed to think about everything and nothing all at the same time, and the overwhelming desire to voice all of your thoughts got stuck in your throat. You didn’t know where your boundaries with Jungkook stood exactly and you were afraid to scare him away with questions he might find intrusive. Now that you finally had him within an arm’s reach, suppressed emotion threatened to spill through the cracks of your crumbling walls. Instead of opening your mouth, you bit your tongue and trudged forward wordlessly. Heart throbbing wildly had you short of breath and, as much as you tried to disguise it, Jungkook quickly caught on.

      “Are you okay?” He stopped abruptly and peeked down at you under the edge of his hood.

      Pink dusted your frozen cheeks “Yeah, I just seem to tire out easily lately.”

      Jungkook stared at you for a few moments longer, face neutral and unreadable. He hooked his arm around your shoulders and made a beeline for the nearby benches, surrounding the small fountain that could be found in every stereotypical college campus. Everything was wet, but Jungkook seemed unbothered as he wiped the water off of the top of the backrest with his palm and quickly stepped on the seat and sat down. You followed suit, grimacing slightly when the remaining droplets melted into the butt of your jeans. Jungkook was quick to wrap his arm back around you and pull you into his side. His warmth wasn’t something you knew your craved until it started seeping into your skin. The faint breath of cigarette smoke complimented his natural clean scent and almost compelled you to relax into him. You both stared at the old fountain that had been out of order for years. From your spot on top of the bench you could see copper coins lining the bottom like a mosaic and it made you think of all the unspoken wishes that plopped into the cold water and sank to the bottom. While you stared at the water, Jungkook watched you from the corner of his eye.

      “What have you been up to lately?” You finally spoke up when the pounding in your ears became unbearable. Seconds of silence dripped between the two of you and your body became rigid with anxiousness. You stared at his profile from the corner of your eye, breathless your heart was pounding even harder than before. Silent still, Jungkook’s arm started slipping off of your shoulders. Losing his comforting warmth made your chest constrict uncomfortably. A lump immediately lodged itself into your throat at the thought that you had crossed a line, no matter how innocent and unassuming your question had sounded in your head. Your face was burning. Shit, you dove head first into the exact situation you were trying to avoid.

      Jungkook reached into his back pocket and the snap of his lighter brought your attention back to him. You watched as he took a drag from his cigarette, the crackling of tobacco sounding obnoxiously loud in your deprived mind. He blew a puff of smoke and the wind carried it straight into your face, making your eyes sting with tears. You squeezed them shut, trying to avoid embarrassing yourself on top of everything. Inhale, hold, exhale, you listened to his breathing pattern for a few more drags until he sighed heavily.

      “Nothing worth mentioning.” Your shriveled heart lurched back into life upon hearing him finally answer the god-forsaken question. “I went out of town for a while. How have you been?”

      “Same as always…” your voice cracked and Jungkook pretended not to notice, staring straight ahead. At this point you were desperate to keep some sort of conversation going. “There’s not too much going on around here.”

      “I didn’t know you knew Park.” Jungkook suddenly blurted out.

      “Jimin?”

      Jungkook took a particularly deep drag from his cigarette, making the ash break off the end and fall between his parted thighs.

      “We have psychology together and went out for coffee once.” You felt embraced admitting to the last part, face heating up when you heard Jungkook exhale sharply through his nose.

      “He took you out on a date?”

      “Well, not exactly.” You were squirming against the undisguised hostility, radiating off of him “We just ran into each other at the café. I was alone and he just said he wanted to keep me company. That’s all.” You decided to cut the hug and attempted kiss out, because you felt like that would only make Jungkook angrier.

      In the ensuing minutes of uncomfortable silence, a realization suddenly hit you. Why were you suddenly compelled to spill your guts in front of him? Especially when you didn’t want to invade his privacy with your much simpler question earlier. Was it really his place to chew you out after disappearing for two whole weeks? You swallowed down your initial embarrassment and hit him with a question of your own.

      “What’s the deal with you two anyway?”

      Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and, for the first time in what felt like forever, he turned to look at you. You stubbornly stared back at him with a tiny scowl as wonderment and now mild irritation swirled in his deep brown irises. His face softened almost immediately and he leaned in toward you.

      “I like that expression on you, you know?” As he spoke, smoke spilled from his mouth. Because of his close proximity, you managed to involuntarily inhale every last bit of it. It made you choke and sputter as the taste burned your throat. When you looked back up, Jungkook had retreated back to his original spot and wore a soft smirk. Your face was red hot and soft coughs still rattled your chest.

      “That was the weirdest shotgun kiss I’ve ever had.” Jungkook remarked lightly

      “What?”

      Your flustered state was all too entertaining for Jungkook and he couldn’t disguise his tender laughter. “Haven’t you heard of a shotgun kiss?”

      You remained silent, looking at him like he’d just grown a second head. He was having the time of his life, taking in every detail of your bewilderment.

      “That’s when you blow smoke into another person’s mouth, it’s called a shotgun kiss.” He explained and pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. You were immediately drawn to the motion and unconsciously mimicked it. Slowly, you began to shift your eyes over his face, caressing his porcelain features with careful attention. You could almost feel his gaze gliding along your skin in a similar manner.

      “Fuck!”

      You were suddenly startled when Jungkook jerked his arm in the air with a yell. The cigarette butt flew from his hand and by the way he sucked on the side of his forefinger you could safely assume it had burnt him. Try as you might, you couldn’t suppress the chuckle that slipped past your lips.

      “That damn thing was cursed from the start.” Upon hearing your remark, Jungkook cracked a smile of his own.

      The atmosphere was back to normal between the two of you and, as weird as the sudden mood swings were, you didn’t want to ponder over it right now.

#bts #ggukienet #bangtanarmynet #jungkook #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfction #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts scenarios #bts drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bangtan #bangtan boys

[heechulhamster]

The Truth You Can’t Hide IV

KIM JUNMYEON (SUHO) x Fem Reader

Chapter 4 [The Truth You Can’t Hide MASTERLIST]

1 - 2 - 3 -  4 - 5 - 6 - 7 ongoing

You did it so well for six years. You’ve hid your son from the biggest threat of his life. But one mishap led to the biggest secret in your life being face to face with the man you’ve kept him away from all these years - his father.

Mafia!AU, Angst.

Each muscle of your feet started to ache as the clock struck eight, the current case the law firm you worked as a paralegal in required you to go overtime. You’ve had an internal agreement with yourself to stay in the firm and distance yourself from Junmyeon’s line of work, as you know that his two separate businesses will always coincide with the other - and you wouldn’t want both of Jaejin’s parents to have an indecent track record. 

Only a few lights are lit at this time of the night, most of your officemates already in the comforts of their own home and family. An empty sigh of exhaustion escaped your lips as you sat back on your chair, freeing your feet from the tormenting heels before neatly stacking and organizing the paperwork left on your table. Organizing the case files by urgency as you plan to get your hands on it eagerly the first thing tomorrow. 

“Did Mr. Goo request you on overtime again? You should take a rest.” A sudden voice spoke behind you, making you turn around. You see Atty. Zhang, one of the associate lawyers in the firm. His cripst white dress shirt neatly tucked in his black pants as he leaned over the table next to yours. 

“No, Sir. I did it voluntarily. I’m really absorbed on this recent case.” You said with a light chuckle, trying your best to hide your fatigue from the day. 

You heard him take light footsteps on the way closer to your desk, eventually you saw Atty. Zhang’s hands over the pile of paperwork on your desk. “Is this the one regarding the sexual harrasment case of that actor…” He snapped his fingers three times, apparently thinking about the name that’s on the tip of his tongue. “Seojoon? Bang Seo Joon?” 

“Yes, I’ve been re-reading his sworn statements and the victim’s.” You stated as he read through the pages of the case file. 

“This file’s been through a lot.” He said, smiling over the littered highlights and notations you’ve made all throughout the paper. “Now tell me if there’s anything you’ve found. Are we on the losing end here?” 

“There has been inconsistencies with the victim’s sworn statements. Like how she said that Mr. Bang and her met around dinner at that Monday, but she has also stated that her shift as a waitress ends at closing time. She had once said that he went on a date with Mr. Bang on a Tuesday the week prior, so both Monday and Tuesday couldn’t have been her off days. And the timeline of the alleged harassment doesn’t quite add up. There’s a lot of lapses here and there.” 

“You’ve really put your mind on this haven’t you? I’m impressed. Poor SeoJoon must’ve been framed.” He said smiling at you, the wells of his cheeks showing as adorable dimples as he shone his bright teeth in amazement. “But you need to rest for now, the case can wait for another day, don’t you think?” 

“I’m actually on my way out.” You explained as your hands tidied your desk a bit more, putting the scattered pens and pencils back on the green holder just on the corner of the black modern table. 

“I’ll come with you, then.” Mr. Zhang said with a hearty smile. 

Your way down the building was filled with short talks, including of which where he asked you to plainly call him Yixing as the both of you are in the same age. It would be an understatement to describe him as attractive, he’s magnetic - naturally absorbing every attention and respect by everyone graced by his presence. Yet oddly humble despite being aware of his huge presence. Yixing know how enticing he is, yet he doesn’t impose the fact on anyone. Just letting his trait speak for itself. 

“Where are you parked?” He asked, suddenly rising from your shared laughters as you both walk out of the building. 

“I take a cab to work.” You answered simply as a matter of fact. 

“Are you serious?” Yixing responded in shock, “Do they really pay paralegals that low here?” 

“No, it’s just that I haven’t had time yet to renew my license and fix papers for a new car, you know. It’s a hassle.” You explained. 

“Lucky you tonight, “cause I’m morally obliged to give you a ride.” He said lightheartedly, his chuckle low and baritone that it just lingers in your ear. 

“You don’t need to.” You waved your hands to accentuate your declination, yet the smile on his eyes told you that he’s insisting.

“Who told you I’m taking no for an answer?” And with his bright smile emphasised with his charming dimples, you wouldn’t even dare to say no. 

Only a few minutes in the ride, your phone flashed with a text from Junmyeon. Reading that he and Jaejin are out for dinner in a nearby restaurant and that as per your son’s request, both of them are waiting for you. 

“You know that Japanese restaurant near the station?” You asked Yixing, to which he answered a simple yes. “Can you drop me off there instead? Someone just texted and I’ll be meeting them there.” 

“Sure thing.” He responded with a chuckle, which stirred a confused look from you on the shotgun seat. “I almost thought you’d ask me out for dinner there.” 

His implication made you blush, something that you haven’t experienced for a while. “I’m sorry to get your hopes up.” You said with a chuckle rhyming his. 

“Too bad for me, I guess.” Another few laughters was all that you shared while he drove silently. Not yet developing a dynamic beyond being coworkers resulted in an odd silent tension between the two of you. As if feeling that both parties want to speak yet not finding the courage to do so. 

“How long have you been working in the firm again?” Yixing spoke, finally ending the tormenting ill-at-ease silence. 

“Barely three months.” You answered as-a-matter-of-fact. 

“That’s odd.” He simply remarked, sensing a sheer curiosity on the tone of his voice. You expressed a simple hum in the guise of an inquiry. “I mean, three months yet as far as I remember this is the first time we talked properly. Aside from you asking me for staples, of course.”

The growing blush on your cheeks finally bloomed when he spoke of that incident. It was the early weeks of your job in the firm, hardly even familiar to everyone in the workplace. Marking probably the first time you noted of Yixing’s existence, his youthful appearance made you think he was just one of the interns or a paralegal. Atty. Goo was a man who values his time, one that is always in a rush that’s why being assigned in his team challenged you. That day, you were running late for work - your cousin who was supposed to take care of Jaejin was a quarter of an hour late arriving at your home. You carried the files, or bundles of paper which aren’t stapled to Atty. Goo’s liking just yet. That’s when you came across him, carrying his leather suitcase and a cup of coffee, just when panic started to kick in. 

“Uhm.. Hi!” You waved your right hand as your left hand tightly gripped the bunches of papers, your feet dashing in front of him. “I’m new here, as much as I would like to do a proper introduction Mr. Goo needs these papers almost five minutes ago, so could you be my savior and lend me some staples?” You tried to flash your sweetest smile, maybe charming people would still work. 

“Hold a second.” He answered with his pearly white, magazine cover teeth showed. Probably laughing at how ridiculous you look for your new job. He put down his still steaming cup of coffee on the table nearest to the both of you, before scanning his bag for the said tool. Retrieving a few staple pins in his bag a few seconds later. “This enough?” 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” You rushed and not-so-carefully put the pages of case files and statements on the same table. Loading your stapler with the pins and organizing the pages by its groups. 

The moment you finished the dreaded task, the striking man was long gone by your side. And you quickly rushed to Atty. Goo’s room, politely apologizing for the delay as you laid down the papers at his desk. 

It was later that day that you discovered that the man you ambushed for staples earlier was no intern, nor a paralegal. Just outside Atty. Goo’s room, you saw the office that has been unoccupied for the first few days you’ve been there at the firm. They said that Atty. Zhang was back at China for personal reasons. And now he’s obviously back, and missing a few staple pins in his arsenal. 

“Don’t bring that back! Please.” You covered your face from his sight with your left hand in embarrassment. “It was so awkward for me to talk to you afterwards.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. I found it oddly adorable, even.” Yixing noted. “I mean, I don’t look that old enough to be one of the lawyers, don’t I?” He said, a notion of cockiness evident in his statement. 

And he was just being truthful, the firm was filled by tenured and accomplished lawyers already in their 50’s. It was a shock to learn that he was among them. A tall, singularly handsome and well versed young lawyer already making his mark in the city.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” He pointed to the right, a remarkably cosmopolitan Japanese restaurant in the wealthiest areas of Seoul. “Are you going on a date? This seems to be too extravagant for a simple dinner. Expensive taste.” 

“It’s not a date. Easy to say that this person I’m meeting is a little bit too loaded in their bank account.” You said lightheartedly, to which Yixing also responded with a light laughter. “Thanks for the ride, Yixing.”

Before your hand even opened the door, he was able to hold you back by speaking again. “I was wondering if I could keep my hopes up and actually take you out for dinner some time.” 

Your eyes almost widened at his indication. “Is this dinner in line of work or…” 

“A date? Most preferably so.” He answered as his fingers lightly played with the steering wheel, signifying uneasiness or even nervousness. 

“Oh.”

“Does that oh means you acknowledge my statement or does it indicate that you’re declining the proposal?” Yixing’s choice of words made you feel like a defendant in inquisition. 

“It meant that oh, I didn’t expect to be in the receiving end of such proposal. But I’ll keep the offer in mind.” You playfully reciprocated his legalese tone.

“How long would the processing take?” Yixing asked back. 

“Three working days.” 

“Noted, see you on Friday?” He replied, understanding what you meant quicker than lightning. He flashed his charmingly irresistible smile yet again that made you flash one in return. 

“See you, Atty. Zhang.” 

The dinner was spent with Jaejin’s juvenile astonishment over the fact that fish can be eaten raw. Despite the fact that you haven’t allowed him to eat sashimi just yet, he was already looking forward on the day you’ll let him do so, settling on a good bowl of traditional and expensive ramen. And it’s in these times that you realize how close the two have gotten. How Jaejin and Junmyeon would share inside jokes that would leave you wondering on your own. The fact that the two already have bonded this tight relationship between the two of them that no one can penetrate. And that’s still in spite of Jaejin’s lack of knowledge regarding who Junmyeon really is in his life. 

And you’d be lying if you don’t admit to yourself that your life has been easier with Junmyeon in it again. You don’t even have to work the long hours just to make sure that you’ll be able to save enough money for Jaejin’s future while still making all ends meet. Junmyeon already opened a trust fund under your son’s name. The hassle of looking for someone to take care of him while at work was now long gone, with Jaejin having his own sitters that Junmyeon grew up with himself. He was already taking the majority of the parental roles even before he was formally introduced as his father. 

“Goodnight, Mama. I love you.” Jaejin declared with a youthful smile on his face just after he finished his nightly prayer. To which you answered the same sentiments before kissing his forehead and eventually walking out of the room. 

It was agreed upon you and Junmyeon for you to take the guest room. As Jaejin is now old enough to sleep on his own. And your habitual over time at work could cause a sense of discomfort to Jaejin if he’s still dependent at your presence for sleep. 

You were stunned to see Junmyeon standing outside Jaejin’s room after you shut the door. “Oh, Hi.” 

“Hey.” He answered thriftily. A few seconds have passed and nobody dared to talk, and all you were able to muster was raising your eyebrows. 

“Who were you with earlier?” Junmyeon asked curiously. 

“Huh? What?” You didn’t quite catch what he was pertaining to. 

“Who dropped you off earlier? I recognized that a Tesla was too extra to be just a cab.” You tried to sense any hint of emotion in his voice yet it just came off as a casual question. 

“Oh, it was someone from work.” You started walking, your steps rhyming with the cadence of his feet. 

“Workmate or… you know, someone.” He stalled, and you understand the connotation. 

“Workmate that kind of just expressed that he wanted to take me out on a date. Kinda.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as you remember that Yixing, an eligible bachelor as one could get, has just asked you out on a date. 

“So.. are you going?” Junmyeon’s eyes shrunk in curiosity. 

“Yeah. I mean he’s nice, undoubtedly attractive. Would be dumb to not give him a shot don’t you think?” You replied, still wearing a smile on your face. 

“I mean, you look excited. So I guess why not.” Junmyeon smiled back, but something in your guts just told you that it was visibly forced. 

“We wouldn’t have a problem with us having relationships right?” You tested the waters, as this relationship - cohabitation, coparenting, or whatever the two of you shared surely need to be clarified with bounds soon. 

“Yeah, yeah. No worries. We could go both live our lives, of course with Jaejin as priority.” 

“Of course. Another thing, I don’t think this would last much anyway. He doesn’t know yet that I have a son, whatever this is would probably end once he knows. I’ll just consider it as a dry run whether or not I still have it in me to be something for someone.” You continued as both of you approached the hallway where you would eventually part ways. 

“If he does that, it means he’s an asshole. And it will be his loss, his great loss.” Junmyeon smiled briefly and noticeably faint. 

You cleaned your hands on the apron that hung on your neck, dusting its material with a good amount of flour. Finally lining the pan with butter before pouring in the mix and eventually letting nature do its thing once you put it inside the preheated oven. Sitting on the chair at the kitchen island and a lonesome red juicy apple in hand, you just let yourself  to detach from reality as you relaxed. The piling paperwork slowly creeping up your sanity, and your only solace was Jaejin’s hugs at night - and maybe the few jubilant smiles that you and Yixing share at work. 

The past two days saw a rise of interactions between the two of you. Earlier, he even dropped by your desk to give a thoughtful warm cup of coffee when he saw you taking piles of papers head on. And Yixing’s brand new presence is your life is refreshing. To relinquish that juvenile feeling of excitement is a good thing to feel every once in a while, and for you it’s really been a while. 

“How’s parent life with ex holding up?” Your quiet thoughts were invaded by a man who you didn’t notice sit in front of you. 

“Minseok. I didn’t see you there.” You said, your widened eyes by shock looking at his feline features. 

“I could tell, pretty sure that apple’s gone dizzy from rolling over your hands too much.” He joked, where you answered a laugh to. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How’s things?”

“Well, obviously a lot has changed since you’ve last seen me.” And the last time he has seen you, aside from the unfateful meeting at the mall, was more recent than anyone would expect. 

“Yeah, I mean he walks now.” Minseok lightly tapped his fingers on the granite countertop. “Last time I saw him he still needs to be carried everywhere.” You just smiled at the thought, before he continued. “And the biggest change could be the fact that Jun knows now.” 

“Probably the biggest change.” You replied. 

The scorching heat of Los Angeles hasn’t gotten into your system yet. Your palms and back sweaty and tired from carrying all the grocery bags which you held with much caution. You’re body’s carrying too much, all these produce, milk cartons, and of course the baby that’s growing in your stomach. Struggling to put down the bags as you couldn’t quickly squat, you curse yourself again for deciding to go through this alone. 

“Need some help?” An oddly familiar voice presented itself beside you, making a chill run down your spine. He couldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here. 

“Minseok…” You said in shock, your hands quickly lowering the grocery bags in an attempt to hide your 20 weeks pregnant stomach. 

“Let me get that, Y/N.” He stepped forward as he softly retrieved the grocery bags from your hands. Your stunned figure unable to protest nor to say anything. “Could you open your door now?”

“Yeah…” You answered with a nod, still unable to process his presence while getting your keys from your shoulder bag. 

Still silent, you both entered your small apartment. Barely decent enough for the way you were brought up. But this is all that you have now, and it’s better than nothing. The past four months were the hardest for you. A twenty two year old expectant mother cut off by her influential family and left alone to live and make ends meet in a foreign land. Tough luck, tough life, you thought. 

“Where should I put these milk, in the fridge or…” Minseok asked yet you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Did he send you here?” You looked in his easily distinguishable eyes, now painted with imminent confusion. “Junmyeon, did he send you here?” 

“Send me? I’m not his employee.” He answered with a short almost humorless laugh. “I’ve been in LA for business the past few weeks. Didn’t expect to see you while doing groceries, found a familiar face, so I trailed you down. Too creepy?” 

“Does he know?” You asked, not bothering with the small courtesies as you were more nervous of the possibilities of finding him here.

“Where you’re at? Probably. He probably still keeps track of you.” Your breath hitched at Minseok’s response. “That you’re pregnant? I highly doubt. If he does, he wouldn’t let you live alone in this barely modest apartment.” 

Your hand uncontrollably caressed your bump, a sense of protectiveness flowing all over you. “Would you tell him?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” There was sincerity in his voice, and you know Minseok is a man of his words. “Junmyeon is my friend, but you are too.” 

He slowly walked over your form that just sat on the sofa. “But first you need to make me understand why you left him and why you’re living in this…” He looked around the bare white walls, the undeniable lack of furnishings and decor “..sad excuse for a home, with no offense meant.” 

“Suho.” You dryly answered with almost a whisper, folds forming in his face in your response. “I didn’t leave Junmyeon. I left Suho. Whatever he is, I don’t want my son to do anything with him.” 

“You know, don’t you?” You asked him again even before he was able to form any answer. 

“I…” He started off, still processing any suitable answer. “I am aware of that, yes.” He slowly nodded, finally sitting down the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of you. “How did you…” 

“Your friend was stupid enough to leave a folder full of transactions where I could read it.” You answered bitterly, still unable to accept the harsh truth behind the man you so dearly loved. 

“Does he know that you… know?” Minseok was obviously careful in choosing his words, not wanting to upset a pregnant friend.

“You think I’ll be here if he’s aware that I know his dirty secret?” You said with a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’d even be alive if so.” 

“Come on, it’s not the best money maker but Junmyeon wouldn’t kill you. Not in a million years.” You just responded by shaking your head. “But, why are you here? And why in a place like this? I mean, it’s nice that you’re independent. But… isn’t this a little too low for your taste?”

“My parents cut me off when they discovered I’m pregnant. I begged them not to tell Junmyeon, had to make an excuse in my own expense just for them to not to lash it out on him. Told them the baby wasn’t his, a result of a drunken one night stand at a high end bar. Told me I was a disgrace for letting such a man as Junmyeon go, called me a whore for being pregnant with a random stranger. So I guess here I am.” A bitter taste still lingers in your mouth as you relayed what hell you’ve went through. 

“But you don’t need to go through all of these, you could tell Junmyeon and..” You decided to cut him off even before he finishes his ill advice. 

“And have my child live off the money he makes by breaking the law and ruining people’s lives? I’d rather stay here, Min.” You stated, not even considering to bend your moral compass. 

He just sat there, an uncomfortable silence grew between the two of you as he struggled to digest the information. Minseok looked as if he’s thinking for an advice he could give or any action he could take. 

“I wouldn’t tell Junmyeon, I wouldn’t tell anyone in one condition.” He finally spoke, which you just nodded for him to proceed. “Let me help you. You’re still my friend, and Junmyeon is my friend, it would be rightful for me to help your child. I can’t let you stay here knowing a baby is on the way.”

“Another thing, you couldn’t stay here any longer. Junmyeon probably has his men tracked on you, and you need to lose them before your belly grows too much to hide. I know a place.”

Minseok kept in contact with you, and he kept his promise too. There has hardly been any indication that Junmyeon was aware of your whereabouts, or the fact that he knocked you up. Minseok was even the one to help you arrange fees in the hospital when you gave birth. He’s an heir to a trademarked coffee shop line that has hundreds of branches so you took no guilt in accepting his offer. 

“We kinda lost contact after Jaejin turned two. What happened?” He asked, swirling the contents of his glass making a sound of ice and water splashing around.

“Found a guy, he served as Jaejin’s father at that time. So I figured that I should cut all possible ties with my ex.” You answered, still playing with the unfortunate apple with your right hand. 

“Fair enough, I guess. You could only think of how shocked I am to see you in that mall. I don’t even know that you’re back here. I had no idea that I didn’t even think that child was Jaejin.” He suddenly said lightheartedly.

“Maybe it was inevitable.” You answered with a deep sigh. 

“Yeah, it was bound to happen.” He replied back. “But he’s doing a great job as a father now, isn’t he? He’s nailing it.”

“I guess. He and Jaejin are inseparable now.” You said, accompanied by a slight chuckle. 

“If it makes any difference…” He started as he stood up from his seat, leaving the now empty glass on the countertop. “The gifts were from Junmyeon. Tricked him with the fact that I signed him up as a foster father overseas to help him recover from you. So that’s pretty much it, until next time.” And with that, he left you alone in the kitchen still waiting for the cake to finish. And wondering about the what ifs and what could’ve beens. 

The red-bottomed black stiletto heels that you had for years now fitted your feet perfectly as you cautiously walked down the pathway of an exclusive and undeniably expensive Chinese restaurant. The splendid and effeminate white dress clinging to your body in ways that made you feel confident to be in such a place. 

“Reservation under Mr. Zhang?” You told the receptionist that wore a red cheongsam. She asked your name for confirmation before she asked one of the butlers to lead you to one of the distant tables. 

And there you saw Yixing Zhang, clad in a wonderfully simple black blazer and white dress shirt. A humble outfit that only made his stature and facial features pop out from feet away. The place was exquisite yet he seemingly outshined all crystal chandeliers and golden adorned walls. 

“You look fantastic.” He stood up from his seat as he kissed your hand, a trail of electricity climbing up your cheeks resulting to an unconcealable blush. 

“You, too.” You answered as he pulled a seat for you. And they say that chivalry is dead but the epitome of a gentleman was living and breathing in front of you. 

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” You whispered, a tad bit ashamed at the immense effort. 

“I figured that you have a bit of expensive taste. It’s just right to be on your best foot at the first date, right?” Yixing answered, a smile slowly forming on his face and his eyes adorably forming a smile as he does so. 

He willingly and enthusiastically introduced you to a myriad of chinese cuisine. Chatting over his childhood back in his motherland that was sparked in remembrance over the presence of cua pao and char siu. The funny stories of his nameless cat and his fond memories shared with his beloved mother. How he transferred from China to Korea for the better law education, and you just willingly listened and admired how animated his hands become while he speaks about something he’s passionate about. Waving his hands around as he hold his chopsticks makes him seem so alive and vibrant, yet his face still tells a story of seriousness and sincerity as a result of his years of law practice. 

“How about you? Why stop on being a paralegal? Haven’t you dreamt of pursuing law school?” Yixing asked with his eyes full of earnest intent to listen. And you feel your mood slip down, if the tables have turned and you’re now the subject, it was inevitable to admit who you really are - a mother. And you’re scared of losing this spark that you’re enjoying once he knows the truth. 

“That has been my lifelong dream, honestly. But things came up, change of plans…” You delayed your revelation. It’s not that you’re ashamed of Jaejin, it’s more of being afraid of being deemed unworthy over again. 

“What change of plans?” He asked as he wiped the sweet and sour sauce on his lips with the table napkin. 

“Got pregnant.” You answered simply, trying to put it lightly. 

Yixing visibly stalled in front of you, trying hard to digest the bomb you just dropped. And you understand his shock, it’s not the first time a promising date went downhill by the fact. But it still made you a tad bit sad that Yixing’s not an exception. 

“Dealbreaker?” You tried to chuckle. “I’m sorry for dropping the truth a bit too late. This dinner was going well but I couldn’t let it go on without you knowing.” You shook your head. 

“What? No! It’s not a dealbreaker. It’s… awesome.” Yixing’s charm filled dimples presented itself yet again while he smiled. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be a mother. You don’t look like one just yet.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a smile. 

“So how old is he.. He or she?” He asked again, and you could feel like he was sincerely interested in talking about Jaejin. “Wait, you’re not married right?”

“Jaejin, my son, is 6 years old. And yes, I’m not married.” You said with a smile.

“I know this is a sensitive subject but, where’s Jaejin’s father?” 

“We live with him, just for the past few months. But we’re not together. We’re civil just for the sake of Jaejin.” You explained. 

“So, coparenting?” He asked again. 

“Yes, I think you could call it like that.” You answered again, and a period of short silence enveloped the two of you before you spoke again. “Is it really okay with you? I mean, I totally understand if it puts you off I-”

“No! I promise it’s not a problem for me. It made me even more interested in you, really. It painted a whole new aspect of you for me, stronger.” Yixing had a happy tone which made you breathe in relief. “Right now I’m just really looking forward on the day I meet Jaejin.” 

And it was needless to say that put a smile on your face and lit a new fire in your heart.

“Is this where you live?” Yixing asked as the automated gates of Junmyeon’s mansion open and he started driving in. You answered a silent yup, trying to digest the clashing of worlds, the new one just ever so casually driving his car in the turf of your old. “So this is your ex’s place?”

“Yeah.” You answered with a low breath. 

“You’re uncomfortable?” He asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, me too. This is unusual.” He remarked as he parked right at the front of the huge carved wood main doors and the large white marble fountain. 

“So, thank you for tonight?” Yixing spoke again. “And I sincerely hope this wouldn’t be the last. I mean it.”

“I don’t think it would be.” You answered comfortably. 

Yixing went out of the car and around to your door as he opened it. The manly smell of his perfume overtaking your senses and now your face is only a few inches from his. You could almost feel your face gravitate to his until a voice called your name behind him. 

“Junmyeon…” You quickly fixed the way you stood and closed the door of his car. “This is.. This is,” Your hands moved in an awkward way. 

“Attorney Zhang.” Junmyeon suddenly muttered, finishing your sentence for himself. 

“Mr. Kim, it’s been a while.” And you swear you could feel the tension rise between the two as you stood there mind boggled on the fact that they’re aware of each other’s existence. Like two overlapping circles on a venn diagram.

“You know each other?” You cluelessly asked, head turning back and forth between the two men who had their eyes intensely looking at each other, almost boring a hole at each other’s heads. 

“You could say that we have a bit of a history.” Yixing answered, a dry smile trying to facade the growing friction reflected in his eyes. 

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