#and went back to my hometown ao3

[shewrites7]

The First Step

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary - The first thing you do when you get back to your hometown of Chicago is pay Carmen, your oldest friend and maybe more than that, a visit at The Beef. When you land yourself a job there, the more he sees of you, the more he seems to push you away for reasons he isn't yet brave enough to tell you, even if all he wants is to be with you. But if he'd ever known you, he'd know that you weren't going to back down without a fight.

type - one shot (its a long one)

word count [16.6k]

tags: Carmy Berzatto x f!reader, friends to lovers, pining, slight miscommunication, a little angst, "stop pushing me away", hurt/comfort, and new promises.

warnings: swearing, mentions of grief/death, panic attack

a/n: check this out also on my ao3! <33

Carmen was tired, to say the least. He'd been working himself to the bone every damn day for the past few months, trying to get The Beef to a good, stable place. Somehow, as time went by, he'd only managed to dig himself a deeper grave. With the money they owed to Cicero, he knew, deep down, that the restaurant was, for lack of a better word, fucked.

But he kept holding on. He couldn't let go of it. He'd wonder, in the depths of night, why he was fighting so hard for this place when he could easily sell it to Cicero. If, maybe, he was holding onto someone. He didn't amuse the thought. He physically couldn't.

So he threw himself deeper into his work. Deeper into making The Beef a reputable place, with a professional working staff and high-quality food. It didn't matter that the others looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He didn't have the time to worry about that. He didn't have time for much of anything, which is why Sydney had been pushing for new hires. She'd said that they needed more hands in the kitchen, more workers up front, more of everything. They should be desperate.

That's why she'd spent hours putting up posters for new hires on what felt like practically every block of Chicago within a mile radius from the restaurant. And that's why you'd happened to stumble upon one of them while walking to a favorite pizza place of yours that you'd loved as a kid. It was one of the first things you'd planned on doing ever since you'd gotten back into the city. That and meeting up with some old friends who you'd missed with an ache in your chest. So, seeing the poster clinging to the utility pole saying that The Beef was hiring had your heart skip a little beat at the prospect of not only getting a job but seeing the people who had basically been your family growing up again.

It was a Friday morning when you'd stopped by The Beef, the rusted white sign sticking out like a sore thumb. A rush of aromas wafted against your nose when you walked in, and the front door made a jingling sound that was almost nostalgic.

No one was at the front register. In fact, you couldn't see anyone at all, only hear some muffled voices coming from the kitchen in the back. The voices grew louder as seconds went by, and you could tell they were shouts. The kitchen door then flew open, finally revealing the argument going on between two people, one being an unfamiliar woman in an apron, and the other being none other than Richie Jerimovich.

"Richie, I swear to God-"

"I already told you," came the booming voice of Richie, neither of them noticing your presence at the door. "Your foo foo plans for this place are not gonna fly, Sweetheart!"

With the way Richie was talking to her, you could see the woman's patience wearing thin as she rested a hand on her temple with shut eyes as he carried on. It was only when she reopened her eyes a few moments later that she noticed your presence.

"Hi," you said, making your way over to her. "I saw your poster, the one about looking for new hires-"

"Right, right." She offered a strained smile, stress seeming to stay with her. "I'm Sydney, you must be one of the job applicants?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"A job applicant?" Richie's voice boomed through the room, his voice always projecting ten times louder than need be. You had to admit, you missed it. "F that bullshit, that's fucking Mars Bar!"

Sydney's eyebrows lowered at the shouted nickname, the one that the Berzattos had gifted you years ago after your favorite candy as a kid. You granted Richie a smile, him finally noticing you. "Nice to see you too, Richie."

He marched around the counter to engulf you in a bear-like hug that had you letting out a chuckled gasp from the impact, arms wrapping tightly around your back. He let go in a beat and slammed his hands down on the counter in excitement, always loud.

"Just wait till Carmy hears about his favorite girl being back, I swear to God."

Something fluttered through you at the mention of that name. Carmen's name. With a whirlwind of thoughts sifting through your mind, you almost missed the other name that Richie had called you, aside from Mars Bar. Carmy's favorite girl.

-----

Richie had barged into the kitchen with full vigor, slamming open the swinging door dangerously close to a nearby Tina.

"Cousin!" He moved through the different chefs' stations until he got to Carmen's, who was wrapped up in prepping and quite frankly had learned to tune out the sound of Richie's yelling for his own health. "Yo, Cousin!"

Richie boisterously grabbed a hold of Carmen's shoulders, rocking him a little and moving his hand that wielded a knife, cutting diagonally into beef he'd been pre-slicing.

"Shit," Carmen cursed, irritation forming. "What the hell is it, Cousin?"

Richie just laughed, a mind never paid to Carmen's annoyance. "Yea, you're pissed at me now, Carmy, but you're gonna think I'm pulling your dick when I tell you who's at the fucking register right now."

With a forever-present dull headache, Carmen sighed and shifted his focus to him, putting down his knife on the counter. He gestured a hand out to him. "Who's at the register, Rich-"

"The fucking love of your life, that's who!"

Richie gave Carmen a playful punch in the arm, but he remained unphased, a frown etched on his features. "See, what the fuck are you talking about? I don't have a love of my-"

"Two words, Cousin. Mars Bar."

Richie was right. Those two words really did do something to him.

"She- ... she's here?"

He rubbed his jaw, brain short-circuiting for a second as he tried to make sense of Richie's words. His eyes bore into Richie's never-serious ones, trying to grasp onto whether or not he was, just this one time. If he was messing with him, he didn't think he'd be able to take it.

"Yes, bro!" Yelled Richie, patting him on the back. "I swear to you. She's here, and hot as balls, too."

He squinted his eyes at him with a twinge of disgust, slightly shoving him to the side to get towards the door. He still didn't know if he believed it. You'd been traveling abroad on some grant that he, to be honest, didn't know much about. But you were doing great things. He couldn't guess why you'd come back to The Beef, of all places.

When he saw you through the window, he was lucky he was hidden behind the safety of the kitchen door because he couldn't control the way his body and mind froze at the sight of you. He took in the way your smile beamed out into the room as you spoke with Sydney, warm and unignorable, and he could've sworn something changed in the chemical makeup of his brain. Something that had his eyes widening and his feet planted in their place.

"What'd I tell you?" Richie's voice from behind him knocked him out of his trance. There was a smug, amused edge to his voice. "Now go and talk to her."

Carmen put a hand out, shooing him away. "I will. I just," he stopped, trailing off as he took in the way you truly seemed to glow after all the time spent away. He liked how it looked on you.

"Aww, don't tell me you're nervous now, Carm." Richie put his arms on Carmen's shoulders.

"Shut the fuck up." He shoved Richie off of him with a grimace, but his eyes never left you, jaw clenching as he followed your movements. "I'm not."

The pit in his stomach told him otherwise. He ignored the feeling, determined, and took in a breath before opening the kitchen door to the front of the restaurant, to where you stood.

At the sound of the door swinging open you finally turned your attention to him, lips coming to part with a subtle inhale that somehow left you feeling breathless.

"Carmen." You said his name with a grin, eyes lighting up, heart picking up its pace in your chest. You ran over for a quick, thoughtless hug that left his body partly on fire when you pulled away just as fast.

"Mars Bar." He uttered the old nickname endearingly, his voice cracking at the end of his words for some reason. He cleared his throat. "You're uh- you're here. In Chicago."

"Woah," Richie interrupted, coming in from behind, boisterous. "We've got a genius in The Beef, everybody!"

Sydney snorted from somewhere in the distance, but you couldn't even laugh because you'd been too busy staring at the way Carmen ran his hand through his golden hair that had been unruly since you were practically kids and still was.

"Yeah," you breathed, cringing at how awkward your voice sounded to your own ears. "I'm here."

The two of you held onto each other's gazes for a beat too long, scanning over the other wordlessly, taking in the changes that the years apart had brought.

"Well, uh," Carmen started, licking his lip to find strings of coherent words. "Do you wanna come into the office? Catch up?"

You nodded with a pleased tug of your lips. "Yeah, sure Carmen."

He nodded too and led the way, arm delicately resting on your upper back for a second in a way that left his fingertips buzzing, alive.

You entered the room after he did, the desk and walls littered with papers and sticky notes of different colors, an overload to the senses. It was stuffy, even with the door left open.

Before he turned to face you, he clumsily sorted some papers that'd been sitting on a wooden chair into stacks and pushed them onto the highest shelf above his desk so you could sit down, his white t-shirt slightly tugging upwards as he reached. Your eyes subtly followed the movement, eyes glancing steadily over a part of his lower abdomen that you felt alarmed at even sneaking a peak. That and the muscles that showed clearly from the short sleeves of his shirt.

God, you'd only been back in Chicago for a few days and your mind was already doing that thing it always did when you were around Carmen, like it didn't have the ability to think straight or act rationally when he was around.

"So, uh," Carmen started, turning his focus back to being one hundred percent on you. It became hard to concentrate when he did that, because he had the most piercing blue eyes you'd ever seen and you found over the years that they'd always had more than just one emotion swimming around in them. As you looked into them now, you still came up short in identifying them.

"What are you doing back in Chicago?" He looked at you like you were a puzzle, one he couldn't give up on solving. "Did the studies abroad finally start to bore you?"

"Yeah, they did," you joked, looking down at your lap. "Not really much to do in Europe compared to this place, you know?"

Carmen let out a wisp of a laugh, nodding, while also noting somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the first time he'd laughed in at least a few days. Your presence could always do that to him; Put him at ease when nothing else truly could.

"And, of course, I could only go so long being separated from the Berzattos."

He laughed again. That made twice. "Oh yeah?"

You nodded, playful in your words.

"I mean it." You did.

You let a comfortable silence nestle between the two of you, feeling the upward tug of your lips that you could only blame on Carmen. The thought left something alighted in your chest

"Seriously though." You say up a little straighter in your seat. "I guess the real reason I stopped by was because I was wondering if I could help out around here for a little while, now that I'm back home."

At this, the smile that had been resting on Carmen's face began to weaken.

"What?" His forehead creased, eyes dancing across your face with curiosity and disguised panic of his own.

Sensing his change in mood, you hurriedly continued. "I'll be home for a while and, you know, I just figured me getting a job here would be convenient and-"

"No."

You stopped mid-sentence, zeroing in on the man before you. "No?"

He had one hand leaning against the desk, the other's fingertips pressed to his forehead, head cast down, eyes evading yours.

"No, I- I'm sorry, Mars. We're ... we're not hiring right now. We don't need any new workers." At that, you frowned, taking in the tension in Carmen's stance and the tightness in his voice.

"I know The Beef is hiring right now, Carm." You gave him a disbelieving look. "In fact, I got the idea to work here from the flyers Sydney put up everywhere, so don't try and tell me you're not looking for new job applicants." You took a step closer to him, sensing something wrong and confused as to why he would lie, but he only seemed to be growing more agitated, shifting his posture upwards and no longer leaning on the table.

"That was a mistake, alright? I didn't ask her to do that. The Beef is doing perfectly fine, we don't need any extra help." Something sour was rotting in the undertones of his voice, the way he said the word help as if the thought of it was repellent.

"I didn't mean anything by asking. I ... I know you guys are doing fine, probably great even, I was just thinking that maybe I could-"

"We don't need any new fucking hires, Mars." He slammed his hand down on the desk, his tone raising so abruptly that it had you taking a step back in surprise.

When you looked up at him with alarm in your eyes, immediately his eyes began to soften, regret flooding through them. You held his gaze until those same eyes became taken over with this sudden guilt, almost sadness, flickering downwards towards his hands that moved to rest on his office desk, away from you.

You took a second to scan over the desk that was littered with papers and unsigned documents. It wasn't like Carmen to be unorganized, you knew that much. He had to be in a bad place to have his office look like this. Or, rather, Mikey's old office.

The room was a sensory overload, every inch of it a reminder of Mikey. Anyone would go crazy spending their days in here. Especially if that someone had been his little brother.

Carmen rubbed his hands over his face. You took a step next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder that lit aflame from the heat he gave off.

"For what it's worth," you started softly, and Carmen had to fight a shiver at how close your voice was to him. "I miss Mikey too."

He didn't make any movement to turn towards you, his jaw clenched and eyes still staring downwards. He didn't know what made you feel like you had to say that to him. He didn't need to look at you, though, to know you truly meant it.

"You can't work here," he said, his voice sounding defeated and a little far away. "I'm sorry."

Something restless in your heart was determined to make you fight back, figure out why Carmen was refusing you without a good reason. But something else inside of you softened at the way Carmen wouldn't meet your eyes, seeming guilt-stricken, and decided to back down. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder gave him a final squeeze.

You took your leave for the office door without Carmen moving an inch.

"Bye, Carm." Your voice was unfairly soft towards him, even if he felt like he didn't deserve the kindness that thrummed from your heart. "It was nice seeing you." You paused. "I've missed you."

Before he could turn to say goodbye, somehow communicate the 'I've missed you too' that he'd been meaning to express since he'd seen you, you had already turned down the hallway, out of sight. He knew for sure, then, that you didn't deserve that response from him. But he just didn't know how to tell you. How to explain without sounding ridiculous why alarms sounded in his brain at the thought of you working at The Beef.

He'd always known that you were destined for more than just the life you'd shared with him as kids, where you scored straight A's and were one of the top in your class. When you'd left for college while he stayed put, he didn't even let himself miss you, because he'd just wanted what was best for you. And when you furthered your studies even after college, traveling abroad, he knew that was the life you were meant for. To see you stopping all of that to work at The Beef, the place where his brother's dreams had become nothing but dead ends as time went on, wouldn't settle right inside of him.

Worst of all, he had visions of you working in the kitchen, behind the scenes where tensions were constantly overwhelming, of him losing his cool in front of you and you seeing a side of him he tried to keep you far away from. You'd always known the youngest brother Carmy, the world-class chef Carmy, the one who was at his best around you. He couldn't imagine what he would do if suddenly he revealed the Carmy he tried to hide; the Carmy who worked at The Beef, a bundle of unstable frustration who was barely hanging on, the Carmy who still didn't know how to live life without Mikey but who melted from your touch, who wanted more from the girl who'd been at his side for so many years as nothing but a friend, and a great one. He couldn't risk losing that.

Especially not with the condition of The Beef at the moment, which needed his full focus. Having you around would definitely not allow for that. So he convinced himself that this was for your own good. For his own good.

When you rounded the corner back out into the front of the restaurant, Richie was still there behind the counter, holding a phone to his ear.

You smiled at him a little tiredly and silently waved goodbye, walking towards the door.

Richie frowned, removing his focus from the phone call. "Where the hell are you leaving to so fast?" You spun around. "Don't tell me Carmy scared you off already."

You laughed awkwardly and thought of what to say, but must have taken too long to answer because Richie's face was already contorting with an over-the-top grimace.

"What'd that moron say to you, huh?"

You put a hand out, trying to calm him. "Richie, it's nothing, really-"

He was already stalking off towards the office, muttering something about 'killing Carmen'. You shook your head to yourself, because you knew how headstrong both of them were, and turned towards the exit. And, as you finally opened the glass door to leave, you could hear yelling and shouted vulgar words coming from the office. You didn't stay long enough to listen.

You didn't know what to think when it happened. You'd been sitting at home all weekend, alone, and honestly truly bored and wondering if coming back home was the right choice when your phone started ringing. You checked the screen and it was an unknown caller, but boredom had you picking it up anyway.

Mars Bar!

"Hello? Who is this?"

It's me.

"..."

Richie.

"Ohh ... right. How did you get my number again?"

I asked around. Anyways, it doesn't matter. I'm supposed to be telling you that you're gonna start work tomorrow.

"What? Start work? Where?"

At The Beef. C'mon Mars catch up with me here.

"Sorry, I'm just ... confused. Carmen told me you guys weren't hiring and that he couldn't give me a job?"

Oh, that. Don't worry about Carmy. I set that moron straight.

"What are you saying?"

I'm saying, you got the job kid!

"Richie, are you fucking with me right now?"

No! Why does everyone always think I'm fucking with them? I'm fucking serious hon.

"Okay, okay! I ... I believe you. I think."

You better! Carmy is really fucking stoked to have you work here, I mean it.

"He ... he is?"

Sure! So I better see your ass Monday morning, capeesh?

"Y-yea I guess so."

Your heart really should not have fluttered the way it did when Richie told you that Carmen was supposedly excited to see you. He hadn't sounded like it when you'd brought it up to him. In fact, he seemed strangely opposed to the idea, like you'd hit a sensitive area.

You weren't sure if you could really believe Richie. Like you'd always known, Carmen was stubborn as hell. The change of heart was unexpected, to say the least. You didn't know what to think. You still didn't know, as you walked through the front entrance of The Beef the next day, ready to start work. The only person to greet you at the front was Richie, standing behind the counter, per usual.

"Cousin!" He gestured you over. You greeted him back and rounded the corner to stand behind the counter next to him, unused to the feeling after spending years on the other side of it.

Richie spent at most two minutes giving you a rundown of what you'd be doing at The Beef, merely distracted by some yelling in the kitchen. The brief directions consisted mostly of taking orders and ringing a bell. A real challenge.

"Yeah, so that's basically it." He gave you a pat on the back and your front almost hit the counter at the impact.

"No paperwork or formalities or anything?" You were almost suspicious of the fast speed at which this had all happened. Richie whipped his head around like you'd stated something crazy.

"Formalities? C'mon, what are we, the fucking White House? This is a family business, Cousin."

He patted you on the shoulder roughly. "Thanks, Richie," you said, both slightly amused and slightly unnerved. You tapped your fingers on the marble countertop, trying to seem casual. "Where's um ... where's Carmy?"

Richie scratched his head. "He's, uh, he's busy. He'll be out soon. Don't you worry, shortcake." He gave you a wink that you didn't know what to do with and turned back towards the kitchen. You were gonna have to talk to him about those nicknames in the workplace sooner or later.

You called out to him before he left into the kitchen, hesitant. "You're sure Carmen said he wants me to work here, right?"

Your eyes bore into Richie's for a moment, and it was almost like you could see the thoughts in his head visibly swarming about. His shoulder raised. "Well, he didn't exactly say he wanted you to, but anyone with fucking eyes can see that he wants you-"

"Richie!" Your jaw hung open in utter annoyance and bafflement. He frowned at you.

"What?"

You almost scoffed. "Did Carmen really not say it was okay for me to work here?" You looked around, bewildered. "Does he even know I'm here?"

Richie gestured his hands out to you. "Sure he does!"

You could tell just from his tone what your answer was. You put a hand on your hip, shaking your head to yourself. "I'm going in there to talk to him."

"No!" Richie's eyes widened. "No. Just calm down, and I'll talk to him."

You stared at him disbelievingly. He stared back at you challengingly with the confidence only Richie could have. "I'll be back in no time. I know what I'm doing, trust me."

Richie didn't know what he was planning on doing when he opened the door to the kitchen in search of Carmen. He just hoped he wasn't using a knife when he found him.

He turned a few corners before Carmen was in his line of view, hunched over the counter as he worked busily on something Richie couldn't see. He leaned against the counter next to him, watching Carmen as his focus didn't even falter.

"Carm."

He didn't get a reply, just the back of Carmen's head as he focused on reading the piece of paper in front of him, hand braced against the shining surface it lay on.

"Carmy."

The man in question slowly shifted his focus to the man next to him, whose distracting presence had become impossible to ignore. "What? What is it?"

Richie peered down at him. "Promise that you won't get mad."

Carmen's eyes narrowed. "What the hell did you do?"

"Just promise me you won't fucking blow up at me like you always do."

"Why would I promise that if I don't even know what the hell you did?"

Richie tipped his head back exasperatedly. "Just say you promise!"

"I fucking promise! Okay?" Carmen ran a hand through his hair, moving it again to cross his arms. "Now, what is it?"

Richie paused, kicking out his foot and casually peering down at it with feigned interest. "Mars Bar is outside right now. Again."

Carmen's forehead creased and he looked over at Richie with sudden alarm. "What? Why? Is she okay?"

Richie gave him a knowing look, smug for a moment. "Yeah, she's fine." He shrugged. "I just, um, might have given her a job here up at the register."

Carmen's face was unmoving, his tone raising with poorly hidden anger. "You what?"

"And I might've also told her you really wanted her to work here."

Carmen's eyes scanned Richie's sporadically like he couldn't process his words fast enough. "Wh- Why the fuck would you do that? I already told her no-"

"Yeah, and I told her yes. Because you're an idiot and I'm saving your ass. You're welcome!"

Carmen ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "For what? Fucking me over?"

"I did not fuck you over, Carm, I'm doing this for you!"

Carmen shook his head, anger bleeding its way through his mind. "What the hell are you talking about? I told you, Richie, I don't want her anywhere near this place. I- I thought that was understood."

"No, it was not fucking understood because it was a stupid idea." Carmen let out a scoff as Richie put his hands out to Carmen in a calming gesture. "This is a good thing, trust me."

Carmen sputtered. "How the fuck is it-"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me, Carm!" Richie shouted, bravely putting a hand up in front of Carmen's face. He pointed his finger at him which Carmen regarded with annoyance. "You need to stop being a moron and pushing away every single fucking female that tries to come within ten feet of you, alright?"

Carmen's brows furrowed even further, confusion building alongside anger. "I really have no goddamn idea what your point is here, Richie, but this has nothing to do with-"

"Oh spare me, Cousin!" He shouted. "We all know you've had the hots for Mars Bar over there since you were kids, alright?"

Carmen's mouth clamped shut immediately at this, his breathing coming out in fumes. He shook his head back and forth.

"Is this what this whole fucking thing is about, you jagoff?"

"Woah woah woah!" Richie cut in. "I am not the jagoff here, Cousin. I'm helping you out!"

"Richie's right, Carm," cut in Fak from behind, appearing suddenly out of nowhere like he always seemed to.

"Shut the fuck up, Fak!" Carmen held his head in his hand, trying to grab hold of his temper that he could feel slipping out of control. He needed to breathe.

"She can't work here."

Richie raised his arms in a shrug. "Well, you're gonna have to go tell her that yourself."

"I fucking will."

Carmen stormed off towards the kitchen door, ready to tell you yet again that you had to leave, a daunting thought overlooked thanks to adrenaline. Richie chuckled from behind him. "Yeah right, like you're gonna fire her."

Carmen didn't let himself listen to Richie any longer. Fists clenched at his sides, he opened the door and there you were, standing there, looking confused and a little surprised with parted lips.

Richie came up from behind and patted him on the back. "Go on, Carm. Tell her."  You watched as Carmen's jaw clenched.

Carmen really wanted to tell you that you couldn't work here. That you had to go home. That you had to run far away from this place and go back to studying abroad and being more successful than any of them and all of that bullshit. Maybe it was because your eyes were shining a little too bright in the restaurant lighting, or that they looked a little too hopeful as they stared back at him with raised brows, waiting. But he didn't say anything of those things.

"You..." he started. Your eyebrows raised further. His palms suddenly became sweatier. He took a breath in.

"You, um," a beat passed. He licked his lip. "You're gonna need an apron."

Your eyes lit up even more if possible, and he thought his heart would give out. Then, you ran up and threw your arms around his neck in a tight hug, and he genuinely questioned if his brain had short-circuited because, by the time he came back to reality, you'd already pulled away and were practically jittering with excitement from in front of him.

"Thank you so much, Carm." Every time you smiled at him in that way he felt himself lose a bit of control. He didn't like the feeling. "You won't regret it."

He smiled back at you because he couldn't not. He wasn't so sure.

Carmen had given you your apron. When he'd handed it to you, you'd brushed fingers and your heart skipped a little beat at the contact. That had been the most eventful thing to occur within the next four days.

You'd done practically nothing at The Beef all week. There'd been a noticeable lack of customers coming into the restaurant to take orders, and those who did oftentimes came in just to see Richie, which had you leaning against the counter waiting and listening to their loud conversations with the man.

It felt like there was some sort of prank being played on you. Surely they wouldn't pay you money for doing absolutely nothing. All the waiting around doing close to nothing made you antsy, frustrated, and confused.

You'd been meaning to address this to Carmen, to ask what you were doing wrong, but getting a hold of him was near impossible. You'd seen so little of Carmen that you couldn't even be sure he came into work most days, the only confirmation being his shouts coming from the kitchen at the others. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you became jealous of them. You'd take Carmen shouting orders at you in the kitchen any day over him saying nothing to you at all. It almost felt like he was avoiding you.

It was a Thursday night, and the antsy feeling inside of you had you staying late at work that night, wiping down tables with an intense amount of fervor.

You'd thought you were the last one in The Beef. It'd been dark for hours, but you had nobody and nothing exciting waiting for you at home, so working a little extra couldn't hurt. And, if it made Carmen notice your position at The Beef at least a little bit, it would be worth it.

As your thoughts drifted to the man, something made a noise from the kitchen, and it became apparent to you that maybe you weren't the only one working late that night.

"Hello?" You'd said aloud, your voice slightly echoing in the vacant restaurant. No response was returned. You slowly went back to scrubbing down a table against the far wall from the kitchen door when it swung open, and there stood Carmen Berzatto in his patchwork wool jacket, looking like seeing you was the last thing he'd expected.

The sight was jarring to you for a number of reasons. You jumped up speedily and tucked the rag you'd been using to clean tables slightly behind you as if he hadn't already seen you using it.

"Mars Bar?" He said, the nickname falling easily from his lips like it was the only one he'd ever known you by. He eyed your tense stance.

"Hey, Carmen." Your smile was just as unnatural. His eyebrows pulled downward at you, eyes squinting and blinking confusedly in the dim lighting like he was fighting sleep.

"What are you doing here so late?" You nibbled at your own lip. Carmen, even from across the room, made sure to follow the movement. You noticed him eye the rag in your hands.

"I was just cleaning off some of the umm ... some of the tables." You didn't know why you sounded so embarrassed. You also didn't know what was going through Carmen's mind as he looked over you, and then over the spotless tables behind you.

"Wow," he began, running a hand through his hair. "You really didn't have to do all this. It's not ... it's not part of your job, you know?" A feeling bitter and stale simmered inside of you.

"I know." You stood up straighter. "Maybe I just wanted to.

You wanted to say more in the moment, tell him all of your frustrations, but you didn't. You just stared back at him and watched as he walked towards where you stood by the tables. You didn't move an inch.

His eyes surveyed the tops of the tables and he marveled at how clean they were. Not just clean, but almost sparkling, even in the low lighting that came from a single overhead lamp and the streetlights from outside.

"You did a great job, Chef."

Your eyebrows raised unintentionally. He'd never called you that before, though you'd heard the name from his lips aimed at others countless times. He noticed your reaction.

"What?" He asked, eyeing you curiously. He leaned back against the table next to you, his beautiful stare almost becoming a little too much for you after a long day. You shrugged.

"Nothing. It's just," you paused, "you've never called me that before."

His expression was slightly confused, slightly amused. "Well," he began, gaze shifting from the ground to you. "Now I do. You work here, don't you?"

The question settled uncomfortably in your chest, and you let out a laugh that sounded just as strained. "Hardly."

Carmen's eyebrows flashed downwards in a quick frown. "What do you mean 'hardly'?" You felt his eyes scanning your face, scanning you. "What's up?"

You went back to rubbing at the corner of a nearby table with your rag if only to distract yourself from Carmen's gaze and the petty way your words sounded coming from your lips.

"I mean," you began. "It feels like I haven't really done much of anything around here, you know?" When he didn't say anything back, you continued. "I've only taken a handful of customer's orders in the past couple of days. And, I know I'm not the best cook in the world but I could definitely help out in the kitchen with something. Maybe I could cut up some stuff, or prep it, or whatever you guys call it. Anything, really."

He didn't say anything right away, and you became horrified that you'd pushed his buttons too many times in the last week with your rants and that he'd finally send you on your way once and for all. Then, you heard something like a laugh come from him. You reeled back.

"Is something funny?" You asked, your tone uncharacteristically sour. He silenced his amusement and looked at you intently.

"You've always been such an overachiever, Mars."

You paused, then shook your head. "Oh please, we all know you're the ambitious one."

"No, not when we were kids," Carmen argued. "I was never great in school. You, on the other hand," he chuckled under his breath. "My mom would have me go check in on you whenever we hadn't heard from you on a night before a test. Make sure you weren't overdosing on coffee and pop."

You swore you could feel your heart beating in your chest at Carmen's revelation and the fondness in his voice.

"You know," Carmen began again, getting lost in memories. "I think my mom used to have this theory I'd marry you one day or something. Said you were the only girl who'd put up with my stubbornness."

Oh my God. Your head was spinning. Why was he saying this? He didn't know what the hell he was doing to you. Or your heartbeat, which was concerningly gaining speed. He never did.

All you could say was, "Oh?"

He laughed some more like this was something casual, something funny. You couldn't help but notice that forever present weight present in his eyes, though. Something he could never seem to shed.

"Yeah, well," Carmen began again, "my mother has also been mentally unstable for years, so." He jokingly trailed off, his voice dying in the silence, along with any butterflies you'd felt. You laughed quietly, even if laughing was the last thing you wanted to do when hearing that.

You felt like you were being suffocated. By him and his blue eyes and his dry, self-deprecating jokes and the small quirk of his lips. You were also getting restless because you'd started off trying to talk with Carmen about your job, and now were getting lost in the haze of your feelings for him which you decided were useless and would get you nowhere. You cast them aside the best you could and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Carmen," you said. His attention focused directly on you. "Did you listen to any of the things I said about working here?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he assured you. "Of course."

"So, will you take them into consideration? Let me do more, Carmen. I can do more."

There was a beat of silence. He fidgeted, like he did when he was a boy and couldn't focus in class, or when he was nervous around a girl he'd liked. Nervous around you.

He wanted to say yes. Hell, he would've given you anything you'd asked for just to see you happy. But he didn't know what the consequences of giving you a more important role at The Beef would achieve. What it might stop you from achieving. What it might do to him. So, he didn't say anything. Not anything direct.

"I know you can, Mars." He exhaled and then put his hands in his pockets, eyes cast down. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost midnight. We can talk about this more in the morning. Okay?"

His response was like a smack in the face. A sharp pain that left a dull ache. You let a breath out and tried to keep your face from revealing your stubborn frustration. You slowly nodded. "Okay."

Even if you tried to contain your emotions, Carmen could see it. He noticed it in the quick flare of your nostrils as you breathed, in the slight clench of your jaw. Stupidly, he asked, "Is that okay?"

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your feet. You tapped your foot once. "Yes."

Even more stupidly, he asked, "Are you sure?"

You finally shifted your focus to him and he felt his own jaw clench at the way it sent a rush down his spine.

"Yeah, Carmen." That was the first time he didn't like the way you said his name.

"Alright," he said, nodding slowly, lifting his bag higher on his shoulder.

"Alright."

You lifted the rag from the table, stood there for a second, and walked towards the counter, where you wrung it out and slapped it down into a bucket full of other dirty rags, and left it there. You didn't feel much like putting it away.

Carmen hadn't moved and just stood there by the tables, watching as you collected your coat from behind the counter and turned off the lights as you walked past.

When he saw you walking towards the door, he rushed to get there first, to open it for you. You beat him to it, opening it yourself. He closed it and locked the door behind him. You both were engulfed by the dull chill of the air right away, and you couldn't help but shiver.

Carmen turned to you. "Let me drive you home." He didn't dare offer you a lighthearted smile or anything of that sort. He didn't think he had it in himself to be lighthearted, anyways.

You gifted him a polite one with a short tug of your lips. "I have a car. Thanks."

Carmen could've smacked himself right there. "Right." He didn't know what was wrong with him. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just his assumption, but he couldn't bring himself to clarify.

"I'll walk you to your car then?" He asked, though you knew no matter what you said he'd make sure you'd get to your car safely either way.

"Okay, yeah."

You both turned to walk to your car, Carmen letting you take the lead for a moment before catching up to walk side by side with you. You were hit with the reality that Carmen Berzatto was walking you to your car, alone with you, at midnight. A small gesture that had your mind buzzing from the contrast between your love for him and your frustration with him. Nobody had come close to making you feel the emotions Carmen made you feel, even if no words were shared between both of you on that short walk. It felt completely silent. Somehow, even if the streets of Chicago were anything but, it felt silent.

Carmen thought about how his life was full of silent moments, never saying what he truly wanted to, to the people he wanted to speak to the most. When he noticed you were cold, even through your jacket, he walked a little closer to you. Whether you noticed it or not, he didn't know, but at least it soothed a small part of his mind that was blaring that night, telling him that he'd fucked up with you. That you deserved better. He couldn't help but think that same thing when he was around you, all the time.

You'd both crossed the street to reach your car in not even a full minute, but the walk had felt eternal to you. When you turned to Carmen to tell him goodnight, he was already looking at you intently. You wanted to ask what he was thinking, but you didn't, and unlocked your car.

"See you in the morning, Carmen," you said, tone unrevealing. He gave you his best neutral smile.

"Yeah. See you, Mars."

You went to open your car door, but this time he beat you to it. Even if he made you angry, he was still Carmen.

You watched as he rounded the front of your car back to the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, soft breathing visible in the cold from the white puffs it made in the air as he breathed.

You gave him one last wave as a goodbye, but by that time he was pretty much out of vision, and then drove away.

He watched your car drive down the street, stop at the light, turn the corner, and then glide out of view.

Immediately, he knew he should've said more on the walk to your car. He should've at least apologized. He didn't tell you that he was sorry for being so shitty. He didn't tell you he appreciated everything you did. He also didn't tell you his car was parked on the opposite end of the street.

And as he walked back to it, crossing The Beef again with its spotless tables, he thought about nothing except you.

The next morning had you waking up with a headache that only worsened when you stepped foot into The Beef. Your coworkers were shouting and blurting out orders in typical kitchen lingo that you honestly didn't fully understand.

There seemed to be an underlying tension simmering in the air that morning that had everyone's voices raised just a little bit more than usual, echoing through to you from your designated spot behind the front counter.

You figured out soon that that tension came from the review of The Beef that had been put in the paper the night before. It was the same topic that had Sydney and Richie arguing back and forth for minutes on end next to you.

"So this is a war on poor people?" You heard Richie ask as you finally tuned back into their yelling. "I see you."

"No," Sydney yelled back. "This is a war on you shutting the fuck up and learning how to use the tablet! The end dude."

"What is the end?"

You turned to your left to see Carmen stride out of the kitchen, looking every bit intense, shoulders hunched and rigid. He glanced at you in some form of a greeting for only a second before putting himself between Richie and Sydney and somewhat settling their argument.

"Are we ready?" He asked them with a rushed tone.

"No!" Sydney snapped, but headed back into the kitchen with Richie, even if you could see she wanted to punch the man in the face.

You turned back around to watch Carmen as he hurriedly ran a hand through his hair and started to rush back into the kitchen. You tried to catch his eyes, but he didn't meet your gaze.

"Um, Chef?" You tried to call, reaching out an arm to get his attention just a hair too late, him brushing past you without taking notice of you.

"Carmen?" This time he turned around, head flipping around to focus on you with eyes shot wide in the rush.

"What's up?" He asked, eyes quickly assessing your face. For a second you forgot what you were supposed to be asking.

"Did you, um, think about what I said last night?" He blinked back at you. "You said we'd talk about it in the morning, so, could we maybe talk about it?"

With the way he stared back at you, for a second you could've sworn he'd forgotten what you were talking about. Then, it had clearly dawned on him and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, holding out a hand to his head.

"No, yeah, right." He thought for a second, and then looked around, peeking into the kitchen, attention clearly spread elsewhere.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Can we just ... talk about this another time?"

You tried not to show your frustration. "Like when?"

"Uh," Carmen started, but he was already backing into the kitchen. A loud clanging noise of pots and pans rang through to the front, and his focus was completely lost. "Who the fuck keeps denting my pans, Chefs?!" He shouted. He threw the kitchen door open and moved to go inside, but not before calling out "We'll talk later, Chef!" and disappearing into the kitchen.

You groaned. "Later," could mean any time between that day and Easter. You didn't want to blame Carmen. You knew he was extremely busy and tended to overwork himself. But something in the back of your mind told you he was avoiding you. You didn't like the feeling.

It'd only been maybe an hour into the day when all hell started to break loose in the kitchen. At least from what you could hear. There was three times as much yelling as usual and people were weaving through the station by the front counter and the kitchen, shouting sandwich orders. Meanwhile, you felt lost and unhelpful, with no direct answer as to what was going on.

You'd spent your time filling up the napkin dispenser and cutting green tape, feeling your uselessness in your bones. Maybe Carmen was right. Maybe you were overly ambitious. That didn't change the fact that now it seemed like not just Carmen, but everyone else had gone out of their way to keep you away from the kitchen.

You'd thought about going in there anyway, but thought better of it when listening to the commotion. That was, until you saw Marcus with his bags taking his leave towards the exit, a look of both anger and defeat on his face.

"Woah, Marcus," you called out with furrowed brows. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

He let out a quick breath from his nose that sounded like it was supposed to be a wry laugh. He pointed towards the back. "Anywhere but in that kitchen." You frowned and he shook his head. "He's losing his shit, man."

You were confused and looked to him for more of an explanation, but he was already walking out the door and it didn't seem like he had any plans of coming back. You wanted to ask him "who?", but you had a sinking feeling in your gut telling you that you already knew just who he meant.

That and the loud "Fuck!" that came from the other side of the wall was the last push you needed to finally storm into the litchen. As soon as you walked in, it was a complete overload to your senses. The sounds and smells of sizzling food, the clunky buzzing of timers, and an argument at practically every corner. What had you reeling to a stop, though, was the sight of Carmen shouting truly throat-tearing orders, face turning red with exertion, hair damp from sweat, skin gleaming in the sight.

"Can somebody get me a Sharpie that fucking works?!" he screamed while whipping a Sharpie out of his hand and onto the ground. Your eyes widened at the sight.

"Woah," you said aloud, not even meaning to say the word but being unable to stop yourself. When you did, Carmen's focus switched onto you in a second and you could see the pure chaos held behind his eyes.

"Wh- what the fuck are you doing in here?"

You frowned at his abruptness. "I just wanted to know what the hell is going on in here-"

"Nothing is going on in here."

Someone laughed from around the corner and about three more timers began to buzz and beep.

"Oh please, I've been hearing screaming for hours and then I see Marcus storming out of here with his things saying you've lost it."

At that, Carmen paused, eyes searching yours intently. "Marcus left?"

"Yeah," you answered steadily, unsure of how exactly he'd react. "It looked like he was quitting."

For a second, it looked like Carmen felt guilty, sad, but then he was fuming and slamming his hands down on the counter.

"Fuck!" He shook his head back and forth like he was rummaging through a thousand thoughts swirling around his head. He shouted again. "Fuck!"

You didn't like the sight before you, or the way Carmen seemed to be losing control of himself, and quickly. "Now can you tell me what the problem is?" You almost pleaded. "I could help."

Carmen hardly bothered to look you in the eyes and strode past you to reach the oven you'd been standing by, lifting the lid of a pot and adjusting the heat at lightning speed.

"You're not seriously ignoring me right now when I'm offering to help-"

He put up a hand. "I told you I'd talk with you later, Mars. Go back to the register."

You scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? That's-" you shook your head. "I'm not leaving until I at least know what the fuck is going on."

"You wanna know what the fuck is going on?" Richie shouted out, laughing to himself loudly as he appeared from behind the corner. "Some moron left the pre-order option open on her beloved tablet overnight and now we're 250-something beefs behind schedule!"

Your head was spinning from the news and from the lack of air in the kitchen, but the yelling kept coming.

"Okay, well, the 'moron' is right here and she has a name, thank you," cut in Sydney, livid. "And there is no fucking way you are putting all the blame on me right now, Richie-"

"Who else's fucking fault is it sweetheart?"

"Richie, I swear to God if you call me that one more time-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Carmen's booming voice split the two of them apart. "Shut the fuck up and get back to work!"

They listened and went back to their stations angrily mumbling to themselves. That didn't change the fact that you knew the kitchen was in deep shit and Carmen was one wrong move away from losing his mind. You watched as he stormed around the kitchen to different stations. You'd be an idiot if you just stood at the register waiting for more nonexistent orders.

"Sydney," you called out as she passed by. "What can I do to help?"

She raised the corners of her lips in a slightly surprised smile and thought for a second.

"You can probably start by helping me with peeling these potatoes for now." She handed you a basket filled with potatoes and pointed towards a metal peeler on the counter. You quickly nodded.

"Okay, on it, Chef."

"Great. Oh, and-"

"Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?" yelled Carmen as he rounded the corner behind Sydney. He glanced angrily back and forth between you and the potatoes in your hands.

Sydney rolled her eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing, Chef? I'm getting us some very much necessary extra help."

"We don't need any fucking extra help right now!"

Sydney turned fully to face him. "Carmy what the fuck is your problem right now? Just let her fucking peel some potatoes!"

Carmen was breathing heavily, a vein in his neck visibly contracting."I told you guys she stays out front. I told everyone she's not supposed to-"

"Excuse me?" You asked, cutting in. He was talking about you like you weren't standing right behind Sydney, hearing his every shouted word. "Sydney's right. You need to stop getting so worked up about this!"

Carmen looked like he wanted to scream. To break out into shouts even louder than even those from this morning. You'd only seen Carmen worked up like this a few times before and even then he knew when he was taking things too far.

He didn't say anything back to you and just turned away.

"Someone just get her out of here!" He hollered, to anyone who'd listen. Anyone but you. Somehow, that was even more angering than his yelling.

"Hey!" You yelled, shoving his shoulder back to turn him to face you. He glanced down towards the same shoulder before looking back towards you. You saw something haughty flash behind his eyes as they stared back at you. "Whatever you need to say about me, you can say it to me, Carmen."

He was definitely speaking to you now.

"I need you to stay the fuck out!" He pointed a finger down at you. "You never fucking listen to me! I gave you this job because you fucking asked me to, because Richie fucking asked me to. So how about you finally listen to me and stay the fuck out?!"

You knew everyone had stopped to watch. It was quieter in the kitchen than it had been all morning.

You both stood standing there with heavy breathing. Your mind couldn't think of what to say back in that moment, but a thousand different responses played through your mind. Things you wanted to ask, to shout, to make sure he understood.

Your stare bore into Carmen's own for a few seconds, noticing the anger in them, but also something fragile threatening to shatter and reveal itself. He looked away from you quickly, bracing a hand on the counter.

"Leave, Chef." He said. You didn't need to be asked twice. Not that he was asking.

"Yeah," you laughed under your breath. You untied your apron and left it on the counter. "I definitely will."

He could call you Chef, but he wouldn't even let you enter the kitchen. He could yell at you, but he couldn't even look you in the eyes as you finally left the kitchen.

Another timer went off in the background as Carmen stood there, mulling over what he'd just done in his head; the one thing, most of all, he didn't want to happen.

Sydney shook her head, brushing past him. "Carmen Berzatto, you are a fucking idiot."

He didn't have anything to say, nothing to argue back with. He knew she was right. And as he heard the front door jingle as a sign of you leaving, he also knew just how badly he'd fucked up.

You didn't come to work the next day, or the day after that. Carmen never got to listen for the jingle of the doorbell as you came into work. He didn't get a single glimpse of you, those glimpses that were like caffeine shots, keeping him going every day. He didn't see your warm, familiar eyes that reminded him why he kept going in the first place. This was what he got for trying to keep you at arm's length. For being an asshole. The regret knawed at him painstakingly.

When the first hour went by and you didn't show up, he didn't need anyone to tell him that you wouldn't come into work that day. He had Richie cover the register in your place, an order shouted quickly as he was forced to think about things other than you. And as the day went on, the fact that he didn't know when he'd see you again was a heavy weight that lay in his chest, waiting to be addressed.

You awoke that morning in your apartment, phone lighting up beside you on your bedside table to four missed calls all from the same person. A person you didn't really feel like talking to much.

You checked the time and saw it was almost noon. It wasn't like you to sleep in. And, you hadn't called in sick to work. Not that it mattered.

The next day went the same. You hadn't called in sick that morning either, but you didn't have it in you to care. You didn't even know if you wanted to come back, but there was a twisting feeling inside of you that you knew wouldn't feel release until you settled things with Carmen. The hard part would lay in being upfront with him, not letting him make any excuses, and not letting yourself soften all because he was Carmen Berzatto. A battle between your pride and whatever you felt for him.

Carmen had called you two more times, but soon, the calls stopped coming. Carmen may have been an asshole at times, but he wasn't an idiot. In fact, he was extremely smart. And definitely smart enough to know that calling you repeatedly would get him nowhere, not when he'd been as awful as he had.

You'd spent the day driving around running errands that left you tired with boredom. The sun was setting as you walked back to your own front door, the air crisp and clear from the cold while your mind felt anything but. You reached your front doorstep and unlocked the entrance to your apartment, only to step forward and feel something crunch and mash underneath the heel of your shoe. You lifted your foot and glanced downward.

A candy bar. You peered down further. A Mars Bar.

Something inside of you paused. Maybe your heartbeat, maybe your thoughts. You weren't sure but you could feel it. The now half-smushed candy bar lay on the floor like a bittersweet memory.

You blinked. There was a note. It looked like it had been torn from the corner of something messily. More importantly, there was writing on it, in pencil, words pressed hard into paper.

I'm an asshole. You don't deserve that.

No name, but you knew who it was from. Not a "sorry" in sight, but you knew he was trying. You could almost feel the intent behind the words etched into the paper as you held it. You wanted to be furious still. And you definitely were mad. But maybe not as much. Because you knew Carmen.

You knew he had the temper of someone who'd just lost a brother, of someone who'd grown up in a screaming Berzatto household in the heart of Chicago. You'd never taken his outbursts to heart and you didn't want to now. Besides. You knew, eventually, you'd miss him too much to ignore him.

So much for not giving in to Carmen Berzatto.

You didn't really know what plan you had when you walked back towards your car, sat down, placed the chocolate bar and note in your bag, and drove. You didn't think you had one. You just were aware that your days away from The Beef had been extremely boring and that you wanted to see Carmen. To hear what he had to say to you. Even if it didn't end the way you wanted.

The familiar path to The Beef stretched before you now as an uncertain one. When you got there, you tossed your bag over your shoulder and got out of your car to the sight of the lights off in the front of the restaurant. But, if you knew anything about Carmen, you knew he'd stay late. Your assumption was proven right when you entered through the unlocked door—a slightly concerning fact—and saw the harsh white light of the kitchen flooding through to the rest of the place.

You hesitated to enter, not sure if you really knew what you were doing, but ignored the thoughts plaguing you and walked carefully into the kitchen, waiting at the door when you saw him.

He faced mostly away from the door, from you, hunched over the counter doing something that had his full focus, enough of it that he didn't notice you at first. You saw he had a toothbrush in hand and that he was determinedly scrubbing at the silver countertop surface that already sparkled spotlessly. Clearly, he didn't notice or care.

It felt like you were holding your breath as you watched him, saw how focused he was, how the muscles in his back flexed and churned with each precise movement he made as he scrubbed at a nonexistent stain. Like he held a desire to erase more than just grime.

He did that for what felt like another minute without pause, and you watched the whole time wordlessly, not wanting to break the focus he had and not knowing what to say regardless. Part of you just wanted to watch him, to see how long he could keep at it without noticing you. It wasn't for too long.

He lifted his posture upright and ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply with little exhale as if something weighty was plaguing him. Then, he finally sensed your presence at the doorway, eyes flicking towards you as his moments came to a halt. You watched him part his lips as he thought about what to say.

He shakenly said your name, a fragile plea. The word was soft coming from his lips like he knew it well, but nestled in your brain with surprise as he called you by your real name, not just a nickname. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything at all.

As he looked at you standing in the doorway, he felt exposed, like you could see through any walls he'd tried to build around himself. Words faltered from his brain. His lips parted again as if he was going to say something more, but they shut just as quickly and he ran a hand over his chin. He gestured that hand out to you.

"You uhm- did you get my note?"

You stared back at him for a beat before nodding and reaching into your bag. You held the note out in front of you, the side of your mouth quirking upwards. "Was this Carmen language for 'I'm sorry' ?"

You were half kidding and half serious, a test hidden in your words. The fact weighed on Carmen's brain, his demeanor more nervous than usual, more anxious.

"Yeah, uhm," he scrunched his eyes closed for a half second before walking towards you, taking the note from your hand and reading it to himself again, feeling the warm haze of shame creeping up on him. "Let me translate."

He read it once more. "Well, the 'I'm an asshole,' is pretty verbatim. I'm an asshole, and an idiot, and a bunch of other bad things." He glanced up at you from the paper and was relieved to see that you seemed at least a little amused. He continued. "And the 'You don't deserve that', you see, that's the good part, it translates directly to 'I'm sorry for yelling at you ' and 'it doesn't matter how stressed I was, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That was wrong of me. And ... you're great.' "

Your eyebrows raised. "That's quite the translation."

Carmen laughed to himself breathily, but it held little amusement. "Yeah, I've been told communicating with me is like trying to tame a wild animal."

You smiled. "Who told you that?"

"Sugar."

Your laugh was warm and sounded like home. It was a feeling that left as fast as it came because soon the air between the two of you seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The heavy silence lay bare and neither of you decided to fill it right away.

"Carmen."

The way you said his name sent shivers down his spine, a sensation that never ceased to affect him. He nodded at you, eyes studying your face showing that you had his sole attention.

"I know you don't like the idea of me being here. You don't have to try and hide it." His eyes widened as you spoke."But, could you at least tell me why?"

He stared back at you, brows furrowed like he was confused. It was like you could see the gears turning in his brain as he fought to find the right wording, revealed by the stiffening mass of his shoulders that never seemed to relax.

"I don't not like you being here, Mars Bar." He spoke slowly. "I think it's great that you're back in Chicago. I ... We've missed you."

A subtle warmth lay in his gaze, but you couldn't help but feel it was dimmed by whatever emotion he'd been suppressing, the battle evident in flickers in the blue of his eyes.

"I want to believe that, but with the way you've been avoiding me, how can I?"

"Avoiding you- that's," he shook his head, almost seeming incredulous, and you watched as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. "I haven't been trying to avoid you."

You didn't know how he could sound surprised, how you could've interpreted the way he's acted all week as anything else. "Well that's definitely what it's felt like when I tried talking to you all week, and you're just ... I don't know, dismissive."

He rubbed a hand at the nape of his neck, focus pitched somewhere that wasn't at you, jaw tightening slightly. "I just ... it's busy around here trying to bring in enough money, and there have been a lot of different things that have my focus right now," he started, as if he hadn't, time and time again, had to remind himself to stop thinking about you.

"Carmen, I know you're busy but that-," you tried to keep your emotions from showing through your voice, but you were aware of the tinge of frustration that was slipping through. "I know that's only part of it. I just need you to be more transparent with me. I can't read your mind."

He nodded, silently thanking God that you couldn't. He swallowed again and you noticed a tremor in the way he held the note he'd written, a sign of unease that he quickly hid in the pocket of his jeans.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know." His blue eyes stared into yours, though you could sense the reluctance in his voice. "But I'm not gonna lie and say that I think it's a good idea for you to stay here."

You felt yourself frown, brows tugging downwards in frustration and confusion. "Why?"

His gaze faltered for just a moment, seeming torn, but he was quick to regain his momentum. "This place is ... it's not meant for someone like you."

You squinted at him, feeling a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, I just mean," he hesitated, hearing the way you repeated his words, like they were meant to insult. "You were supposed to leave here and finish your studies abroad and achieve great things. Things bigger and better than this shit hole. You were gonna-"

"Carmen, stop." You almost scoffed to yourself. "My plans were always to stay close to home. A few months abroad weren't gonna change that." The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of the words you both shared, the thoughts never said allowed before. You noticed your breathing was becoming labored as you failed to understand the way Carmen's mind worked, the way he tried to communicate so much by doing so little.

"This whole time you were worried about me supposedly being meant to achieve great things, but what about you?" You let out a stunned laugh. "You're the one who studied with the best of the best, traveled all over, became a world-class chef and everything else, and now you're overworking yourself at this place and refusing help."

"Yeah, well, that part of my life stopped when Mikey gave this place to me as a final fuck you, so."

Your heart twinged not only at the name, but at the way Carmen's eyes flashed with hurt while his words could've cut stone.

"Mikey gave this place to you because he trusted you," you reasoned. You tried to make him come down from wherever he was, to detach himself from the hurt and open up. The hard plane of his shoulders lifted once in a shrug, with a small shake of his head as he stared at the ground.

"Yeah well, he just ended up fucking screwing me over."

Carmen's frustration seeped into his voice, the way he emphasized each word like he wanted to release whatever was simmering under the surface. You wanted to reach out, tell him that he could, but you held yourself back and stood up taller.

"That doesn't mean you should push people away from this place. Push me away. I could help out here. I saw how hectic it was the last time I was here and-"

"That day was a fluke," Carmen cut you off. "It's not usually like that..." his jaw worked. "I'm not usually like that." His words were laced with exasperation and a little bit of shame. You could tell he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Carmen, I understand. But-"

"I already blew up at you." His voice cut into the air harshly. He looked away, his chest rising as he tried to control rising frustration. "I didn't mean to do that, I don't... I'm not gonna let that happen again." His words were starting to come out in a rush, escaping his control, something you knew never sat well with him.

"Well, that's my choice to make, Carmen, not one that you can make for me."

"Mars, The Beef isn't- you don't want to settle for this place, just trust me."

"How can I trust you when you've done nothing but push me away since I got here?" You heard the tremble that was growing in your own voice, a mix of hurt and anger. "You've told me a million times what I want and don't want. Have you ever stopped to ask me what I wanted? Seen my point of view?"

Carmen's breathing was picking up too, the crystals that were his eyes looking at you with a mixture of defiance and desperation. He ran a hand over his face.

"I've tried to see your point of view."

"Have you?" you snapped back.

"I gave you the job even though I knew it was a bad idea, I went against what I knew just because it was you and I let Richie convince me it was a good idea, and I am fucking done listening to Richie's ideas-" his breathing was becoming uneven as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"Hey, Richie's done a lot more to help me since I've gotten back than you have, and a lot more listening!" Now you were yelling, and he was yelling and you didn't like the direction this was going.

"Yeah, well did Richie tell you this place was hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt when Mikey gave it to me? Did he tell you we probably couldn't even afford to pay you a decent fucking salary?"

You opened your mouth, expecting to be equipped with a response as fast as the ones that came before, but that didn't happen and you didn't say anything. You let your eyes scan Carmen, searching for a hint that he wasn't serious, but he looked wholeheartedly sincere and angered. In fact, he looked like he was fighting to even breathe steadily.

You looked at him concernedly, taking a step closer, but he just continued, laughing to himself without joy. "He didn't fucking tell you. Of course not."

His breaths were harsh, coming from his nose and lifting his chest repeatedly. His arms slapped down at his sides, hands trembling. "See, that's why I fucking told him I didn't want you anywhere near this crap hole, I fucking told him-"

His yelling stopped. He recoiled, backing up into the counter recklessly, a pot falling behind him with a clang that had you flinching. His vision was pointed downwards towards the ground, but he was frowning so hard you were sure he couldn't see anything at all, hand to his chest, gripping.

"Carmen?" You asked, alarm suddenly overtaking you and washing away whatever anger had been bubbling inside of you. "Wh- are you okay?"

It took him a second to even process what you'd said, another to respond. "I'm fine, I-" you put a hand on his shoulder to brace him, feeling how tense it was, feeling it trying to move with the effort of his shallow breaths. Panic, shame, embarrassment, everything, seemed to claw at his chest, constricting his breathing even more. "I just- fuck, I can't- I can't-"

"You can't breathe," you said, understanding what was going on now with another flash of alarm that you hid, trying to stay calm. He nodded shakily.

"Carmen," you said steadily. To him, the sound of your voice was distant, overshadowed by the sound of his heart pounding loudly in his ears, muffled the way voices sounded when from underwater. Carmen knew he wasn't underwater. You called his name again, and he did his best to hear it. "You're having a panic attack."

He managed to shake his head again. "I'm fine. I just- shit." His legs practically gave out from underneath him and he braced one hand on the table behind him, one on your shoulder.

The sight of Carmen collapsing to the ground had you wanting to release a sob, but instead, you threw Carmen's arm around you and somehow managed to take two steps towards a bucket that was on the floor against a near wall and got him to sit down on it unsteadily.

You took both of his hands in yours, noticing how his shoulders shook, how the bottom of his neck tinted red from the straining effort to breathe.

"Carmen," you called, kneeling down to his level and giving his hands a squeeze. His vision was blurred, staring downwards, but the hazy sight of his hands wrapped up in yours gave his mind a moment's peace before he was struggling to focus again.

You took a deep breath in, feeling selfish that you even could. "Carm, do your best to look at me." You purposefully slowed your words, spoke softly and clearly, and Carmen heard. You took one hand and rested it by his cheek, hair pooling into your fingers. You brushed it back, and ran your thumb across the rise of his cheekbone, lifting his face to look upwards at you. Even when his mind could hardly form coherent thoughts, your touch still affected him like no one else's.

Once his eyes were on you, you took the hand that was still holding his and placed both on your own chest, covering the area of warm skin close enough to feel your heartbeat. A tremor rolled through him, at your hand, at the way you felt, at your touch.

You. You were here, he thought, and that was a comfort to him in itself.

"Here," you said, pressing down gently but firmly on his hand. "Can you feel my heartbeat?"

Carmen tried, really tried, but his head wasn't focusing no matter what he did. You noticed his struggle right away, like he didn't even have to form words for you to know.

Hurriedly, you took off your jacket and threw it to the ground beside you. Carmen heard the sound of a zipper before his hand was taken in yours again and placed on your chest. This time, the underside of his hand felt warmer, closer to you, to skin.

"How about now?" you asked. His eyes were shut, and he really did his best to focus this time, tune into you, into the way your chest moved up and down beneath his hand, and with it, he heard the soft and steadying rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Yeah, I- I feel it."

You let yourself smile slightly, trying to take slow and deliberate breaths. "Carmen, I need you to do your best to match your breathing with mine." You looked at him and the way his features were scrunching with the effort of trying to listen to you. "Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. He'd do anything for you.

He focused on only his hand, yours, and you. Your chest underneath his palm, warm, and steadying, and alive. He felt it rise once, and fall, all in the time that he let out multiple staggering breaths.

The next time yours rose, he didn't let himself exhale until you did, taking in air from his parted lips and releasing it through his nose, feeling how the air spread thin throughout his body, a good feeling. He did that again, focused on the way his fingertips grazed bare skin, on the sound of your heart beating, in time with his now.

Behind the blank nothingness of his eyelids, scenes played out before him. Visions of his past, echos of familiar voices, spurts of color and light overtaking him.

Then, he thought of you, of the warmth of your gaze, even if he didn't deserve it. The shine of your skin, the way it looked soft even in the harsh light of the kitchen. Thoughts of you, you with him, years ago, months ago, and days, how he'd seen you for the first time in months, standing behind the counter with a smile sweet like the chocolate bars you'd always liked, the one he'd left at your doorstep, a weak attempt at salvaging one of the best relationships he'd ever known. He'd buy a million more if it meant you'd stay with him, by his side, like you'd been for years. Like you were now.

He didn't know how much time had gone by, but he opened his eyes and you were still there, still holding onto him, face looking calm but eyes swirling with emotion. With concern.

He felt fine now, his body having enough strength to support him, but he leaned into you regardless, head sunk down, resting in the place beneath your chin, on your chest. He wanted to get as close to your heartbeat as possible, not just feel it with his hand but surround himself with it.

You brought your hands up to envelop him, one resting on the white cotton covering the hard muscles of his back, rubbing it soothingly, the other coming up to rest in his hair again, gently brushing through the strands closest to the root as if to say I'm here, I have you.

You leaned your own head down to slightly rest on the back of his, mouth brushing against the crown of his head in a way so delicate he wasn't even sure he felt it. But you saw the way he melted into your touch, felt the way the muscles in his back slowly seemed to release tension at each caress. He needed to be held. But he was him, he'd never ask for it. But, you were you, and you'd always know.

You stayed like that for minutes more, though you would've held him all night if he needed it. When he sat back up, the whites of his eyes were tinted pink, and one of his cheeks was gleaming in the light, damp. You didn't comment on it. You didn't say anything at all but stood up from where you knelt and walked towards the counters, peeking underneath them until you found what you needed. You stopped at the sink and returned to your spot in front of Carmen with a plastic deli container filled with water in hand. You offered it to him wordlessly.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from you gingerly, but his voice was hoarse and he felt the red heat of embarrassment as he took large sips of the water, draining it halfway at once. A water droplet escaped from the side of the cup, dripping down his chin, and your eyes followed the movement until you felt guilty about it and stared down at your own hands. The two of you let the silence rest as it was, peaceful and healing, until you felt ready to break it.

"I'm sorry," you said, slightly a surprise for yourself to hear the words from your mouth, but you meant them. Carmen sat back up. "For pushing you to this point. I didn't mean to-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Carmen spoke quietly, voice somehow steady. "It- ... that wasn't your fault. It's happened before, when you weren't here."

You let your eyes scan over his face concernedly because he wasn't looking straight at you and you always felt the need to look after him, even if he wouldn't let you.

"This has happened before?" Carmen gave a weak shrug, like this wasn't something he thought about on his own, something he ever let occupy his focus.

"Something like it."

You made a breathy sound of disbelief. "Shit, Carmen."

So many thoughts were demanding your attention, too many. You wanted to tell him how this wasn't supposed to be a normal occurrence, how not okay it was to ignore his mental well-being. Shake him silly for never caring about the right things, for never caring about himself enough. To give him yet another lecture on letting you help him, on letting anyone help him.

"It wasn't as bad this time." His voice paused all your thoughts. "I think it was because you were here."

You didn't know how to respond, but he finally looked into your eyes and saw how much they spoke for you, how they widened, and then blinked once or twice, shying away. Almost like you were guilty, like you were sad. Something inside of him reminded him that he was probably part of the reason for that, and that ate away at him more deeply than any of his, like you said, panic attacks, ever had.

"I'm sorry, Mars."

Your eyes flicked up to his immediately, intention behind them. "You never need to apologize for having a panic attack, Carmen."

"No, for- for not just that." He paused. "For being an ass. For yelling at you. For not listening to you."

You looked at him wordlessly. You didn't want to say it was okay, because you'd be lying if you said that, if you didn't acknowledge how his words still rang sharply in your head. But you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that Carmen certainly made things feel okay when he was calm like this, understanding. Peaceful.

"And I'm sorry for all the shit I gave you about not listening to me."

You let out a quick breath, almost a laugh. "To be fair, I ... didn't."

His heart seemed to swell at even just the hint of laughter that coated your voice.

"Yeah. You don't listen to me." He let the side of his mouth quirk up to match yours. "That's the thing I love about you." Internally he thought, just one of many.

You stared up at him. At the way his eyes seemed to look over your face in adoration. It did something to your heart, pulled on the strings of it, and left it panging in your chest. He noticed right away.

"You alright?" His concern and furrowed brows almost made you want to laugh.

"Yes I'm-," you exhaled. "I'm fine. The real question is, are you alright?" He watched as your eyes flitted all around his face. "To be honest, you don't seem it."

He self-deprecatingly chuckled. "Wow, thanks, Mars."

You shook his arm a little bit, expression disbelieving. "I'm serious."

You thought about how tense he'd been underneath your touch, how tense he'd seemed for the many days that you'd been back home. How that couldn't be healthy for anyone.

"You need to start taking better care of yourself, Carmen." You made sure he was hearing your every word. "Your mental health is important. More important than any job. You have to stop worrying so much about The Beef and start worrying more about you."

He ran a tired hand over his eyes, immediately feeling the urge to look away. "If I didn't put as much as I did into this place, I don't even think it'd still be up and running."

You let the words hang between the both of you for a moment, knowing how important this was to him. It was important to you too.

"I know how much you've done for this place, Carm." You took his hand in yours again. "You care about it a lot, always have. I have too. But you know the toll it's taking on you. That's not good for anyone, and it'll only last so long. And ... that's why I think you should take any help you can get, for now."

As soon as the topic left your lips again, you felt his hand stiffen in your hand, mouth opening to argue, but you held up a hand.

"And before you say anything, I don't care about the full salary, I don't I care about traveling, or 'wasting my potential' or any of that. I care about helping this place, making sure it lasts, for Mikey." You breathed. "And for you. I care about you."

He could feel his own heart start to race in his chest, flustered like he hadn't known you for years, like you weren't one of his oldest friends.

"I care about you too," he said, and the words felt shamefully foreign on his tongue, thinking about how little he'd ever actually said the words. "That's part of why it's hard for me to think about you working here. You mean a shit ton to me. More than anyone else in this damn place."

"You don't mean that." You couldn't stop the way your brows pushed together, looking down at your hand that was holding Carmen's rough and callused ones. "What about Richie, or Fak, or Sydney-"

"They mean a shit ton to me too, but it's ... not the same. You're you."

He looked into your eyes, trying to see if you'd recognized his hints, but he picked up emotions other than the realization. On a frown, on reluctance, on a guarded, shy look.

"I'll always be me, Carmen." You bit at the inside of your cheek, putting off the topic like you weren't important. That was a foreign idea to him. "That doesn't matter. What matters is you not accepting help."

You saw the way his demeanor shifted at your words, a sense of uncomfortableness settling in his bones, revealing itself in the way he sat up straighter. Your grip on his hands was still firm, unwavering, like all you wanted was to make him understand.

"Carmen," you called, but he was already staring at you. "Promise me that you'll let other people take care of you, help you get by. Let me help you."

He was grateful for the way he was positioned, elbows leaning on knees, hands held by yours, because it was stabilizing him, grounding him when he felt like running. He knew that if he wanted to keep you around, keep you by him, he couldn't do that. That didn't change the fact that this was new to him.

"I, um,"

"It doesn't have to all at once." You gave him a smile, a real one, because you knew he was trying. Breaking out of old habits, for you. "One step at a time."

You were back home. Him pushing you away in his head, running, but only in his mind, didn't change that. He didn't want it to. Despite the pull of his mind telling him to hold you at a distance, the push of his heart wanted you. It was drawn to the cradle of your hands, the warmth of your smile.

"I promise."

Your smile grew to a grin that tugged at the sides of your glowing eyes, eyes that sparkled with affection like they held a hidden invitation, a plea for him to let you in. He finally did, and he knew so fully that he would've made that promise to you time and time again if it meant he could have you and see that smile as much as he wanted.

Your fingers brushed the back of his hands as you stood up from where you were kneeling, letting out an exhale that he noticed sounded almost weightless, a change from the burdened way it sounded to him before. The thought put him at ease.

He stood up too, watching you as you retrieved your jacket and put it on, him feeling the urge to help you with even just that. When you focused back on him, the etches of a smile still lingering on your face, it was magnetic. He couldn't look away. You couldn't either.

You stared at the way a hundred different colors danced in the blue of his eyes, a miraculous feat that you'd loved from the start. As you looked at each other, eyes saying more than your mouths had the courage to, your smile grew slowly, heartbeat picking up in your chest.

"Let me walk you to your car," you coaxed, gesturing towards the door. He laughed at the random idea, breaths escaping through his nose.

"What? Why?"

You shrugged, smile and features and everything, warm. "Call it the first step to you fulfilling your promise to me."

Knowing how he'd iced you out, he embraced that warmth. Made it his new home. "Yeah," he nodded. "Okay."

You gestured for him to follow you, he did, and that was all he had to do. You turned off the lights behind the both of you, locked the door, and didn't ask him to do a thing, just to see the amused look on his face when you smiled at him, his eyes staring back at yours like you were a wonder, something rare to be loved and kept safe.

As you walked back to his car, that was all he could think about. How he'd come across this ray of light in his life that was you, and how you'd stayed by his side, a miraculous idea but he didn't even want to dwell on that too much because it took him away from this moment being shared between the two of you, alone, the cold nipping at your skin but it not mattering because too much had happened that night to care.

The moment seemed to come to an end all too quickly. Carmen had stopped once you'd both reached his car, and you did too. He became aware of the feeling of you next to him, savoring it because he knew it'd end the moment he got into his car.

"Carmy," you said, extending the moment just a little longer. He hummed in response, watching as you stuffed your hands in your coat pockets.

"Can you promise me one more thing?"

He nodded, not missing a beat. " Yeah, anything." Something inside of you fluttered. You cast it aside to hold his gaze.

"Promise me you'll always try and tell me what's going on in your head. No more hiding."

His eyes bore into yours like he was contemplating something, a flicker of conflict in them, a vulnerability that you didn't know what to think of. Then, it was gone and you weren't even sure you'd seen it.

"Yeah, I- um," his jaw tightened for a second. "I promise, Mars."

You patted him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that felt phony even to you. "Great ... that's great."

He flashed a closed-mouthed smile and you both stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, not saying a word.

"Goodnight," you told him, because it was what you would've said to anyone else at that moment, ignoring the whispers in your mind telling you something was missing, that Carmen wasn't just anyone else.

Something tugged at him too, nagging him, insisting that he had more to tell you, more to say before the night was really over, before he had to go to work the next day and somehow navigate his day with the new promises he'd made you. But all he said was "Goodnight, Mars," before getting in his car with just a wave goodbye that felt bare and wrong.

You left him one more of your smiles through the passenger window of his car before walking off to wherever you'd parked your own. He was sure he'd felt butterflies. Butterflies.

Only you could do this to him. He'd felt numb, overwhelmed and unsatisfied all the same time for however long, and then you come back to Chicago and suddenly he felt everything, all the time. It was getting to him, clearly, because he found himself opening his car door and stepping out of it, losing control of his body, loosening his grip of rationality all because of you. Because he wanted to see you, needed to. He needed you.

You were a good distance away from his car by the time he'd gotten out of his, but you turned around at the sound of the car door practically slamming. You frowned, noticing Carmen walking towards you.

"Carmen?" you called into the night, confused. He caught up with you, something behind his gaze that had his eyes shimmering. You swore you could feel the delicate movement of his eyes across your face as soon as he was near enough to truly take it in.

He took hold of your hand, fingers interlocking with yours delicately, an electrifying feeling buzzing through you. You let out a small gasp at the contact, vision shooting down at the point at which you both touched, just a hand hold but the contact took your full focus.

"Hey," he said, something like a smile creeping onto his features and you'd never seen him like this, so exhilarated and full of delicate determination. You looked back up into his eyes, and he took a step closer, finally letting himself be pulled by that magnetic force calling him to you that he couldn't resist. He wouldn't, anyway.

"Wh-," you started, meaning to question him but the thought was brushed aside when he leaned inwards, his forehead falling against yours. His curls brushed against the top of your head, and you secretly loved the feeling, becoming breathless.

"You can tell me to stop, Mars." He murmured it so close to you, breath fanning onto your cheek in a distracting but addictive way, and suddenly you were forgetting how to talk. It didn't matter, because you didn't want him to stop. You looked back up at him, and he saw that in your eyes, so he didn't.

His lips brushed against yours, a taste of what he'd been wanting for longer than he could even remember. The feeling it sent throughout him was immobilizing, and he stayed like that, eyes shut, reveling in it.

It was you who closed the distance, pressing your lips to his and letting the dizzying wave from it spread all over you, to the tips of your fingers that immediately reached up to hold his firm shoulders, and to your brain that buzzed in joy and excitement and a bit of something else.

He froze up for a second when he felt your lips crashing into his. Your lips on his felt like the answers to all his problems, and he needed them in a burning, unignorable way. His brows furrowed and his hands reached up to cradle your neck delicately, holding you like you were more valuable than anything he could've bought, anything he could've wished for, could've imagined he could possibly have.

His lips tugged on yours and yours tugged back, a rhythm that felt easy to follow, like the deep thrum of a heartbeat. And when you both finally pulled apart for air, it was like you could still feel that rhythm, because your heartbeats were beating so loudly and in time with each other's that it felt like the moment was never meant to come to an end.

Your foreheads were still connected, and you knew neither of you had it in you to pull away. You felt somehow even more breathless.

"What was that for?" Your voice was soft, hoarse. You swore you saw Carmen's lip quirk upwards.

"I promised to not hide what was going on in my head." Your hands came up to delicately wrap around his biceps, impossibly solid underneath your fingertips. He didn't suppress the shudder that traveled through him. "Call that the first step."

You smiled, this time against his lips, and somehow that beat every single smile you'd ever given him before. It felt like a promise of your own, to share your warmth with him from now on. He liked the idea, a lot. He'd let you do it whenever you wanted, he liked it that much.

He'd let you take care of him whenever you wanted, too. Again and again, until you got sick of him. But he was Carmen Berzatto. You knew you never would.

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear #friends to lovers #love confessions #one shot #fiction #romance #carmy needs a hug #mental health #carmy needs therapy #slight angst #x reader #childhood best friends to lovers #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #jeremy allen white

[starfirette]

School Reunion

He was a a lithe figure of all rhyme and very little reason...

...especially he gestured for you to come closer. Tousled tufts of soft, brown hair flopped over his forehead, not so strictly gelled back today. His hair was ultimately the first thing that warmed you up to him. His previous face was undoubtedly your first, true love--all blue eyes and ears, knit sweaters under leather jackets, and a secret soft side...

❇Tenth Doctor x Fem Reader

❇hmmmm this took a month to perfect! I shall page @bellaswansrealgf because this does indeed have a size kink portion :)) this is cross posted to my ao3 (username is the same if you want to check that out!)

❇ masterlist | 17+ | size kink goes brr | cheeky Tenth doctor | "Mr Smith" | Sexual Roleplay | Vaginal Fingering | Penis In Vagina Sex | Age Difference kinda technically | this word is so gross but I have to put it in the tags Squirting | Also some degradation | Overstimulation | Creampie | switchy Tenth doctor, but he's a dom rn | Older Man/Younger Woman and teacher student vibes but also not really

You were the illustrious and young English teacher, and he was the older, more experienced Physics teacher.

But it had only been a game. It was the ruse for a job at some school.

Of course you had "just" graduated college; you needed a guided hand to show you how to handle those rowdy students. "Professor Smith," you said as you batted your eyelashes. The size difference between you two was enough to make you squirm, thighs clenched and heart beating in anticipation. 

"Poor thing," 'Mr Smith' had said. His hand is ruffling up the chiffon of your knee length skirt. "You're so needy for attention. You'd take any bit of attention from even the science teacher." 

You wouldn't yet go into further detail of what conspired that day. After all, it was a little bit inappropriate of you two to do such fooling around during the hours of an investigation. Rose would have been livid to know that while she was slinging chips and pizza to students and staff, you and the Doctor were rather preoccupied with teaching not the students but yourselves just how Miss [L/n] and Mr Smith ought to behave. 

Of course, the roleplay was divine. Mr Smith was a role that the Doctor deeply enjoyed to act with, especially when it came to shamelessly flirting with you as if he didn't know you. You suspect he had all his fun that way. 

Apart from the canoodling in the workplace, everything else was really a ruse. The way it all started is a little bit convulated, but Rose heard from Mickey who must have heard from someone else that strange things were going on back in her hometime. (Hometime was a bit of a private joke between you, Rose, and the Doctor, it's a play on the word hometown! You and the Doctor fight for the credit of who actually coined the term but Rose often sides with the argument that you truly did.) The Doctor went into full dramatic effect, as he tends to do, and he created you a full fledged identity and a college degree. In real life (for lack of a better term)you're almost done with college where you're honestly pursuing a degree for English Literature.

The Doctor surprised you with the position at this school. Albeit it's undercover, he wanted you to have some fun. His face lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree when he saw how excited you were. Granted, this was a far cry from being an English professor at a prestigious university, as you drunkenly confessed to his prior face while celebrating the win against the nanogenes during the second World War. Though he looked different then,  he still loved you with the same, big heart. 

Hearts. 

Force of habit. 

Day One of the mission was the easiest mostly because day one didn't require real work. Rose helped you research the winning numbers for some lottery tickets. She dropped off two winning tickets at the homes of a couple teachers from the school: one from the Mathematics department, one from the Literature. 

Needless to say both resigned in an instant. Unfortunately this sparked nasty rumors which accounted the two teachers (who really didn't know one another at all) were having an affair. Well, so long as they enjoyed the money. And since neither of their spouse's seemed to believe these rumors, you supposed there was no real harm done. 

Day two consisted of applying for the jobs and actually getting them. The interview process went well. You interviewed with the superintendent who claimed the headmaster was busy. 

'This isn't fair,' Rose said. 'I want to be a teacher.' 

'You'd look so cute as the lady administrator,' you pointed out from the sofa of the Tardis common room. 'You could wear fake specs. Y'know, look over them and give students dirty looks. Type obnoxiously on your clunky laptop. It's such a shame mini iPads weren't invented sooner. I'd look soooo cute carrying mine around.'

Rose groaned theatrically as she collapsed onto the sofa. She rolled on top of your lap, pushing the remote out of your hands so you could pay attention to her. 'Tell your boyfriend to make me a teacher,' Rose indignantly said.  Her nose scrunched as you shifted your thigh to push her off. 

'My hands are full,' The Doctor said through a mouthful of snack food. He tossed a sprinkle of crumbs at Rose, consequently catching some on your lap. You shoved his face with mock disregard. 'You mean your hands are tied,' you corrected.

'Sure,' he said, 'that too.' 

The start of day three. You dressed in a knee length skirt with pointy flats and a smart looking blazer. You decided to forgo a pair of fake specs (though you were known to occasionally need a pair of real lenses ever since a strange trip with your blue-eyed, prominent-nosed Doctor to an interesting laser show which had some nasty effects on your eyes; it was some sort of festival on Mars in the year 3000). As you walked down the hall to your class room the Doctor walked past, heading the opposite way to the Mathematics department. He sent a prolonged look up and down your outfit. 

"Hello, Mr Smith," you said curtly. You had to fight the grin that tussled with your lips. You enjoyed playing your role too, too much.

Mr Smith uncharacteristically fumbled over his feet as he looked over his shoulder to meticulously study the way your bum and hips moved as you went about your merry way. Needless to say this is when he decided to amp up his game. 

The children in your classroom couldn't have been older than fourteen. You didn't expect anything outwardly startling at this point, because you didn't yet realize the secrets this school held. 

You took a look at the lesson plan the students had been going through before their previous teacher took a miracle vacation to Sicily to renew their marriage vows.

Good for them. 

"Who would like to examine the motifs of this scene?" you asked. You were picking through a bit of Macbeth. A beginning scene with the three witches; it should be easy enough. How typcal to have stumbled upon their Shakespeare unit. An obligatory staple of middle school. Or highschool. Whatever grade these kids are in. You tried thinking of it in terms of Harry Potter; are they fifth years? Harry Potter was certainly fifteen during Order of the Phoenix. 

You contemplated this as no one actually tried discussing Macbeth. 

"Would anyone like to mention anything?" Your attempts to get them talking was dismal. Perhaps they missed their old teacher. You felt a little guilty. Even more guilt poured in you when you obnoxiously thought that their old teacher wasn't missing them, not while they were having a second honeymoon in Sicily!

"Anything?" 

You could have heard an eyelash drop in that room. 

"Going on about motif, it's rather interesting that when Macbeth enters, he notes...? What does he say that directly links him to the witches? Oh, goodness, I've lost my place...'So foul and fair a day I have not seen.' Does anyone remember what the three witches say in the opening scene?"

Finally a hand is raised.

You want to thank the kid profusely as you call on her. "What's your name?" 

"Addie Jones," the girl said. 

"Wonderful! Nice to meet you, Miss Addie. Do you remember the line?" 

"'Fair is foul and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air.'" 

"Excellent," you tell her with a smile. "Not only does this line set the overarching theme for the story, it also is a neat trick Shakespeare put in. Macbeth enters a few scenes later and by repeating their words, he's effectively sealed his own fate. This is a pretty good example of a motif. Does anyone know what a motif is?" You scanned the room, hoping for another arm to pop up, but Addie's hand waved shyly in your sight. You understood, then, why teachers threatened to call on students at random. You'd threaten that yourself if you knew anyone else's name. Besides, Addie seemed eager enough to share her answer. "Addie!" 

"A motif is a series of repeated patterns, often dialogue or imagery, in literature used to further a narrative." 

Whoa. 

"Great answer," you told Addie, a sincere smile capturing your lips. "Given that definition, can anyone find other motifs in the play?"

Addie raised her hand. 

"Does anyone other than Addie have an idea?" you tried. To no avail, you nodded at Addie. You took a seat behind your desk, grabbing a pen to jot down a forethought about Harry Potter. 

Addie took a loud and deep breath. "Another integral motif in the play is sleep. Banquo states, act two scene one, 'And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers restrain in me cursed thoughts that nature gives way to response.' Act two, scene two, Macbeth by now has killed the king. 'There's one did sleep laugh in's sleep, and one cried Murder!' 14 lines later, same scene, Macbeth then says, 'Methought I heard a voice cry 'sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep. The innocent sleep, sleep which knits-,'"

You were extremely puzzled. You tried to gently interupt Addie's train of thought, which seemed to be more than just reading directly from her book than actually answering your question. Taking a stand, your flats smacking the linoleum floor, you strolled back to the front of the classroom, your lesson plan in hand. You caught a glance at Addie's desk. Wherein you'd been expecting to see her fingers eagerly scanning along the pages of her open book, you found that her textbook was rather shut, her hands clasped atop it as she waited for you to say something. 

Blinking in surprise, you looked back at the lesson plan. You skimmed through a couple pages. Just when did they begin studying this play? That thought was muting all of your prior Harry Potter saga theories. Only at the start of the week...and they were only assigned an at home reading for the first four scenes. 

Perhaps Addie liked to read. Perhaps she enjoyed Macbeth so very much that she chose to memorize the entire damn play.

You hadn't seen any notes marking Addie's remarkable abilities in the subject, so you wondered on about how she could have done such a quick study of the play. "He certainly prattles on about sleep, doesn't he?" you asked Addie, who grinned toothily and nervously. "What do you think it means?" you continued as you hugged the lesson plan to your chest. 

That smile faded. "Oh. I'm not sure." Addie, who had memorized all the lines and their scenes regarding 'sleep', was at a loss for words. 

You felt a little bit guilty to find that she seemed incredibly embarrassed to be without an answer. You didn't necessarily care, but you wanted to probe for more answers. "Want to venture a guess? Why do you think sleep is so important here? What might it symbolize?" 

Addie went red in the face. She played with the edges of her textbook. Her nails pulled apart the layers of the hard cover, flaking specks of cardboard across her desk. 

"We could ask ourselves what a literary symbol is," you continued, quickly trying to move on before Addie could explode. "What's a symbol in literature? Maybe someone aside from Addie?" 

You sighed. Defeated again. Tomorrow you'd have to try harder. "Alright, Addie, take it away." 

After taking a breath of relief, Addie prattled away, "A symbol in literature is one of the literary devices that an author might use to convey a hidden message or theme. Symbols often are represented through objects or ideas that serve with a literal purpose but have metaphorical meaning which furthers the narrative, much like a motif." 

Puzzled by her in depth definition all you could really do was nod in response. 'That's correct," you informed her. Though it was far too correct. It didn't sound at all like the answer of a thirteen year old girl. It sounded like a line from a thesis paper or even from some dictionary. Her knowledge us certainly expansive but robotic in nature. She can identify patterns, like motifs and sleep and what not, but she can't analyze their meaning. 

You frowned. More accurately, she couldn't form her own thoughts on the subject matter. 

During lunch break, you searched the cafeteria for the Doctor. You went through the line, declining food after food. You made a scene of asking Rose for an apple, and then  you leaned in close as she handed it to you. "I found something a little bit strange. Sweet girl in my class basically memorized her English textbook. She might as well have memorized mine. Have you seen him?" 

Rose's brow twitched with contempt. "No," she said sharply. "Fuck 'im, really, I'm stuck back here slinging chips at bratty kids and he's off doing who knows w-oh, there he is." She pointed him out in the crowd of students, the man sitting at a table and picking apart a turkey and cheese sandwich layer by layer. "He's bein' weird again," Rose snickered. The Doctor smelled one slice of bread. "Oh, God, go stop him. I can't watch him deface himself like this. Wait, take your apple, now. If I was working on commission then you'd be of no use to me. That's right, take some milk, too. Not the skim, you daft. That's basically water. Take the two percent." 

You tried to juggle the milk and apple that Rose had tossed in your arms as you sped walked towards the Doctor. You dropped the apple on the table as you took a seat in front of him. His nimble fingers dropped the bread in a split second and he eyed you close. "I've got something," you said. 

"Ah, ah," the Doctor said sharply with a wag of his finger. "I don't even know you and you're going to sit down, without even asking, and try and engage in conversation? Tsk. You naughty thing." 

You rolled your eyes. "It's nice to meet you," you told him, playing into his game. "I'm Y/n L/n, yada yada. Anyways. Girl in my class-"

He shook his head. "Nope. You didn't ask my name." 

"I know your name," you mocked his tone. "We met at the staff meeting." 

"How do I know you actually remember it?" the Doctor challenged you. "Go on, just ask my name!" He looked much too amused as you angrily peeled open the cap to your milk. 

"What's your name," you therefore said monotonously, trying to void the words of any inquiring tone. 

"John Smith, physics professor. I'm single, by the way." 

"Anyway! Girl in my class! Basically memorized the entire textbook. She had an answer for most of the questions. However, those answers were all...materialistic. I don't know how to describe it. She didn't know how to input her own thoughts. It was like she just downloaded all the information to her brain. Does that make sense?" 

The Doctor nodded. "I've had a similar experience. Kid in my own class has knowledge way beyond planet earth." He pushed his plate of food forward. "Try some."

"No, thanks," you said politely. "I'm not very hungry. Something about this food weirds me out," you drawled as you poked his lightly tousled food around. He was more sampling everything rather than eating. "I've always hated school food. The chips look...odd. The smell of them is somehow off. Does that make any sense?"

"Come with me," the Doctor responded, not saying anything to your earlier rebuttals regarding the school food. "Toss that, I'm not going to eat it," he added. He took the tray and dumped it. You followed behind him as he slid his tray with the other dirty ones. Rose sent him a glare so foul you were surprised he didn't collapse on the spot. A glare like that could make him regenerate. "Found anything strange?"you ask Rose before she and the Doctor can get into a cat fight, an occurrence which frequents the TARDIS.

Rose gossiped, "Half the kitchen staff got replaced not too long ago. And this lot are weird. Get this! The entire lunch menu has been designed by the headmaster himself. What qualifies him to even do that? Don't you have to study...nutrition?" Rose shook her blonde fringe from her milk chocolate eyes. A flare of mischief came in her eyes. "I bet he didn't."

"Is nutrition a course of study? Actually, it is, isn't it? Oh, Rose you should be a nutritionist!" You said gleefully. 

The Doctor sighed. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to keep up with his two companions.

"Oh, shush," Rose chided to you. "The point is we've been at this for three days! We don't even know what's going on. More like you two don't even know what's going on. I've done my part! I reported back to you an' all!" She looked at you both with arms folded across her chest and her eyebrows raised indignantly. She licked her lower lip in a dare for you or the Doctor to argue back, her chocolate-brown eyes strangely malicious. "That's right, isn't it? You've got nothin' to say but-"

"Stop yelling at us!" The Doctor finally dished back. He seemed irritated beyond his senses, which was typical of him. "Your boyfriend is the one who called us."

Rose's mouth quivered at the term. Her lips opened and closed as though she was a fish out of water. "Mickey's not my--hang on a minute, where are you two going?" she finally demanded as the Doctor started to manhandle you. You looked vaguely surprised, staring at him with incredulity. 

"Research!" the Doctor called without looking as he kept his deft fingers tightly wound on your wrist. "We've get a lead!"

You struggled to let her know as he escorted you away. 

The halls were empty as the Doctor pulled you contently down the Mathematics hall. His classroom was certainly empty, all students eating their lunch for the next thirty or so minutes. 

"Show me what you've got," you told him excitedly as he turned the lock on the door. You looked around eagerly for whatever gadget or gizmo he was going to produce. You waited for another moment before you watched with curiosity as the Doctor settled himself easily on the edge of his desk.  "Where is it?" you asked.

"What do you mean?" The Doctor countered, crossing his arms with some semblance of an attitude.  You mimicked the pressing of a sonic screwdriver. "Where's the...gizmo...aren't you going to sonic something?" 

"Oh. No gizmo," the Doctor said. "Not this time. Well, not right now, actually, I'm sure I'll sonic some sort of gizmo sometime soon. No, I actually wanted this time for ourselves. I'm not fond of your attitude, Miss L/n." 

You raised a brow. "My attitude?" 

The Doctor nodded. "Exactly. Your behavior has been nothing short of abysmal. Neglecting me, running about with Rose, and entirely disregarding your duties here. I supplied you with a title of superiority and you have sorely misused it. There's only one word to describe you these past two days." 

For a brief moment your heart stuttered with genuine fear, but then you watched the sparks which flickered in his hazel brown eyes burst into a large flame. 

"Naughty." 

You barked a laugh. You put a hand over your fast beating heart. "That's not funny," you chastised. "I thought you were being serious!"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 

No going back now. Not with the rapid pooling of warmth in the bottom of your belly. The Doctor shook his head, tutting his tongue as he folded his arms. 

He was a a lithe figure of all rhyme and very little reason; especially he gestured for you to come closer. Tousled tufts of soft, brown hair flopped over his forehead, not so strictly gelled back today. His hair was ultimately the first thing that warmed you up to him. 

His previous face was undoubtedly your first, true love--all blue eyes and ears, knit sweaters under leather jackets, and a secret soft side with a not so quiet splash of kinky foreplay. There were zero hints of that face in this one, and the first time you saw it you didn't know what quite to think. 

The Doctor had burst into a bright, ball of golden light. Spheres, marble sized, of such light fizzled around him, orbiting his figure while Rose gripped your hand. Her fingers slipped on the fresh blood, making you wince as she slid over the fresh slice.  The fight against the Daleks had been the most important matter in all the world just moments ago. And now you felt as though...you were about to lose everything. 

Your mouth burned with the hard kiss the Doctor had given you. His tongue had meddled against yours, sweeping the roof of your mouth the way he knew you liked. His thumbs swiped away the tears that dotted the corners of your eyes, and just like that, he was saying goodbye. And then this. 

Dizzying rushes of blinking in and out of reality coursed through you. This almost felt like a dream. The image charading in front of you didn't seem right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, afterall. You three were supposed to find Jack and go home, wherever 'home' was. No matter where home was, the day would always end with you laying on the Doctor's chest, ear to dual hearts while he played with your hair. 

And yet that wasn't how this was going to end. 

Rose gripped your hand tight. Your vision flickered with stars as her fingers slipped into the gash on your hand. Nausea punched you in the gut as the light grew brighter and brighter. Stop, you wanted to tell him. It's not funny. 

It wasn't funny at all. 

The energy surged, so loud you could almost hear it, you could practically feel it sizzling inside of you. Energy sang inside the TARDIS: the chime high and loud, the pitch far beyond any regular frequency. And God, it hurt. 

The ringing ascended frequency and finally it shut off as the Doctor cried out just a bit. 

The light disappeared. 

And so had your Doctor. 

You crept closer. 

He pushed his leg out, patting the top of his thigh. "Take a seat, Miss L/n," he sighed, making a point to sound disappointed. He would really be if you didn't play along! So you hopped up to take a seat, holding onto the back of his neck for leverage as you made yourself comfortable. 

It wasn't unusual for him to become unexpectedly horny, especially in the midst of a mission such as this. He was one for taking fortified risks. 

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked. 

"Just that I've been a very bad girl," you informed him with an exaggerated pout. You puckered your lower lip. "I just wanted your attention, Mr. Smith." 

"Consider it done. You've certainly caught my attention with this little garb," the Doctor said as he pushed a hand up your skirt. His lean fingers squeezed the inside of your thigh, making you squirm. The flash of quick pain on the easily bruised skin made your heart rush. Looking up at him, it was easy to spot the remnants of the other Doctor. Your first Doctor. 

Though his face has changed, and you love him all the same-if not more-he'll always have that face. 

"Professor Smith," you said as you batted your eyelashes. The size difference between you two was enough to make you squirm, stomach clenched with eager anticipation.

"Poor thing," 'Mr Smith' said. His hand kneaded the jiggling flesh of your leg, pinching it and grinning at the way you wiggled in his grip. "You're so needy for attention," he cooed. "You'd take any bit of attention from even the science teacher." 

His mouth pressed against yours. Lips against lips, both soft as the petals of a flower, but clashing hard, as if you two had never kissed before! But kisses are less than few-and-far; they're frequent. They're the Doctor's favorite past time.

Even with this face you two spend nights in his study, laying in the chaise lounge, your ear against his chest and listening to his dual hearts. Even with this face do you two kiss passionately into the hours of the ambient night lights that the TARDIS has set for you. Your hands plucked at the buttons of his shirt.  His build was entirely different from the previous one he bore. Where then he'd been slightly bulkier with more muscle and mass, he was now slender, lithe, and graceful. He walked like a cat with cunning mischief on his mind. His deft fingers were slipping up your skirt, hooking across the band of your underwear and cheekily tugging them down as he pushed his thumbs into your hips.

He loved, loved, the curves of your body (he always had. It wasn't something that would ever change). He liked to grip the fleshy parts of you tight, squeeze and fondle any parts of you he could get his hands on.  You splayed your fingers out like a starfish, pushing your hand on his sternum just between both hearts. You could feel them both beating fast as his shirt drifted open,  framing his clavicle and abdomen like a picture. He couldn't be more gorgeous than this; freckles constellated his pale skin. The shades that stood out on his skin compared  to yours made your lips curl. The colors were like blots of paint on a pallet in the hands of an artist. 

Confidently, you believed that a painting with every shade your two bodies had to offer would outshine the Mona Lisa or Starry Night. 

The Doctor's hand crept below the threshold of your underwear. His thumb padded through the plush lips of your pussy, nudging at your pearled clit. "Not nearly as wet as I'd prefer," the Doctor chastised as he flexed his thumb in a circle on your clit, not bothering to start at a slow pace. The quick lashings of a hurried pleasure made your body tremble. Like a startled newborn you spasmed in his hold, nearly collapsing backwards. If he hadn't had an arm around your waist you would have made a fool of yourself. 

"Can't stay still?" The Doctor cooed. "The more I rub this little clit, the more wet that oozes out of you. That makes it so easy for me to simply..."

Your voice strained as the Doctor slowly pushed his middle finger inside of you. He moved slowly so that you could feel every bit of your cunt that he stretched out. For all the times you'd ever attempted to stick something inside of yourself, this really took the cake.

Every time you tried it just felt...like you were sticking something inside of yourself. Like there was just something inside a vaginal cavity; Just something inside that was vibrating.

Not sexy, nor pleasurable.

The amount of times you'd attempted to do gymnastics around your bedroom in your home time, stretching your legs or doing back bends, all to find the magical spot that the internet claimed existed. These exploits were all for naught.

Imagine how strange a feeling it was for you to be proven wrong by the Doctor. You swore up and down there was something wrong, something maybe even broken, but no matter what, you just didn't have what other women suspiciously claimed to have. Well, the Doctor loves to prove others wrong. You can imagine how that first night went, with him grinning down at you and touching both the inside and outside of you at once to bring about a genre of pleasure you hadn't realized existed. 

You gnawed on your lip as the Doctor slowly pushed a second digit inside, still tending to your clit to keep the feeling from being too uncomfortable. "It's alright," the Doctor said softly. He shifted his body, making a swift stand as he set you on the desk and settled between your legs, without removing his hand from you at all.  He widened the gap between your legs so your knees laid hip length apart. His tall figure stood straight as he looked down at your cunt which dropped over his hand. 

"And there it is," he sighed. "You're taking it like a good girl, aren't you? Even though we're in a school. A learning facility. Have you no shame?" 

Whether or not he wanted an answer, you couldn't say. Your vision was blurry as he pumped up into a secret place inside of you while also stimulating your clit. The small bundle of nerves was pulsating, having become a bulbous bud of despair and anxiety. It tensed and twitched under every touch but ultimately it yearned for more. You kept tensing around his fingers, holding onto the lapels of his jacket tight. 

The Doctor looked down at you. He smirked. 

"You're holding onto me with quite a strong grip. Afraid I'll pull away? Afraid I'll stop? Your cunt just keeps squeezing onto me. So hot and wet. So comforting. Don't you wish it was my cock?"

You panted out a reply, not bothering to sound witty or naughty. Not the time. "Yes."

A laugh. A genuine sound. The musical chime of it faded before the Doctor replied, "I do, too. But first I'll watch you cum on my fingers. It's alright. Door's all locked. My attention is entirely on you. You've been working so hard, so eager to please Mr Smith. Now you ought to let Mr Smith please you. Although...I should be punishing you. Shouldn't I? I'm sure it wouldn't be much of a real punishment, though. After all, you tend to enjoy it when  I spank your sweet ass."

The mere words sent the images into your brain. The thought of it made your pussy flinch, and the Doctor laughed again though this time round it was a touch harsh sounding. "I knew you enjoyed it," he said quietly. He kissed your forehead, his lips curled into a smile as he did so. "It's alright, dear, it's only me. You can be honest. I quite like it. Oh, my, you're dripping all the way onto my wrist!" 

He feigned annoyance. "Just look...look at this mess you're making."

You dared to take a look. 

A small gasp choked in your throat, the sound making the Doctor chuckle. The muscles of your thighs twitched. The knee length skirt was thrown back so you were sitting bare assed on the cool desk, the skirt gathered around your hips. Your panties were stuffed in the Doctor's trouser pockets: you could see them sticking out. When had he done that?

The tendons in his wrist were flexing as he thrust his two fingers up and in, while his thumb angled upwards to continue the steady pace on your clit. The lazy rhythm which he had set was making you sweat. He didn't seem terribly bothered by the writhing around you were doing.

"Don't you like the sight of it?" The Doctor's content was evident in the way he spoke, looking at the mess with a dreamy sparkle in his eye. 

He appeared visibly intoxicated as a long and loud 'mmm' escaped you. You had a difficult time remembering that the sounds were your own; you didn't always feel physically mounted in your body during your horny escapades. Sometimes the thrall of an orgasm separated your physical self from your metaphysical self like the whites and yolk of an egg. You were being gradually poured apart with every furthering motion the Doctor made. Joules of an intense pleasure rumbled inside of you. Your stomach had a slippery feeling, like a pad of hot butter on a skillet, fuzzy and warm and enticing. 

Your legs jerked around, ankles flanking into the back of his thighs and effectively pulling him closer. He was trapped between your legs-just the way he liked. 

Tension unfurled in your shoulders, slipping away like drops of rain on a window pain. It tingled down your back and you tilted away, Your chin raising towards the ceiling as one of your hands roughly gripped the edge of Mr Smith's desk. Anchored to the British classroom of 2005, you started to feel the edges of a smooth and velvety orgasm close in on you. It was a feeling that couldn't be physically embodied by much else than a velvet ribbon, or a warm vanilla latte, or-

"Fuck!" You whined. "It's-"

The Doctor pushed the familiar feeling forward. It was an intensity that you could only ever feel with the Doctor, with his hand or his cock or his anything. It no longer mattered that the year was 2005; the pressure on your clit felt nothing short of a pulsing burst of energy and fire. Gold fizzled in your vision. Your cunt felt heavy. Something tickled behind your bladder, the feeling making you beg. "Doctor, wait!" You urged him as you pawed at his torso. "I think I'll-"

"That's what I want," the Doctor muttered. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take good care of you. It's alright. Just keep squirming like that and let me rub your pussy to completion. Don't tire yourself-I want to feel you with my cock, too, so just relax and enjoy it. Can't you try?"

The urge to clench your walls and even the muscles around your clit was hard to fight. But when you did, it allowed an enormous wave of pleasure to drown you. You tremored and babbled a string of incoherent words. Some kind of begging, you think, or perhaps declarations of love, hatred, or anything in between. Passions had built up inside you and now  they're spilling out like the waters from a broken dam. Judging by the bleary grins of content through your teary eyes, you were praising him to high ends. Likely spilling out your love for him and his hands. 

Pressure started to release as the gradual high came about. It wasn't an overt transition from pleasure to climax; it was never black and white, it was a grey scale that slowly blossomed to a bright gold and silver.  Weight transpired from the top of your head to your torso and then to your belly. It sank low, behind your ovaries. A heavy, swollen sensation was hanging right over you, taunting the burst of energy that would soon make a mess over the Doctor's hand and shirt. You feared the worst as you pathetically tried to wiggle your hips around. You were so close to that feeling. If you just pushed yourself a little bit more than you could reach it. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're about to cum all over me," the Doctor murmured in a harsh tone. "That's repulsive. That's so human of you. It's disgustingly easy to make you leak with just a hand."

You buried your face into the chest of the Doctor, trying not to be too loud with the whimpers and shallow breaths you were releasing as though you were a television woman in labor. 

Babbling out vowels, your entire body released a burst of warmth; like pink ribbons and fresh croissants and the tops of your thighs after you sat by a bonfire. The convulsed through you as that swollen feeling finally burst, indeed making a mess on the Doctor as you feared. 

You looked down at yourself in shock. A grim sense of shame started to take over the pink-flakey-croissant-bonfires-with-Rose feeling. "I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice a cracking piece of foil as the Doctor licked the corner of his mouth. He quickly licked his fingers clean before shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he said as he quickly moved his fingers to the button of his pants. "It was quite a learning experience, I should say. I learned that you are a very cute, young, little cunt in desperate need of an older, wiser cock. I'm just going to give you what you want. You don't have anything otherwise to say. I know you don't."

You shook your head as you watched the Doctor palm himself. His bulge was prominent and you had to restrain a whimper as he pulled back the boxer briefs he wore, which you insisted on because he wanted to wear boxers, but you found boxer briefs undeniably sexy, and so he wore them; he couldn't exactly do otherwise when the Tardis was replacing his go to wardrobe with other garments--it was totally accidental the way the Tardis now listened to your opinion before his. But he couldn't deny: blood runs thicker than water. And your blood had sizzled on the heart of the beloved Tards. So yeah, sometimes the Tardis chose to play Christmas music when it was only November (according to the earth-calendar programmed into the mainframe, but that was also another story). 

You pulled him down by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to kiss you as he played with himself. Your sloppy kiss was all tongue against tongue, open mouthed groans into one another as you guided his hand up and down on himself. 

Now leaking precum, he smothered himself   In the lubricant and thumbed the slit of his cock, a clenched-teeth hiss escaping himself as you urged him to prepare. But the Doctor likes to edge himself; he likes the discomfort of wanting to chase an orgasm, the self control it required to ignore the body's instinct. 

"Come closer," he groaned against you. His forehead rested on yours. You both watched him pump his cock a few more times; your chest was rising and falling as hard as his. 

He guided himself inside you, kissing your forehead as he slowly inched forward. The brief discomfort as he pushed past the curve of your walls was strictly rewritten into a song of bliss. Mint green paint, fresh croissants with oozing chocolate, an open campsite by the sizzling fire. 

He hunched over your little figure; he was completely towering atop you, the size of a dire wolf pinning a rabbit against his own torso. He grunted as he pulled himself out only to slam his way back in, the motion making you feel full and heavy. 

He worked his hips to thrust in and out of you, pulling himself practically to the tip each time. His hand was tending to your clit as he moved. Each touch on your clit felt like torture, in the best sense. You already felt swollen and every touch was amplified. The starts of a new orgasm made you tired and shudder, your mouth desperate for water as it worked its way through your body. 

"You're so small," the Doctor huffed through a laugh as your figure jerked with each thrust. You were trapped against his torso, feeling the doubly beat of his hearts pounding as he plowed in and out of you. "So pliable," he added as he groped the side of your thigh exposed by the wrinkled fabric of your skirt. "So hot and tight while I have my way with you. You couldn't help yourself. You just had to be fucked right now, just like this. Always needing my attention, always, always. I never thought you'd be so bratty in public! I like it."

"Stop talking," you groaned. "That's all you ever do. Talk, talk, talk. I think you like that, more." 

The Doctor gripped your chin, slowing his movements down. His hand skittered away from your clit but you were quick to pin it in place. You pushed one of your fingers inside of his mouth, watching him pucker his lips around the digit and sucking. His thick eyelashes fluttered before he jerked his head back. "Not your turn, princess," he sneered. "I'm in charge right now." 

"You like when I'm in charge, too," you retorted. "You could just give up, you know." 

The Doctor once again groped at you, squeezing hard on your pebbled nipples with a growl of warning. "Not the time," he told you with a rough thrust up. It made you gasp and heel over as the spotlight of sudden pleasure shone over you; the Doctor smirked as he carefully weened his way back into a quicker pace than he had been previously going at. "Don't you dare stop," you pleaded as you gripped him by the collar of his button down. "Or you're in for a load of trouble when we get home." The Doctor's brown eyes twinkled at the idea: home on the Tardis, being straddled and used by you, it sounded like a marvelous plan. 

"I'm not the one who's about to get a load," the Doctor said, grinning at the gross slang, but he was unable to really care because your cheeks had tears dripping down them. "Can't wait to see how full you become. I'll be dripping down your legs the rest of the day." 

"Shut up," you whimpered as you tilted your head back. 

Honestly speaking you quite enjoyed his babbling chit chat. He really did like to hear himself talk. You liked it as well. 

"Make me." 

You two pressed your mouths into a rough mold, your tongues slithering over tips and teeth. Your arms wrapped over the back of his neck, locking him in place. His chuckles dripped down your throat as he vocalized his own pleasure. Your breathing hastened. Panting like a dog in the summer heat, you were kissing him back as if it were a fight for your life. You clenched all your body into a rigid stake as the peak of the orgasm finally prodded into your cunt. The Doctor's hands pressed into your hips and legs, his thumbs rubbing calming circles into you as he moaned. He was much more accepting of the pleasure wave as it rode through him. 

Hiccuping whimpers fluttered into the Doctor's mouth as your slick, wet released. The feeling made the Doctor groan, loud and strong as he finally released the gates of his own seed. He grunted as he made sloppy thrusts; cum mixed and squeezed out of you like the lemon custard in a powdered donut, a rare, sweet, tart taste that made your eyes water. 

Your mouths pulled apart with a loud smack. You both looked down at the mess. He pumped in and out a few times, hissing as you suckled a bite on the underside of his jaw. You cried out a curse as he swiftly pulled out and gripped his cock, the limb still half hard. He pushed the tip of himself against your clit, making a harsh circle so your bodies both shuddered. "Too much," he said between clenched teeth. He released a breath as final spurts of his seed painted on the lips of your pussy. 

The strain on his chest eased. 

The Doctor swayed forward. His face lulled into a lazy grin, tucking itself within the crook of your neck. Carefully exhaling your last deep breath, you slid back so you were laying face up, looking at the ceiling as the Doctor remained curled atop you. He hummed with content, rubbing his hand over the soft skin of your pelvis. Your skirt was still flipped up; his pants were unbuttoned. 

Panting. The fluorescent lights seemed so homely in the aftershocks of this feeling. Left over in your core was the tingling of the orgasmic pain on your clit, now soft and bruised, but for good reason. 

"I really think there's something strange going on," you mentioned after a few minutes of calm silence. You softly scratched his scalp, combing through his soft hair while he purred at the feeling, reminding you of a cat. "This school seems off." 

"I'm tired," the Doctor said. "Work seems boring, now." 

"It's life or death," you pointed out. 

"Is it?"

"You're just fucked out, aren't you?" you pointed out again but with a laugh this time. 

"Yeah, you're probably right...probably." 

"I'm always right," you informed him. "The sooner you realize that, the easier your life will be." 

#starfirette renaissance #starfirette writes #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor imagine #tenth doctor smut #doctor who x reader #doctor who imagine #ten x reader #ten imagine #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor imagine #10th doctor smut #fem reader #david tennant makes me feel a certain way #like oh lord #this will be my post for the day #this fic has been in progress for one month #the auto delete was set for dec 8th #well guess what bitch #im a day early #HA #anyways this wasn't requested but it's still going to be my daily fic so #yeah #i wish queue well

[here2bbtstrash]

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’. 

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. 

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space. 

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back. 

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn���t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume. 

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.” 

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit. 

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #a hyung holiday

[concreteburialplot]

Cool About It // 01

01 - Breaking & Entering

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc

masterlist: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 6.3k

summary; Noah runs into an old friend while visiting his hometown for the holidays. Noah convinces Amelia to meet him on the playground they grew up on to catch up. Reminiscing leads them to a midnight adventure that reminds them all too much of the past.

warnings; alcohol consumption, breaking & entering? stealing? kinda?, hallmark-y, nostalgic, talks of family trauma, cops (acab!), vaguely sad & distraught Noah, uses 'Sebastian' as his last name, 18+ MDNI

disclaimer; welcome to my new short series! reminder that this is hallmark-y bc i began writing it in December lol i decided to challenge myself w this fic in multiple ways, one of the biggest ones was writing it in 3rd person vs my comfy world of 1st or 2nd person. I’ve never written in 3rd person so, if it’s not my best, i apologize, i’m sure it will improve lol

a/n: this is au and follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

It had been quite a busy morning, and Amelia was slowly making her way through the longest line she’d had in a while. She finished heating up a cinnamon roll and snapped a lid on what felt like the 75th peppermint mocha she’d made that day.

“Thanks.” Mumbled the distracted patron and stepped off to the side to grab extra napkins.

“Next.” She said while shuffling dollar bills into the clangy register, then looked up motioning to the last customer. Her hazel eyes landed on a man covered in tattoos pre-occupied on his phone. “Next!” Her call was louder than before and this time edged with impatient annoyance.

A familiar pair of dark brown eyes snapped up at her, his gaze more startled than angry.

Amelia’s brows furrowed together and as if on cue, the register dinged closed in time with her realization.

She’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Noah?”

The soft velvet of her voice yanked each edge of Noah’s mouth into a wide toothy smile. “Scout?” He asked in the same caught-off-guard tone. His voice was much deeper than she remembered, and he seemed taller, if that was even possible.

She chuckled at the fact that he used his old nickname for her and felt a tinge of warmth bloom on her cheeks. The ends of her pink lips curled up into an adorably genuine smile. “What are you doing here?” She pressed her palms flat against the cold counter leaning forward and letting soft chocolate curls spill over her shoulder.

“Oh, uh, I’m here with Nicholas.” He thumbed over his shoulder towards the town. “He’s here visiting his family, I just tagged along.”

Tagged along.

She should’ve known, of course Noah would be down here with Nick’s family for Christmas. Where else would he be?

“Oh,” She smiled tenderly at his words and nodded. “Of course.”

Every now and then she’d run into Nicholas whenever he came back to town or ran into his parents while out and about, but it was never anything of significance. Whenever it was Nicholas, she wanted more than anything to inquire about Noah or the band but always kept the interactions short, sweet and reserved. The last thing she wanted was to come off as wanting to “catch up” after they gained a larger audience for clout.

He grinned back at her and there was a quiet moment shared between them, as if they both didn’t know what to say. The feeling in the air swung from having nothing to say to having so many words that it was overwhelming to speak.

The gentle moment was broken by the bell dinging above the door as a new customer walked in.

Her first impulse was to make his usual but stopped herself. “Oh um, whatcha want?” She asked, realizing that his tastes had probably changed since he was 16.

“Just a vanilla cold brew is fine, thank you.” He said with a tight-lipped smile, feeling awkward that she was serving him.

She went ahead and filled his cup with the dark amber liquid. “Do you want a snickerdoodle cookie? They’re freshly baked.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Yes please, they’re my favorite.”

She remembered.

Of course, she did.

How could one forget staying up til 2 am at Nick’s house baking cookies and having Top Chef-level trials trying to achieve the perfect spice mixture for what Noah called, “The Most Snick-of-Doodles that could ever Doodle.”

“You got it.” She smiled placing some pastries into a brown paper bag before handing it to him. “I threw in a cinnamon roll for Nicholas, I made sure to give him the one with the most icing.”

“Oh, he’ll love that.” He chuckled gently taking the bag along with his drink. “We should um, catch up soon?”

“Sure.” She pressed her lips together to keep her grin from growing too wide.

Cold fallen leaves crunched beneath Amelia’s feet as she navigated through a park that she hadn’t stepped foot on in a good ten years. A cool chill made her tug her thick knit cardigan tight around her thin frame.

“Noah?” She delicately whisper-yelled into the darkness, the meet-up destination barely lit by the full ivory moon. She should’ve known that Noah wouldn’t be content with catching up at a restaurant or at her house or anywhere normal.

“Scout!” He replied from the swings a bit to her left. A chuckle left his lips, and he quickly clicked the flashlight on his phone, waving it in the air like a search light.

A deep shade of embarrassment coated her pale cheeks, “There’s no streetlights over here!” She walked over and lightly smacked his arm. “It’s dangerous you know.” The weight of her body creaked the metal frame when she fell into the blue swing seat.

“Or you’re just getting old and need glasses.” He teased with a slight slur riding the end of his words.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” She responded with a playful glare.

She looked over at him thinking how funny it was seeing him so large and full grown in such a tiny, low swing. It looked extremely disproportionate and goofy, like a Great Dane in a shopping cart.

He handed her a bottle of cheap red wine, half drank already.

“Oh, got started without me huh?” She sassed before stealing the bottle from his fingers. “Couldn’t have done beer?” She tips the glass bottle until bitter, dry alcohol infiltrates every tastebud, reminding her why she’d switched to martinis or seltzers in her later years.

He waved her off with a tsk, “Too much hassle. Wine was easier. And you took fuckin’ forever!”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes playfully, it wasn’t like she was all that upset over the wine over beer, just that he drank so much of it already. She pressed the mouth of the bottle to her lips once more taking another hefty swig and handed it back to him. “Where’s Nick?”

“Ah,” He swiped the bottle back and took a long gulp. “You know, family stuff.” He wiped the back of hand across his mouth. “I can only handle – so much of it.” His hands motion off his words. “They mean well I just… can’t do too much of it at once.”

Growing up with parents that were as dismissive and absent, then gone all at once like his, knowing how to “family” was odd and foreign to him. As Noah got older, he began to realize that basic family etiquette was a trait he fundamentally lacked, as if he played hooky on some Family 101 course in his formative years. It wasn’t something he inherently prioritized and, at least when he was younger, it would irritate him when friends or colleagues put family above things that he deemed more important, like band related obligations. He never had to deal with family of his own, put it on his schedule or allot energy for it. He simply didn’t understand it.

Sure, he came off as rude at times, leaving friend’s family events early or mentally checking out mid-day. It wasn’t his fault that it was exhausting and overstimulating for him. To him it seemed natural, as if everyone felt that way, something akin to the universal experience of trying to escape school or work. It never crossed his mind that people might actually enjoy their families, nor could he comprehend the necessity for it.

It depended on who, what and when but for the most part it was exhausting to him. Some groups were better than others, like Nick’s family. Over the years they’d housed him for weeks at a time, months even sometimes. As far as Noah was concerned, the Ruffilo’s were his family. He always came and went as he pleased, always an open-door policy to the Ruffilo refuge. But that didn’t exclude Nick’s family from his unintended ignorance and tendency to run. He just could only take so much at once. Lucky for him, they never seemed to mind his behavior much. They never batted an eye; they understood him for who he was and why. Their house was one of the only places he felt comfortable, one of the only places he ever called home.

“I know.” She nodded, wrapping her hands around the thick swing chains. “I remember.”

“Right.” He replies solemnly, taking another sip before swapping it back.

Vivid memories filled Amelia’s brain of 14-year-old Noah tapping on her window like a freshly escaped felon looking for asylum. The heavy, panicked breathing and glassy eyes never matched the mischievous grin plastered across his face. Holidays were the worst; she recalls keeping her window unlocked during the winter months, so he’d always have an alternative escape. The Ruffilo’s were a festive bunch that took any excuse to celebrate. Naturally, Nicholas also only possessed so much adolescent tolerance to endure so many familial festivities so, he too would sneak away with Noah at times but, for the most part it was just him and Amelia celebrating holidays together on her bedroom floor.  

The air was still between them while she took a couple sips of sanguine liquid trying to catch up to him.

“So, you’re a big ol’ rockstar now huh?” The girl smiled, nudging him with her elbow trying to lighten the mood. Even though the words are positive and light, they tasted so sad on her tongue.

He laughed, something she hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime. She nearly forgot what it sounded like, but it hadn’t changed really, just a little deeper now. His now tattooed hands grasped both metal swing chains and leaned back a little, using the tension to suspend his body while he observed the stars above them. “Not big. Just opening for some real bands now. Finally able to headline our own little tour soon. Fuckin’ took long enough.” He dismissed the compliment immediately, snuffing it into the ground like a shriveled-up cigarette butt.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his response. He might’ve not seen it as notable accomplishments, but she knew better than to place the validity of success in the hands of someone riddled with imposter syndrome.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty fucking cool.” She leaned against the chain closest to the long-haired boy.

His lips pulled to a smile while his eyes stayed focused on the sky. “Thanks.”

She followed his gaze and chuckled, “Sky’s pretty interesting huh?” She teased.

“It is when you barely get to see stars. I never really get to see them in LA. Sometimes I forget they’re even up there.” He replied sadly before sitting back up.

Amelia took another sip of the almost empty bottle, starting to feel the warmth of alcohol spread through her body. Something about the stars and Noah made a memory cross her mind that made her burst out into a cackle. “Do you remember when you put SO much work into your astronomy project for the science fair and fucking Nicholas won with his fucking-”

“Moldy bread!” They said loudly in unison before erupting into booming laughter.

“God I was so pissed.” Noah shook his head, “And then I had to eat his fucking moldy bread.”

“Oh yeah because you lost the bet! I forgot all about that!” Laughter filled her ribcage in a way it hadn’t in years, and it felt really fucking good.

“I was so fucking sure I’d win! I should’ve known, Nick has always been the golden boy. Teacher’s-pet swindling ass.” He kicked the sand just as he would’ve at 8 years old. It’s funny how people’s mannerisms don’t really change all that much as they age. Being there with him on their old playground felt like being in a time machine. “Worst food poisoning I ever had.”

“Didn’t you borrow the telescope you used from Nick too?” She questioned, wondering if she just made that part up in her head.

“Yeah, yeah I think I did actually.” His brows furrowed as he dug through his memories. “You know what? It’s probably still in their garage!”

“Really? Maybe you can find it tomorrow.” She poured the rest of the wine into her mouth, savoring the cheap bitterness of it pooling on her tongue.

“But the stars are so pretty tonight!” He whined in classic Noah fashion.

“Yeah so? What are you gonna do? Break into their garage?” She chuckled jokingly.

He straightened up and looked over at her with wide eyes like a lightbulb just lit above his head - a look she remembered all too well.

“No.” She warned, just like she would’ve back then at whatever scheme Noah concocted in his devious little brain.

He gave her a familiar mischievous toothy grin before pushing harshly off the swing.

“No, no, no.” She sighed as he already left his seat swinging and made his way towards the street.

“Noah!” She called after him. When he showed no sign of stopping, she let out a long sigh, questioning how she ended up having to stop a 6’4 man from breaking into houses in the middle of the night. She pushed off the swing, leaving it clanging and swaying behind her.

“Noah I’m not br-“ Her yell dulled down to a hush when she caught up to him. “I’m not breaking into the Ruffilo house at midnight!” Her words were stern but to Noah they just sounded like a child’s warning against curse words.

“We’re not breaking in ‘melia.” He didn’t match her whisper, his voice was loud and proud for anyone in the night to hear. “I remember the garage code.” He announced with drunken pride.

She scoffed, “And what if someone hears the garage, Noah? Then what?”

He shrugged, “Nick is staying there, we’ll just say we were trying to see him or something. You know I have free reign there anyway.”

“This is a really shitty plan, Noah.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a displeased frown.

“It’s a great plan.” He stated confidently, walking in long strides that she could barely keep up with. “You know all my plans are great.”

“Hmm.” She hummed skeptically. “Statistically, I don’t think that’s true.”

Walking down the street with Noah to Nick’s family home in the dead of the night felt so… familiar, as if she was walking in the same exact footsteps as 15-year-old Amelia had, like her memories were tangible in her hands again. She tightened her fists slightly to remind herself that the past was not solid in her hands again. She wasn’t 15 again on some spontaneous, teenage adventure – but the alcohol-fueled adrenaline prickling at her fingertips begged to differ.

Even past midnight, the small neighborhood’s Christmas lights shined bright. Normally, she’d find them obnoxious, but tonight they seemed much sweeter, only adding to the nostalgia.

“Oh no? All of my plans worked out one way or another.” He defended as if it was factual with a straightened back and pointed finger. “All but one.”

Her brows knitted tightly together at his words, because in her memory, there was a good chunk of her life spent stuck in detention because of his schemes.

“And which one would that be?” She sassed back, watching as his speed picked up even more after her question.

“Not important.” He waved the brunette off, “C’mon, we’re here.”

Unexpectedly, his hand slips around her wrist, and it wraps tingly electricity up her arm then across her entire body. All at once the butterflies that used to be so perpetually embedded in her stomach returned in a rampant flurry. Her gaze slowly snapped up to meet his face. His smile hadn’t changed in the near 10 years apart and neither did the bright glint in his espresso eyes. Time seemed to slow around them for that split second where the electricity sizzled beneath both their fingertips and their eyes found each other’s just as easily as they used to. In that brief moment she could’ve sworn she was looking into the eyes of rail thin, tattooless teenage Noah.

“I know they got a Ring doorbell, so we gotta hide between the cars.” He whispered and ducked them both down as he weaved her through the vehicles in the driveway.

“I can’t fucking believe you talked me into this Noah!” She whisper-yelled at him, wanting nothing more than to properly reprimand him.

“Sh!”

They finally found themselves in front of the garage keypad conveniently out of view of the doorbell camera. Noah blinked blankly at plastic number pad without moving. His inked fingers tapped on his own crossed arm while his tongue stayed lodged between his lips in thought.

“Well? Go ahead! Get it over with.” She insisted, motioning urgently to the garage wanting it to be over as fast as possible. She tucked her hands across her body and into her sides giving her some semblance of comfort. The last thing she wanted was for their childish midnight antics to wake up the entire house.

“Hey! Give me time.” He rushed back, lifting a finger in her direction to shush her.

“Time? I thought you said you remembered it!”

“I do! …I think… if they haven’t changed it.” His tone much less confident than before.

“Noah!”

“Hush!” He pressed a finger to his lips at her and took a hesitant step towards the keypad. With a couple semi-sure clicks, the garage door slid open slowly. Amelia exhaled in relief at how the metal clangs of the garage were much quieter than she remembered. Still though, they creaked too loud for her liking, feeling embarrassment and anxiety flood her body.

“Yes!” Noah squeezed his fists up in victory. “See, told you I remembered.”

“Lucky guess.” She rolled her eyes with a smile.

Her eyes widened as the garage door unveiled a gorgeous white car. It was by no means a luxury car, not a Lexus or anything of the sort, but a high enough model to make you look twice. “Damn Mama Ruffilo, ridin’ in style now.”

Noah grinned as he scoots around the car. His smile was reserved, like she had discovered some award he was keeping hidden out of modesty. “Yeah, that’s the one we got her for Mother’s Day.”

“We?” She questioned, her head cocking to the side a bit.

“Yeah, Nick and me. We each paid half.”

“Oh wow, that’s really nice of you.” She replied softly. It didn’t take a genius to calculate just how much it would cost two broke DIY touring bandmates to pay for a new car, even in halves. The vehicle was shiny and spotless, evidently well taken care of – the type of care you’d put into a possession you never thought you’d own, the type of care that came from deep gratitude.

“It’s the least I could do for ya know… everything she’s done for me.”

Amelia nodded knowing exactly what he meant. It was no secret that he was more than a family friend to them, but it was nice to see that he recognized it too. While Noah might not have attended every family event or stayed for long, he showed his love and appreciation in his own small ways. Gifts were one of his favorite ways of doing so. Yeah, Noah might’ve only stayed at a Thanksgiving for an hour or two for food, but he was there long enough to make mental notes for next year, to bring extra cranberry sauce because Nick’s abuela loves it or extra croutons since Nick’s mom tends to snack on them while she cooks. He paid attention and he loved deeply, even if it didn’t seem that way on the surface.

He rustled around some miscellaneous garage junk in the corner, making more noise than Amelia felt comfortable with. She stood up on her tip toes to watch carefully him over the pristine car with her heart beating in her chest begging to rush him again.

“Ah! I knew it’d be here!” He said a little too loud out of excitement and promptly covered his mouth. His wide brown eyes met hers in a silent ‘oops, shit, sorry!’ plea.

In desperate need to escape the anxiety inducing mission, Amelia ran to the end of the driveway the second she saw the telescope in Noah’s hand. It took him longer than it should’ve just to snatch the item, but she didn’t question it or investigate much when he sped right past her after the garage began squeaking closed.

They made it out in record time, holding in their laughter until they reached the end of the street. It only took one look at each other to send them into a cackling fit. Amelia’s delicate hands found his thin arm and used him for stability, while the laughter shook her entire frame.

When they make it back to the park, he set down the telescope and unravels something she somehow didn’t notice he was carrying before.

“Did you steal that from their garage?!”

He grinned and proudly pulled another bottle of wine, white this time, from the blanket he also borrowed. “Yeah? And I’ll just replace them when I bring the telescope back tomorrow.” He carefully sat the wine down at her feet and spread out the buffalo-print blanket over the grass.

“You are so bad!” She chuckled, smacking him playfully with the excess of her long cardigan sleeve.

“Isn’t that what girls want? A bad boy?” He smirked jokingly, getting down on his knees to angle the telescope just right so that they didn’t need to stand up to use it.

She pressed her lips together as she watched him. Sure, that’s what some girls want, but not her. Even when he was landing them in detention every other day and keeping them out way past curfew – even when everyone else considered him a “bad boy” – she knew he wasn’t, not really.

Even now, whenever he got on stage, covered in ink, growling like a demon – she knew he wasn’t, and has never been, “bad”. Not the way she knew him. Amelia had a talent for seeing through people and she always saw right through Noah, from the first time she ever saw him in the back of her 3rd grade class. And all through adolescence, she saw him clearly through all his stormy confliction and thick brick walls.

Noah never saw it of course; how could he believe that someone as sugary sweet as Amelia could possibly ever see him as anything more than comical the social mask he wore with friends. In fact, he would even go as far to believe his mask was thickest and most opaque around her. Whether or not that was factual, didn’t lessen her ability to see him, really see him.

Being told you’re so wrong for so long, makes you believe that no one could ever see you as right. No matter how many friends Noah had at his parties, or fans in his crowds or girls in his bed, he never felt as though anyone saw him as enough. He got so exhausted from constantly trying to outdo himself that sometimes he forgot what exactly he was trying to accomplish.

Amelia never once believed the “bad influence, bad boy” propaganda their parents or teachers ever accused him of. To her, he was just Noah; the weird emo kid in the back of her classes, the neighbor down the street, the other older “brother” of the youngest girl scout in her troop. Amelia knew Noah at his core.

“Ah, bad boys are overrated.” She waved off his words casually.

He turned and gave her an unconvinced look, “Yeah, sure.” he glared playfully before sitting back on his legs. “Well, it’s ready if you wanna look.”

Amelia crawled across the blanket to meet him and peered through the telescope. Billions of tiny stars flooded the glass lens with twinkles and glimmers you’d never be able to see normally. Fluffy white clouds interrupted the view every so often, but it didn’t take away from the breathtaking scene.

“Whoa.” She mouthed quietly, just taking in the sight. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Sure is.” Noah agreed quietly, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them while he watched her.

They took some turns looking out of the telescope and passing the wine bottle back and forth before finally resting side by side on the picnic fabric. The air around them both was full of dwindling laughter over Noah telling silly stories about him and Nicholas and their roommates in LA. At surface level, he seemed to be doing well, despite claiming to hate LA, he appeared to be thriving there. Perhaps it was just the roommates that he enjoyed living with. Noah was never one to enjoy solitude, at least not for long periods of time. When he lived in their hometown, he was rarely wherever he was staying at the time. Getting comfortable anywhere was never his goal or motive. For the most part, it seemed like he enjoyed the constant change, the running. However, the way he talked about their home in California, all the stories he shared that brought the grandest smile to his face or the loudest boom from his chest all took place at their home. Amelia wondered what it must feel like for him to be back in their dreary little town, and if he rattled off all those stories was because he was homesick.

As the space between them flooded with a silence that was equally comfortable and uncomfortable, a question bubbled up that had been eating at Amelia from the moment she laid eyes on the tired darkness hanging beneath Noah’s eyes. His grin for most of the night was wide and toothy but she knew him better than that.

“So,” She turned her head towards him. “How are you, really?”

His eyes stayed transfixed on the stars above and he let a dense quiet settle over them before speaking.

“It must get so exhausting.” He stated, ignoring her question all together.

Her brows furrowed at his words, “What does?”

“Being so bright all the time.” He stated flatly, with a low dejected tone lacing his words.

“The stars?” She questioned with her brows still knitted.

“Sure. The Moon, the cosmos, all of it.” He brought his hands to interlace over his tummy. “Sure, the moon gets a break during the day and gets to disappear for a bit every month. And the stars get to die eventually.

“Right…?”

“But a star’s entire existence is to be bright - they only exist to be bright and then die. The moon works every night to serve as a giant nightlight and to shift some waves around. It must be so exhausting, all of it – being so bright all the time just to burn out into nothing.”

Noah had always been good at avoiding both his feelings and Amelia’s prying questions. It seemed age and time hadn’t changed that specific skill set. Maybe it’s true what they say, people never really change. It worried her that he might’ve not changed at all in that way.

“I mean,” She shifted her head to face the stars again trying to find the answers in the same place he was getting the questions. “You’re not wrong… but, think about the good that they do. The moon does so much on its own for us, you know the tides, the earth’s axis and all that. But we wouldn’t even be here staring at the sky without it all. They’re pretty and,” She shrugs. “And maybe, sometimes, that’s enough.”

“Right.” He responded curtly, pausing a long while before speaking again. “If the moon had consciousness… do you think it would care that most people know it for being pretty and not for being good at its job?” He pondered, not once looking over at the girl, perhaps afraid that his façade would crumble, and he’d spill the truth if he met her eyes.

Amelia’s brows furrowed together once more as she processed his words, doing mental gymnastics to decipher the underlying meaning. Another skill set Noah possessed was being dramatically cryptic, especially when it came to his internal turmoil. Whenever he had some battle waging within him, he suddenly transformed into a makeshift philosopher.

Looking the way he does, it’s fair to assume that his band had garnered recent attention due to his looks – most men would revel in the fleeting female attention, but not Noah. At least not enough to keep him from being contemplative on the lawn of their old park.

Girls or not, Noah had always been particular about his craft. He was lucky he found Nicholas first since he really let Noah take reigns of the entire operation. Like a true perfectionist, Noah carefully curated every song, every show, every rehearsal – even back when they were just playing in Nick’s garage with shitty amps.

Amelia analyzed his words, thinking over her response carefully. “I think the moon would be grateful for the attention either way.” She commented gently. “As long as she’s doing the job she’s meant to do, her beauty getting noticed is just a bonus. As long as she’s doing what she’s destined to do, I think she’d be content doing whatever she needs to, regardless of the affection towards her.”

“Yeah, I guess she would.”

Looking up at the sky, Amelia noticed just how round the moon was that night and how perfectly it was centered in the sky. It looked like the inside of a circus tent, like the star littered sky was just a patterned fabric pierced right in the middle by a giant moon-shaped hole. It felt like it too – as if they were the only ones in some carnival tent far away from anything bad. Below such a vast cosmos, they were just tiny specs of dust in the universe, and she was grateful for the temporary solitude. After years of not even being around Noah, he still made her feel the same. He had a knack for dissolving any real-life problems when they were alone together. When she was with him, she was in a world of their own making. She wondered if she did the same for him, and for his sake, she really hoped she did.

But alas, the bubble they created together that night was not one that could exist forever, and the big top tent must come down after a grand show.

Amelia and Noah ran out of words, at least ones meant to be said that night. They laid side by side with her right hand and his left not even a centimeter apart.

Noah was unaware of whether it was fear, nerves or sadness that fueled the drumming beneath his brittle ribs, but that same force also tugged an invisible string to lift his pinky.

Amelia’s eyes rounded and every muscle in her body tensed up the millisecond she felt him move up and hover over her own pinky.

But before he got the chance to lock over her finger, there was a frightening rustling behind some playground equipment followed by a bright light aimed right at them, blinding the pair.

“Hey! You kids aren’t allowed in here!” Boomed a deep, authoritative voice.

Amelia propped herself up on an elbow and immediately used her arm as a shield to keep the blinding light from burning her retinas any further.

Noah closed his eyes and let out a deep breath through his nose. It was one of the many familiar sounds from the town Noah hoped to never hear again.

“Sebastian? What an unpleasant surprise.” The voice taunted with a vicious edge.

“Officer Hawke.” The eyeroll was thick in Noah’s voice. “So great to see you.”

The big burly man shifted the flashlight beam to Noah directly. “Not shocking that the first time I see you back in town you’re up to no good.” He moved the light back to Amelia’s face. “Also, not shocking that you’ve reunited with your old partner in crime. Corrupting Miss. Alastor again, are we?”

“Officer, we just fell asleep earlier, we didn’t mean to be here so late.” Amelia lied for Noah like she always had. Her and Nick had been the goodie-two-shoes that were always bailing or covering for the long-haired boy. Well, Amelia was truly good, Nick was just skilled at masking his deviant tendencies, using his sweet golden-boy allure to fool everyone. As much as she hated breaking the rules, she secretly loved when Noah enabled it. Her teenage years wouldn’t have been nearly as fun or memorable without the two mischievous boys. Even just lying in the park with Noah after dark made her feel the most alive she’d had in years. It was exhilarating, no matter how much she reprimanded the boy for his reckless rebellion.

“Mhm. Sounds about right, you covering for Mr. Sebastian here, for god knows why.” He speculated, unconvinced. “It’s like I stepped back in time. It seems you both haven’t changed much.”

While the cop had been berating the two, Noah had already began packing up the picnic trying to end the interaction as quickly as possible.

“Sorry officer, it won’t happen again.” She lied.

“Sure.” He retorted. “Get you and your boyfriend out of here. Don’t let me catch you in here again.”

With that he turned and headed back to his vehicle. It was surprising that he just left the pair– not surprising that he just sat and watched them from the comfort of his cop car across the street.

Amelia helped Noah pack everything up before they made their escape from the park. Shortly after they were down the street, the cop car finally drove off. She walked in the direction of her house, thinking that Noah would part ways to maybe head towards Nick’s house to return the stolen items or to Vince’s where he was staying for the time being, but he stayed walking alongside her. He was quiet, which for Noah was strange, especially with her.

“You know, you don’t have to walk me home? I know you’re staying in the opposite direction.” She said, stuffing her cold hands in her pockets.

“I want to. It’s dangerous for you to walk alone.” He replied flatly, kicking a pebble across the sidewalk concrete.

Her house wasn’t particularly far from the other two’s, nothing in the tiny town was necessarily far from each other. With a town as small as theirs, a night walk home wouldn’t usually be considered dangerous.

“Well, thanks.” She replied cautiously.

She let her mind wander to the interaction they had at the park with Officer Hawke. Noah’s mood had been fairly consistent all night up until then. She mentally scolded herself for not realizing that running into the overly familiar cop would affect his demeanor. Maybe she just assumed that after so many years into adulthood he’d be over it, but evidently, it was foolish and incredibly mindless for her to believe so.

The rest of the walk was silent, just filled with the sounds of nature in the winter. The crisp cool air zipping with the wind, crashing into every solid object available while owls coo-ed into the darkness.

Finally, they arrived at the chain-link gate of Amelia’s small home. She rested her arm atop the pointy wires of the fence. Any other night she’d probably invite him in, but it was so late and all of the night’s events had already been enough to overfill her tummy with static-y nerves.

“Well, I-“ They fumble over each other’s words. Warmth blooms across Amelia’s cheeks at the joint misstep.

“You go.” She urged.

“No, you go.” He pushed back with a sheepish grin.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and dropped her attention down to her feet. “I was just gonna say that this was… nice.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “It was really nice to see you again Noah.” Her tone soft and genuine, as her eyes meet his again.

He was unprepared for how her eyes looked with the moonlight shining directly into them. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked into them so clearly. He forgot how different they were from each other, well, they weren’t really – but they were when one spent looking at them as intently as Noah had since he was 8 years old. Her eyes were both a hazel but one much more brown while the other had a pretty emerald hue.

“Yeah, it was really nice.” His words sounded true, but his voice was still strained by the sadness from the walk there. “I’m really happy I went into the shop this morning.”

Her lips worked overtime to keep from pulling into a giant grin and suddenly she was grateful for the darkness hiding the red staining her cheeks. “Yeah, me too.”

Noah sucked in a breath to speak but pauses, before returning again, “Um - Nick’s family is throwing their annual Christmas party this weekend, I’m sure he and the Ruffilo clan would love to see you.” He stated with his words moving slightly faster than normal almost like he was nervous to even ask, which is silly isn’t it? Being anxious to invite an old friend to a holiday party you both attended every year growing up? It shouldn’t be that nerve wreaking, right? He scratched the back of his neck. “If you want that is.”

Her eyes nearly light up enough to cut through the darkness. “Yeah,” She beamed a sweet smile up at him.  “I think I’d really like that.”

taglist; @lma1986 @alastriaa @missduffsblog @xxkittenkissesxx @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens @measuredingold @jilliemiw86

[comment to be added to taglist<3]

A/N; thank you so much for reading - again this is my first time writing in 3rd person so i hope it was decent! i hope you enjoyed even though it is definitely not christmas time lmao - lmk what you think! 💗

#hope you liked it! #concreteburialplot works #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #nosh sebastian x fem!oc #noah sebastian series

[ravenelyx]

Cobwebs - Sebastian Sallow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Chapter Warnings: jealousy, light angst/angst if you squint, fluff, Sebastian's comfort food is corn apparently idk, suggestive (barely)

Summary: When a festival in your hometown causes you to dress up with medieval clothes, dance and act, Sebastian couldn't be happier and more proud - until he realises you will have a partner through all of it. And the partner is not him.

A/N: for the Sallow Sunday challenge !! I'm late in my country but it's still Sunday somewhere - inspired by a festival I went to today (literally came back at 1 am and wrote this: it's currently 5 am)

Masterlist

You can find the whole fanfiction also here on ao3

Sebastian had woken up with the biggest grin on his face. A rare occurrence, really, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe it off his mouth.

Because today, apparently, was special.

He had been waiting for two weeks since his girlfriend had told him the news: at first Sebastian didn't really understand her ardour, but the delighted expression on her face was enough to propel the boy to match the enthusiasm completely.

There was a festival in her hometown: a celebration that, for one reason or another, had been impossible to arrange for about ten years. It was her favourite, she had said, because of its theme — a living re-enactment of old times, with dances and traditional clothing from her home — even more so now that she was chosen to be one of the people who was supposed to parade as an extra.

She was to wear a beautiful medieval tunic, and had to attend rehearsals everyday. As much as Sebastian wished to follow her there to see her hard work, she insisted that she wanted to keep it a surprise for when he finally saw her at the fest.

He had sulked a bit at that moment, but had been since then looking forward to seeing his beautiful girlfriend in an amazing dress.

He stood in the front row, having arrived early just to earn a perfect spot to bask in her splendid beauty ringside as soon as she came, and patiently waited for her to appear, nodding his head to the folklore music in the meantime. When the parade started, his body shook all over in anticipation, standing on his toes, eyes darting everywhere to catch a glimpse of his beloved.

And she was perfect.

Hair cascading in little twirls locked in a beautiful braid on her shoulder, adorned with a headband on the crown of her head, she smiled brightly, her lips shining with clear gloss. Her face was still natural-looking, with makeup that matched her features and made her look even more ethereal, and her green bliaut hugged her figure in ways that left little to Sebastian's imagination as his jaw fell open. It was tight at the waist, her corset even harsher around her flank under the kirtle, and adorned with a brown cincture knotted around her abdomen. Her only exposed parts were her cleavage, from which Sebastian could see a peak of her chemise, and her wrists, where the gown widened slightly. She moved with elegance and poise, careful to mind each graceful motion of her arm as she walked, and Sebastian felt his cheeks hurt with how wide his smile was,  almost tearing at the corners of his mouth.

A smile that fell as soon as his eyes darted away from her gorgeous figure.

The parade consisted of couples dressed in different ways, only interrupted here and there by close groups of musicians who accompanied them, and as such, she was on another's arm as she moved.

And, Sebastian noticed, he was very handsome — much more handsome than he was, with his chiseled jawline and elegant walk. He held her arm carefully as they walked together, chin up and perfectly in line, straight posture and measured walk. It was clear he had rehearsed for a long time.

And he had rehearsed with her.

Sebastian felt something sour and ghastly bubble in his stomach when they finally stopped. She turned to the man next to her, and he bowed gallantly at the waist before taking her hand in his.

The dance started. The musicians moved to the side, while the couples took their place in the midst of the plaza, moving from side to side at the fast paced rhythm of folklore music. When she went forward, he did the same, arms bending to meet. And then they stepped away together, extending their arms all the same, hands never separating. The steps of their frolic echoing in Sebastian's ears, thundering in his brain at the ease and preparation with which the couple moved together. She twirled in the man's arms, taking a step back and then twirled again on the opposite side, and Sebastian’s hands began to shake. Their manoeuvres were so measured, so controlled they must have rehearsed a lot. They must have spent a lot of time together to perfect it. Hours and hours, days of days of his beloved dancing with another man.

Panic seeped its way into his core: What if those days of rehearsal had awoken something in her? Something that made her realise that the man dancing with her was better than Sebastian in every way?

He didn't dare go further with his thoughts… but what if…

The crowd cheered, pulling Sebastian from his reverie, and he looked at her. And she was looking at him, too, wearing a bright smile, eyes shining as she silently asked him what he thought. Her forehead glistened a bit with sweat, a sign of her hard work, and Sebastian forced a smile on his face, nodding at her. She nodded back and turned to the man again.

A new dance began.

-

She had been on that man's arm most of the night, entertaining kids and adults all the same, dancing with him once a new folklore song started, and even re-enacting some play scenes along with the other extras.

Sebastian was left watching, embittered by the sight so much that, at some point, he had to completely avoid said sight.

Whenever he saw a glimpse of her beautiful figure, he would turn around and go into another alley, hoping to find some solace in the street food he had been shamelessly indulging in since the fest started.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" The man in front of him asked Sebastian at some point, after the brunet had visited his corn stand at least three times. "I can't give you another cob."

Sebastian scowled, but he had to admit the man was right. His stomach couldn't take it anymore.

"My girlfriend… she…" Sebastian began, kicking the dirt while the man stirred a huge cauldron of maize porridge. "She looks absolutely gorgeous today…"

"I hardly see how that's something to be concerned about," the man lifted an eyebrow. "Has the corn gone to your head? Why isn't your mesmerising girlfriend on your arm?"

"Because she's on another's arm," Sebastian blurted out, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "And I can't do anything about it!"

A beat of silence followed. Sebastian bit his lip harshly, while the man seemed to understand the situation. He handed the brunet another cob. "Maybe you do need another."

Sebastian's shoulders slumped and he took up the offer, defeated, biting on the warm kernels. "It's just…" he spoke, voice muffled by his full mouth as he moved the cob around frustratingly. "Today was supposed to be a celebration, and instead I'm here with you and those damn cobs!"

He took another bite and the man sighed. "Just go find her is my advice. You're a handsome lad, and the dress up time has been over for a while I reckon, so she can be yours for the rest of the night."

"What if she doesn't want to be?" The words left Sebastian's lips without hesitation. "He's much more handsome than I am! Maybe she's even… they're even…"

He didn't want to think about it, the idea making the back of his eyes sting a little.

"If she was, why would she invite you?" The man shrugged. "And don't finish that corn, you hear me? Give it to her before your stomach gives up on your body more than you've given up on your dignity."

Sebastian grimaced at the man's harsh words, but he could feel his stomach grumble in protest and he knew he was right. He reluctantly let his now-comfort food lay at his side in his hand, and he made his way through the decorated alleys, dragging his feet like some chained torture was pulling at him.

Maybe it was good if he found her — just to give her his corn, that was. It would have been a shame to waste it.

"Seb! Where were you?" She asked in concern once his legs came to a stop in the plaza. "You weren't at the plays. I just… did you not like them?" She asked, voice feeble and unsure, and Sebastian felt his stomach twist as he realised he'd failed her once again.

"I… got you corn," he retorted weakly, handing her the half-eaten cob.

She took it with a frown, and then she met his eyes with disbelief. "You ate corn all this time?"

Sebastian blushed deeply, before his chest turned cold again at the sight of the man standing behind her.

"You were with him all this time?" He asked caustically, shifting his weight on his leg and crossing his arms defensively.

She was at a loss for words. "What— are you serious right now?"

"Very much."

"He's my partner!" She claimed, raising her voice, the cob in her hands swinging dangerously.

"No!" He snapped, unwinding his arms and taking a step closer. "I am your partner!"

She gasped a few times, unable to retort as she saw the look on his face. He wasn't angry, despite his deep frown and lips pressed together. He was hurt.

"Sebastian," she sighed, stepping closer. "It's just a festival…"

"You danced with him," he responded, the heat radiating from her body making his resolve crumble. "You must have rehearsed a lot."

"Yes, for the festival." The hand that wasn't holding the cob of corn came to lay on his cheek, and he melted in her touch.

"Still, I didn't like the way he looked at you!" He hissed, gesticulating sharply, trying to restrain himself from pacing back and forth as he usually did. "You look gorgeous and…"

"Sebastian… he's married," she sighed, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheekbone, "and he's like… five years older than me."

Sebastian was quiet at that, a small blush coming to rest on his ears when he realised. "So… well married men can… I mean…"

"Not him… trust me," she chuckled, now so close she could bump her nose to his. "Besides," she smiled, amused. "It's a small town, and he's my cousin."

Sebastian gasped, mouth falling open at the revelation. How stupid could he be? He had been sulking the entire evening, missing her plays and hard work just because… because…

"Were you jealous?" She asked, nuzzling his cheek.

Because he was jealous.

"I… I…" he stuttered. "I might have been… eating more corn than necessary."

She laughed against his skin, and he smiled fondly at the sound.

"Yes, I imagined that," she said, handing the cob to her cousin and taking Sebastian's hand in hers, guiding him through the alleys. "But no more corn now."

Sebastian frowned, confusion evident on his features, and she smiled at his face as she got a bundle of keys from the aumoniere hanging from her belt.

"It's my family home," she explained, "and it's empty."

She pulled him inside once she opened the door, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck once he was close enough.

"I'm just…" he began, feeling like it wouldn't be right to do anything without apologising for his behaviour. "I'm sorry I missed your plays," he whispered, feeling guiltier than ever as her lips pressed on his skin tenderly. "I should have valued you more…"

"You've seen the first two ones," she smiled and pressed another kiss on his jaw. "Last two were boring anyway."

"Still, I should have enjoyed them," he protested, returning her kisses. "And your dress, too… you look so beautiful… so…"

"Well… dress up time is over," she whispered, mouth hovering his. "Care to help me with that?"

Sebastian let out a low chuckle at that, smirking against her lips. "Oh, I'm so going to enjoy that."

He pushed his arm back and pressed his palm on the door, closing it loudly behind him.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fandom #wizarding world #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian x mc #hogwarts au #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts legacy characters #hogwart legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #sebastian sallow x oc

[stellamancer]

pairing: fem!reader x merman!satoru gojo

summary: you were excited to return home for the summer, but all that excitement is quickly thrown out the window and you nearly resign yourself to a quiet and lonely summer.

the insufferable merman you rescued, however, has other plans.

contents: degrees of social anxiety from the reader, fem!reader (no pronouns used, reader is referred to as physically smaller than gojo) 

notes: uh. this was written for the teahouse mermay collab! but, uh, gonna probably spend the summer writing this because somehow plot happened. will happen. this work will end up being a roommates to friends to maybe lovers fic so please look forward to it. uh. not sure what else to say. i usually don’t post multi-part fics to tumblr, but since i don’t expect this fic to get too long i figured it would be okay this time around lmao. i expect to eat my words. anyway this fic can also be found on ao3!  

word count: 4.3k

masterlist 

It’s the first time you’ve been home in a while, and honestly speaking, you don’t know how you feel about it.

At first, you were excited. As much as you enjoyed city life in Tokyo, you still missed your little seaside hometown. It was your parents’ idea to come home to visit, not so much because they missed you too, but because they wanted you to watch the house while they went on a summer long trek across Europe. As luck would have it, the time of their departure coincided with the expiration of your apartment’s lease. With no intent on renewing it, you figured you might as well return home for the summer and save a little bit on rent before moving into your new place.

Once your plans were settled, you’d texted your best friend, Minori, to let her know you were coming back, but… there was something a little off about her response. It’s not like you were expecting her to drop everything at the news of your homecoming, but you thought she’d at least be a little more excited. It did bother you a bit, but you merely chalked it up to being absolutely horrendous about keeping in touch while you were away. You’re almost positive that once you see each other it’ll be like you never even left.

Besides, if she really felt that awkward about seeing you, then she wouldn’t have agreed to hang out tomorrow.

Nor would she have forgotten to mention that there was a big hangout thing that was happening at the beach tonight.

Probably anyway.

It’d been one of your old high school classmates Kyohei Shinomiya who had mentioned the beach thing. You’d run into him working at the grocery store and while you really wouldn’t have considered Shinomiya a close friend, you were acquainted enough to chat amicably as he rang up your things. Most people you’d run into upon your return had asked about your life in Tokyo, but Shinomiya was oddly excited to hear about it. You’d gotten the feeling that not much had changed in your absence— but was the city really all that interesting? Shinomiya looked almost disappointed when all your things were bagged up, his face twisted almost as if he was debating something serious. Just as you were about to walk out the door he spoke up, and you realized that was what he’d been contemplating on all along.

“Are you gonna be at the hangout tonight?”

You’d tilted your head in confusion. “Hangout?”

“Yeah! On the beach at sunset!” He’d answered, his enthusiasm renewed. “If… if you’re not doing anything, then you should totally come by! Everyone from high school will be there!”

You’d immediately thought of Minori. She hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. Had it slipped her mind? Or maybe she forgot? Either way, with no one waiting for you at home, and no other plans to speak of, your night was woefully free.

So, of course you showed up.

Shinomiya hadn’t been kidding when he said that everyone from high school would be here. You recognize basically every person on some level— not just people in your own year, but upperclassmen and underclassmen as well. Some of them recognize you too, a few of them even stop to chat a little, politely asking where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, just like everyone else. Once you’ve made a lap around the group, you awkwardly park yourself near the barbeque where one of the upperclassmen is grilling skewers for everyone, unsure of where else to go.

Of all the people you’ve seen, Minori is not among them. Is it possible that maybe she wasn’t invited? You’ve seen some of her other friends here, though, so it wouldn’t make sense to leave her out. You start to reach for your phone to message her to ask if she knows, if she’s coming. Given how Shinomiya invited you, in the odd case she didn’t know, it probably wouldn’t be a problem if she showed up.

Probably.

Just as you start typing, you hear someone nearby yell. “About time you showed up! You’re late!”

You happen to look up to see who this latecomer is and it’s… Minori. But she’s not alone; at her side is someone else you recognize instantly: Hayato Tsuji. It’s been a while since you last saw him, but your heart stutters at the sight, your body remembering the feelings you harbored for him in your high school years. He’s grown even more handsome now; his features sharper and more mature now than when you were teenagers. Something about the two of them together nags at your mind, but you push the thought to the side, more relieved to see your friend here than anything.

Minori’s gaze moves from the person who called out to her, scanning the area before finally landing on you. There’s no missing the way her eyes widen in clear and obvious surprise, making it apparent that not telling you about this whole thing was a conscious choice on her part.

Still, she makes her way over to you, smiling sheepishly. her eyes now avoiding yours. “Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here."

"Shinomiya invited me," you explain almost flatly.

Minori hums as if you've said something very interesting. "Is that so…?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you'd be doing something with your parents tonight," she offers, the reason of why she didn't tell you about this hangout threaded between her words.

"No, they left this morning."

"Oh."

You could have sworn you told her that, but maybe she got the day wrong or something. It’s no big deal; Minori was probably just trying to be considerate since it’s been a while since you’ve seen your parents, but still something feels… off. It’s fine. A little awkwardness is to be expected, you tell yourself.

“Minori!” Someone else calls and she whips her head around toward the voice to see who it is. You recognize it as one of her other friends, waving wildly to get her attention. Minori glances back at you, looking a little unsure.

“It’s fine,” you say, smiling, though it feels hollow. “We can catch up later. We’re hanging out tomorrow, aren’t we?”

She stares at you, the hesitation still flickering in her eyes before nodding. “Yeah.”

You wave her off as she heads toward the person calling her and you don’t miss how her expression looks considerably lighter as she walks off. Sighing, you turn back to the barbeque, thinking to busy yourself with some food. Will it be like that tomorrow? Awkward? Weird?

You shake your head. It’ll be fine.

“Skewer?” the upperclassman manning the grill offers you one, and though you thought to occupy your anxious hands by eating you find that you actually don’t feel all that hungry.

“No thanks,” you tell him, smiling apologetically. He doesn’t seem to take any offense, though, and nods. You move away from the barbeque so that you’re not in the way of anyone who might actually want to eat, but once again you’re not sure where to go. You feel like finding Minori again is out of the question, the earlier weirdness repelling you. Maybe Shinomiya then?

You make your way around and spot Shinomiya joking with some underclassmen, laughing jovially. Should you approach? You don’t want to interrupt anything though, so you lurk off to the side, teetering back and forth on your feet. Maybe you can come back later when there’s a lull in the conversation or something.

The only other person you can think of seeking out is… Hayato. Your heart skips a beat at the thought. You can’t say you’re friends but you’d talked a few times in high school, even worked on a few group projects together. It wouldn’t be all that weird to say hi, would it?

You look around again, your eyes straining to pick him out in the crowd. While you look, your thoughts get ahead of you. He was just a high school crush, but wouldn’t it just be something, if you guys ended up talking and it just… picked up from there? Reconnecting with something akin to an old flame and things developing into something more over the course of one fateful summer… You’re sure you’ve read a story like that somewhere before and the sheer possibility of fiction becoming reality makes your heartbeat accelerate in your chest.

When you find Hayato, your entire body goes still, nerves seizing control of your motor functions. It's fine, it's cool, you try to tell yourself. You are just saying hi. You can do that. You can say hi.

And if it goes beyond that… you’ll figure it out later.

You take a deep breath and take a step forward toward Hayato, then another, then… You stop short— breath catching in your chest when you notice, when you see.  

There's someone standing next to Hayato, leaning intimately into him while his arm slung snuggly over their shoulder. You know them— recognize them, because there's no way you wouldn't. There's no way you wouldn't recognize your best friend.

It shouldn't surprise you, it really shouldn't . After all, they showed up here together, you saw them show up together and yet…

You feel absolutely gutted. Questions race through your mind. How long has Minori liked Hayato? Why didn’t she tell you? Are they dating already? For how long? Why didn’t she tell you?

Why didn’t she tell you?

Minori says something to whoever she’s talking to and laughs. Hayato leans his head down to whisper something in her ear and she blushes and swats at him, embarrassed, but still with a fond smile plastered to her face. You feel like you’re a whole world away— an outsider peering in. The contents of your stomach are flipping like they’re competing in the Olympics and you realize that you’re very, very glad you didn’t accept that skewer.

Eventually, you turn away, even though you really just want to walk over there and find out for yourself what exactly is going on. The last thing you want is to start a scene though. You can just ask Minori what’s going on tomorrow; find out if this is why she’s been acting weird. She knew you had a crush on Hayato, and even though he’s still really handsome now, that was in high school. If they're dating now, it’s not like you’d hold it against her.

You start to walk off, but you bump into someone instead.

“Oh hey!”

It’s Shinomiya.

You look at him and catch his expression shift, from a smile to something of a concerned frown.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Oh, uh.” Your shock must show on your face. You try to smile, but it feels far too strained to be convincing. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe you.

“I’m, uh… gonna… go over there.” You feel so awkward that you want to disintegrate.

Shinomiya’s mouth opens slightly, brows furrowed, looking like he’s struggling to say something. “...do you want me to come with?”

You laugh in an attempt to alleviate his concern, but the sound is mechanical, fake. “Nah, I’m fine.”

Shinomiya doesn’t seem convinced, his mouth set in a frown. His expression is contemplative again, like it was when you were at the store. You take a step back, away from him and wave him off a little.

“Really,” you say, before whatever he’s thinking about just spews out of his mouth. “Just… gonna take a little walk. The... smoke from the barbeque is getting to me.”

It sounds like an excuse, but it seems reasonable enough you think. Shinomiya still seems doubtful, but he doesn’t press the issue as you take another step away from him. You give him one more smile, this one feeling  a little more natural, to reassure him that you’re fine.

Because you are.

No one else seems to notice as you slip away from the group, heading toward the shoreline. The tide ebbs back and forth, the water coming up to gently lap at the soles of your shoes. You stare out at the sea, the sun nearly set over the horizon, dyeing the sky in oranges and purples. Some of the people at the hangout are probably setting up a bonfire or two so that the get together can continue into the night. You could probably go help out to keep your hands busy, but you don’t particularly feel like it.

Instead, you continue walking down the beach, further away from the chatter of all the people you grew up with, their conversations sounding more and more like a foreign language with each step. Even when you were younger, when you still lived here, you could never slot yourself perfectly among your peers. Minori was the only one who really felt like a friend to you, so her silence weighs heavy on your heart. If you had done a better job at keeping in touch with her, then would she have been more forthcoming about what was going on in her life? At the same time, it’s not like she was any better at keeping in contact with you, but…

You sigh. You’ll talk to her tomorrow. There’s no need to keep mulling over it now.

The sun has completely set now and you realize you’ve actually walked quite a distance from the hangout spot on the beach; you can’t even see anyone anymore. In fact, you’re actually probably only a few minutes from your parent’s house now, their home almost practically on the beach itself. You’re just better off going home, rather than going back. It does feel a little bit bad to have left without saying anything though, so you pull out your phone and send off a quick message to Shinomiya apologizing for leaving without saying anything and thanking him for inviting you in the first place.

You turn, with the intent of heading home, but something on the beach catches your eye.

Something unnaturally shiny.

People are generally pretty good about picking up their trash when they’re on the beach; it's a rule, after all. Sometimes, though, there are some people who forget, or just don’t care. As you approach, you figure whoever left this mound of garbage on the shore is part of the latter group, simply not caring enough to pick up after themselves.

But someone cared enough to cover it up in sand and seaweed.

You lean over, prepared to dig out whatever can and other trash has been buried when you notice, when you see.

It’s not a beer can that’s half buried here.

It’s some kind of fish and it’s huge.

You’ve heard of the very, very rare instances of beached whales, but this thing has scales, shiny, pretty iridescent scales that remind you of opals and you wonder distantly if there’s a fish this big, this pretty, really out there. More than that, though, you wonder how in the world it ended up on the beach like this. When you’ve finally cleared everything away, you realize that this thing isn’t a fish.

It’s a person.  

Or half of one at least.

You gawk at the sight, your eyes traveling down the length of their body. From the waist down, they’re all fish, tail and fins and all, but from the waist up they look like a man, with arms, and a torso and a human head.

Merman.

The word echoes in your mind over and over. You shake your head. This has to be a dream. There’s no way. Merpeople aren’t real. If they were, surely there’d be some kind of record or something of them.

You raise a trembling hand, to confirm what you see with your own two eyes. Very, very quietly, you murmur an apology as your fingers reach out, brushing against this being’s waist, where their human skin meets their fish-like scales. Maybe it’s some kind of… swimsuit or something. You’ve seen stuff like that on TV. If that’s the case there should be some kind of waistband or something, but you find none. The junction between their human half and fish half is completely seamless.

The merman is real.

You gasp softly and look around. It’s only the two of you on the beach right now. What do you do? Should you just leave him here? In a few hours the tide will be high enough to pull the merman back into the water, but… what if someone comes between now and then? If they realize it’s a merman, there’s no guarantee that they’ll let him return to the sea. He could be sold off as a research subject or some kind of exotic pet. The thought disgusts you. Shouldn’t you put him back then? Make sure that he returns to where he belongs? He seems to be unconscious though, but surely he can breathe underwater while sleeping, right? You have absolutely no idea how it works.

The merman groans beneath you and you look back at him. His face is scrunched up like he’s in some kind of pain. Is he hurt, maybe? Is that how he ended up on the beach? Using your phone’s flashlight, you check his body, trying to find some kind of injury, but you don’t find anything. Could he be sick or something then?

You reach up toward his head, brushing some of the snow white hair sticking to his forehead out of the way before you press the back of your hand to his skin. It’s slightly warm to the touch, so he probably doesn’t have a fever.

Wait. Can merfolk even get fevers?

Is he maybe having a bad dream then? Or is he uncomfortable? You don’t know. You could try to wake him up, but if he’s in pain wouldn’t that make it worse?

The panic is starting to settle in your nerves. What do you do? You've never encountered anything like this before. Do you attend to him as if he were an animal? Or as if he were human? You start to reach for your phone to call someone for help, for advice but—

Who could you possibly call?

Your parents are on an airplane right now, hundreds of kilometers in the air and out of reach. You couldn’t possibly bother Shinomiya with this and Minori— The image of her laughing amongst her other friends, Hayato snuggling up next to her flashes in your mind, sudden and almost disorienting. Something ugly and frustrating wells up in your stomach at the thought but you do your best to dismiss it.

You can’t bother her with this either.

You’re all you’ve got right now.

With that thought in mind, you force yourself to take a deep, deep breath. Before you can do anything else, you need to calm down. Once the anxiety has dislodged itself from your chest, you go over the options once more. You can’t leave him here because someone else with far worse intentions than you might find him. You can’t toss him back in the ocean because there’s no guarantee that he’ll be okay if you do that. Then what else can you do?

Take him somewhere else? You glance down at the merman; his body is longer than you are tall and you’re sure that he probably weighs a ton. You wouldn’t be able to take him very far on your own, so if you take him somewhere it has to be close.

A lightbulb goes off in your head. It seems kind of crazy, but you could take him home; a year or two ago your parents renovated the bathroom so now the tub is disgustingly huge. You think it’s big enough to house this monster of a merman until you can ensure that you can return him to the sea without the fear that he might get eaten by a shark or something.

Now the question is… how do you transport him? If you had a wheelbarrow or some kind of cart then you could put him in it and just wheel him to your parents house, but…

A particularly large wave crashes against the beach and another lightbulb goes off. Your father has a really big longboard he used to use when he was a teen. Maybe you could roll the merman onto it and pull it kind of like a sled?

The idea sounds absolutely insane, but you can’t think of anything else. If it doesn’t work… Well, you’ll figure it out later.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell the sleeping merman before bolting off toward your parents’ house. You get there in almost no time flat and easily locate the longboard, tucked away in a storage room. The board’s leg rope probably won’t be able to support the merman’s weight so you grab some regular rope your father has in the storage and wedge it in with the leg rope, using it to secure the rope to the board. When you’re satisfied with it, you dash back to the beach.

The merman is luckily where you left him, unconscious and undisturbed. You toss the longboard onto the sand next to him, shoving it as close to him as you can before bending over and rolling him face up onto the board, taking great care to make sure his entire tail is on.

Like this you’re able to get a better look at his face and— he’s handsome, breathtakingly so. The sharpness of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the width of his shoulders, his collarbone, the sight of them all assembled together like this ups your pulse a bit.

You’re getting distracted.

With the merman in place, you grab the rope and start to tug your makeshift sled toward your parents’ house but, god, he’s heavy. You don’t get very far before you stop to take a break, your arms and shoulders screaming. A different tactic would probably be better. You move to the other end of the board and bend down, gripping both sides of the long board as you push.

This method works much, much better until you get to the house itself. You knew the board would only get you so far, but from here on out you’ll have to carry him. There’s no way a bridal carry will work, so you brace yourself, and after a fair bit of struggling you manage to sling this massive merman over your back.

Each step toward the bathroom is absolute agony and you’re so damn grateful that the house is only a single story. It feels like hours have passed when you finally get to the tub. You rip off the cover and toss it haphazardly to the side, but now you have a new problem: how do you get him in there like this?

You could attempt to shrug him in, but his weight combined with the fact you can’t see might result in him accidentally hitting his head on the wall or something. That wouldn’t be good. Instead, you step into the tub, nearly slipping as you step over the wall of it, but luckily you manage to keep yourself from falling. Then, slowly, you free one of your hands gripping the merman’s body to reach down and tuck his tail into the tub.

He weighs too much for your one hand to handle and this time you lose your balance.

Both you and the merman tumble backwards into the tub. You manage to angle your legs out of the way of the faucet and land against the merman’s body with a thud, the hand that was holding onto him twisted into an uncomfortable angle. Quickly, you roll around to make sure he didn’t didn’t get hurt or hit his head against anything.

Miraculously, he seems perfectly fine— as if you had gently lowered him into the bathtub.

You breathe out a heavy sigh; it feels like you just ran a marathon, but you’re not quite done yet. As much as you’d like to leave it where it is, you pull yourself up to retrieve your father’s longboard from outside. Leaving it could possibly lead to questions from the neighbors and the last thing you want to deal with is gossiping aunties.

Especially with a merman under your roof.

You drag yourself back to the bathroom after you’ve put the longboard away and he’s still asleep, grimacing a little, but still asleep. It’s absolutely wild to you that he hasn’t woken up at all. You wonder if you should fill the tub with some water. Would that make him more comfortable?

You reach over and start the faucet, making sure to lower the temperature. As the tub fills itself, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you, and you slump down next to the tub. Carrying the merman home really, really took a toll on you. Your eyelids feel heavy and you think it should be fine to close them.

Just for a minute or two.

It feels like the second your eyes flutter shut, they pop open again, your whole body awakening with a start. Your thoughts are all jumbled up. Why are you in the bathroom? Did you actually fall asleep here? Wasn’t the water running? Thank god your parents bought one of those super fancy bathtubs that regulates the amount of water in the tub. Surely the merman wouldn’t mind if the water overflowed but—

Right. The merman!

You sit up straight and turn your head toward the merman and sure enough he is still there. He wasn’t just some crazy dream you concocted; he’s real and, more than that, he’s awake.

He watches you, his lips curved up into an amused smile that reaches his eyes— bluer than the sunshine on the sea. Your heart hammers wildly in the cage of your chest as you rediscover, all over again, how supernaturally stunning this being you’ve brought into your house is. He tilts his head, his grin widening almost impossibly as he speaks, his voice a melodic timbre that you would almost swear resonates with your very soul.

“Well, good morning.”

next chapter  →

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojou x reader #satoru gojou x you #jjk x reader #nikuniku fics #not sure what else to tag this as always tags are hard #reader is very anxious and emotional i think but #it will get better for them!! #sots fic tag

[milla-frenchy]

Roads

5k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Summary: 3 years ago, Joel broke your heart and you left your hometown. Warnings: 18+ mdni. dirty talk, oral sex (f/m receiving), spitting, unprotected piv, ass play, praise kink, cum eating. a/n: This is my first fic. English isn't my native langage, thank you so so so much @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for reading me and correcting me, you're a gem, love you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😘 Playlist | Series masterlist | Masterlist

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3 years.

For 3 years you haven’t set foot in your hometown, where you grew up, met your friends, studied, had your first jobs and your first crushes.

3 years ago you fled to forget your great love. The one that tears the heart when it’s over, and leaves you alone with your pain and a huge void that nothing will be able to fill.

When the love of your life left you, you saw only emptiness. The uselessness of things, hours, days that passed.

So trying to fill the emptiness of your existence, to forget the sorrow of having been abandoned, you left this city where everything reminded you of him.

Joel.

You settled in a new city, not far from yours, but enough not to risk crossing paths while shopping, going to the cinema or the restaurant. Or at work.

A few years ago, one evening changed your life.

Your friend Tommy worked in construction. Due to the economic crisis, finding a contract was more complicated. He worked with his brother, whom you only knew by name. Joel.

You and Tommy had known each other since school, you were the same age. The same circle of friends, the same interests. You kept the same friends for a long time, until everyone went their own way, as adults, when each of you found a job. All that was left was a small nucleus, very tightly knit core. Including Tommy and you. And his fiancée, whom he had met shortly after high school, and whom he was marrying soon. The three of you saw each other regularly.

He told you about his parents, his brother. Both had very different characters, as many siblings do. Tommy was very sociable, loved people, company, going out. His brother was introverted, led a quiet life and hated crowded parties. He had an eighteen year old daughter, Sarah. Her mother had left them shortly after her birth, and he was now striving to give her the best life possible. So he focused all his attention on the work and his daughter.

You worked in a large construction group, which until then had not suffered too much from the economic crisis. When Tommy told you about his professional difficulties, of course, you told him that you would do your best to find him a contract. But you had to set up an appointment between the three of you, take stock of their areas of expertise, their radius of intervention and the subcontractors to hire in parallel.

That evening, you had an appointment for dinner at Alexandro's, the pizzeria near your work. You popped by you house from work to shower and change in a pair of blue jeans, a white tank top and a blue plaid shirt.

When you arrived at Alexandro's, Tommy and Joel were already there. Tommy was facing the door, Joel had his back to the entrance. That was the first time you saw him. His wide back, thick shoulders under his black t-shirt. Then his neck, broad too. His brown hair. You paused and then pulled yourself together.

Tommy greeted you with a big smile when he saw you coming, stood up and kissed your cheek

"Hi, beautiful, how are you?"

"I’m ok, thank you. Work’s finally over!"

In the meantime, Joel got up, and was facing you, smiling and holding out his hand.

"Hello! I’m Joel, nice to finally meet you"

"Hi Joel, also delighted" you said with a big smile. 

Your breath hitched when you saw his face. It wasn't love at first sight per se, but to say you being enchanted was an understatement. Fortunately, your job taught you hide your emotions well.

He had brown eyes, curly hair, a poorly trimmed mustache and a beard, dimples and a devastatingly infectious smile. Everything in him exuded calm dominance and control of emotions, despite the open smile he displayed.

You sat at a table of 4 people, located in a quiet corner of the dining room. You were next to Tommy, Joel was facing you.

"So, I’ve finally met the person Tommy has been sowing wild oats with for all these years."

" ‘Sowing wild oats’ I don't know about that... We've been relatively cool as teenagers."

"You tell this to my parents who had to pick up Tommy from the police station after you got caught smoking weed," he laughed.

"Oh, that's typical teen stuff, nothing serious."

"Or when you were picked up from the Smiths because you were launching fireworks at their house on July 4th."

"Yeah well..."

The three of you laughed.

"So, Tommy told me that you lack construction sites with the crisis?"

"Yes it’s getting complicated. We don't do full weeks and it keeps slowing down."

"I see."

"So you work at Deviaux constructions? No problem of reducing construction sites?" Joel asked, before taking a sip of his drink.

"No, it's a very large group, financially we have strong backbones and a lot of companies work for us. I will need your turnover, the exact type of sites you can manage, and your schedule taking into account your current sites, so we could create a forecast on the sites that we can assign to you."

The rest of the evening you talked about work. Joel was clearly in charge of managing their company, and Tommy occasionally intervened on technical details.

You tried to hide the emotions you felt towards Joel, but his posture, his gestures, his way of speaking affested you and the more the evening progressed the more you grew attracted to him. Again, you drove these thoughts out of your mind. You tried, at least until you glanced at his hands, his dimples, his broadness again and again. His calmness and controlling attitude lured you in. You worried that Tommy would find out.

Fuck, you thought inwardly.

You arranged an appointment at your group's office 2 weeks later.

The next day, at work, Tommy and Joel were talking about the night before. Joel was relieved of your seriousness, the working methods of your group, and relatively confident about the future. Your reassuring and professional attitude gave him an optimistic outlook. Once in his bedroom, he thought back to the evening. Thought about you. Your smile, your warm, non-judgmental attitude, your ability to communicate and keep the conversation going. He fell asleep with a desire to meet you again

"See, I told you you'd appreciate her. When I think you've always refused to see her all these years, thinking she was a brainless girl..."

"Yeah, I thought she was just like you. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Jerk…"

During those two weeks, you chased the image of Joel away from your mind, already occupied by your current complicated relationship.

At the end of the 2nd work meeting, you invited Tommy and Joel to the group's annual meal, which you were organizing for the 3rd consecutive year. Invitations were sent to companies that work for the group, spouses and children are also invited. The goal is to thank the workers and to create unity between all stakeholders.

Like in previous years, you didn't plan to stay very long. You didn't like the attention and that PR side, others in the group being much better than you at it.

You and Tommy had planned to go to a restaurant while his fiancée was going out with friends.

You were wearing a suit and a tie. A quirky look with your hair. During your acceptance speech, you met Joel's eyes and smiled at him. Tommy looked at his brother from time to time, noticing that he couldn't take his eyes off you. Joel finally felt his caddie's gaze on him and smiled.

"She does that to everybody. Everyone falls in love with her."

"But not you?"

"She’s like a sister to me. I've never had a chance to be more. And now I wouldn't trade my place for anything in the world. She is the most loyal person I know, and a very dear friend."

At the end of your speech, you went to greet the respective small groups. Before you joinded them, Tommy warned his brother:

"The evening continues with music and a buffet. She will not stay," says Tommy.

"Why?"

"She doesn't like it. Too much effusions for her. We have to go eat at the restaurant."

"Just the two of you?"

"That is the plan. Want to join us?"

"Won't she mind?"

"I don't think so. I’ll ask her, ok?"

"OK."

Tommy found you while Joel got a whiskey at the buffet. Tommy texted Joel an OK and after finishing his drink Joel joined you two.

"Hey", you said, smiling at Joel.

"Hey. Nice speech. Thank you for for being ok with me joining your little after party."

"The more the merrier," you replied. "Where's your daughter tonight?"

"Sleepover. She has less and less time for her old man"

All three of you went to the restaurant where you had a great evening. You offered them a nightcap at your house. Once you arrived you took off your suit jacket, remaining in a white t-shirt and with your black tie and pants. The three of you sat on the coach.

"Whisky" ? You offered, and they agreed.

You talked about different topics and laughed a lot. You felt comfortable and relaxed. Then your phone rang and you didn’t answer the first call. The second. The third. Finally you took the call going to the window and looking outside at the lights.

"Stop calling me."

"I wanted to know how the evening was, that's all"

"I don't want to talk right now."

"Please don't hang up"

"Fuck, I told you no! You know I hate it when you presure me like that. We... it’s over OK? We talked about it."

"Yeah ? One more break up huh? Did you find someone else? Are you tired of me ? Again? When will it stop? That fucking story between you and me?"

"I guess it is. Don't call me anymore. I need air, need a break."

You hung up and returned to the couch, where the boys had remained seated.

"Sorry for that"

"Are you okay? Tommy asked, looking at you with worried eyes"

"Yeah. Where were we?"

The evening went on as if nothing had happened until Tommy's fiancee called him asking to pick her up.

"I'm sorry I have to go. Fiancé duty!"

Tommy had driven Joel there, so Joel was getting ready to get up to leave when you said:

"You can stay. It’s still early. I'll give you a lift after."

"With pleasure, » he said with a smile"

You spent the night together talking and laughing. Joel told you about Sarah.

She was about to begin her first year of college in two weeks, and he could’t be more proud of her. He described her as a mature, conscientious and cheerful girl. He told you several times that he was very proud of her, especially for the fact that he never went to college  himself, having taken care of Sarah when he was still very young.

You drove him back in the early morning, and you kissed on the cheeks to say goodbye.

The next day at work, Joel asked Tommy about the phone call you received the day before.

"You know what happened?" Joel asked

"It's this moron, Stefan", Tommy answered with a sigh, "Her boyfriend, well, ex boyfriend. Their relationship is complicated, toxic I’d say. They separated several times, then got back together. Every time they get back together I understand it less and less."

"He sounds clingy on her," Joel noted with furrowed brows.

"Yeah. More than she is. But she usually comes back to him. And she always leaves him. I don’t get it."

"Why don't you like him?"

 "He’s been clinging to her for years now. She stops smiling when they are together. It’s like he sucks all energy out of her. We can’t stand each other, i see her less when they are together. Afraid i’d break his fucking jaw."

"How does she take it, that you don't like him?"

"I think at first it bothered her a little, but she knows that i just want to protect her. She didn't tell me they broke up. I hope it’s really over this time."

"Why do they keep getting back together?"

"I have thought about it. The only idea that comes to mind is that she wants to fix him. And it's fucking unhealthy. And..."

"And?"

"There’s something dark in her. I feel it sometimes. Like she wants to lose herself. It scares me."

"She hides it pretty well."

"Yeah. I don't think anyone knows her completely, just a small part of her, me probably more than the others. But she’s closed off sometimes and i worry about her."

Joel was confused after that conversation. It wasn’t the impression he had by being around you those two times, and it made him curious about you.

Once their projects done, Joel and Tommy began their collaboration with your group, and everything went smoothly. The three of you sometimes bumped into each other at your office, and Joel regularly joined Tommy and you for pub nights or dinners.

You liked to be in the company of the brothers, knowing that their relationship had not always been easy, but that they seemed to be at peace in the face of past conflicts.

They were certainly different, but you found something common in them. They had a strong protective side and you teased them about that. You liked to listen to their childhood anecdotes and you gradually realized that you greatly appreciated Joel's presence and personality.

You planed to have a drink at the pub that night, but Tommy canceled at the last moment. Joel sent you a message:

"You and me?"

You'd already gone out two nights together without Tommy, and the idea pleased you. The atmosphere was different when one of the brothers was not there. No macho rivalry, no teenage jokes.

"Of course, see you tonight" you texted back with excitement.

In the pub you had a drink and Joel told you about Sarah who had recently joined her college in another state. Everything was going well for her, she got along well with her roomate, and she was coming back home for the next break. Joel felt a little lost, living first time alone in his house, but the resumption of construction sites was helping him.

"No girlfriend?" you asked him with curiosity in your gaze.

"No. Nothing serious for several years. I always wanted to dedicate all my time to Sarah."

"But there was something non serious then?" you said with a smirk.

"Something like that, " Joel answered looking at his drink and smiling softly.

Joel Miller, the less verbose of the two brothers.

The evening continued, and watching him made you regret not having met him before. You had never felt that feeling toward him when you were a teenager, Joel was a few years older than you and Tommy, and you saw him as someone scowling and always annoying his brother. That moment you thought how distorted your image had been, and you wonder if you would have dated. Looking at him, you told yourself that you would have totally dated him.

You drove that idea out of your mind again.

Joel. Your best friend's brother. Who you work with. Your relationship with Stefan has just ended (again).

An hour later you offered to have some pizza at your place. He agreed and you drove there in your car and after arriving you ordered pizza.

"Whiskey ?" you asked heading to the kitchen.

"Do you have anything else?" Joel asked waiting for you to get the drinks.

"Nope", you replied with a smile and he laughed.

You got two glasses and the bottle and sat on the couch. The evening was going great. You smoked cigarettes, ate pizza, and talked a lot. He told you that he was happy about his job, and thanked your for helping him and Tommy.

You were always amazed to see how the two of you talked so easily. Over time,with practice you learned how to keep a conversation going with anyone, though you could never feel at ease with other people. But you are surprisingly comfortable with Joel where usually you take a long time to feel close to someone, confident. You wondered if it was related to the fact that he was Tommy's brother.

Joel was also comfortable, contradicting Tommy`s words who had always described him as a bear spending more time grumbling than communicating, staying away from people, avoiding relationships because the only important thing to him was Sarah.

You reached for your glass and at that moment he also leaned over to the coffee table to grab his. Your hands brushed each other’s, electricity filled the air between you and suddenly, all your resolutions went up in smoke.

Until then, there hadn’t been any inappropriate gestures. No brushing. No allusion.

You were closer than you had ever been, that moment seemed like an eternity. You heared a voice in your head telling you to step back, to sit back and cool off.

Joel. Your best friend's brother. Who you work with. Your relationship with Stefan has that just ended.

But you’d never been able to resist temptation. Moreover, you DIDN’T want to resist it. You loved the feelings that ignited. The tension. Quite the opposite of your professional attitude, or what you showed to those around you. You loved the passion that was filling your lungs, and at that very moment you felt it burning in the pit of your stomach.

After this moment, which actually lasted only a fraction of a second, your gaze that was previously fixed on your hands and glasses rose to Joel, whose eyes were fixed on you. As they had never been before.

Your gaze slid to his lips and back to his eyes. He was looking at you and then at your lips as well. You wanted to say something but could’t find any words. Your eyes fell again to his luscious lips, you couldn’t help it. You swallowed and the voice in your head disappeared.

You didn’t know if it's the fault of the alcohol drunk in the pub and at home, but you kissed him. Shyly. You stepped back and bit your lip, unable to cope with his gaze, while your mind was once again bombarded with dozens of questions.

Time froze for a moment before he took your cheeks in his hands and kissed you back. Gently. You put your hands on his and kissed him back. Less shyly that time. You broke the kiss.

You looked at each other, your breaths intensifying. He took your hand and said "come closer" You stood up, your eyes were hooked on each other.

"Sit at the back of the couch", you told him. He settled as you asked him, and you straddled him.

He put his hands on your hips and looked at your lips waiting for your next move. You leaned towards him and caressed his cheek, gently. Then you kissed him again.

You couldn’t resist pressing your crotch against his, and you moaned as you were devouring each other. Feeling his bulge you could already feel that he had a big cock.

You finally backed down, got up and took off your top and pants, keeping your bra and panties.

"Take off your clothes," you told him quietly. You watched him take off his t-shirt. He got up and took off his pants, leaving only his boxers.

"Let’s go upstairs" you told him leading the way. He followed you and grabed your wrist while you were still on the stairs.

You turned to him and he pinned you against the wall. "Reason will wait", you told yourself.

He pressed his torso against your breasts, his hands roaming your cheeks, your breasts, your hips. His tongue entered your mouth and mingled with yours. Your tongues crossed and searched each other more and more avidly.

His hand came to rest against your crotch, still covered with your panties. You knew you were already soaked. You had been since making out on the couch. And you had been dripping since he grabbed your wrist as you were climbing the steps.

"Damn sweetheart… you’re fucking soaked."

You moaned when you heard his words.

He ran his middle finger over your slit. Pressed a little more firmly on your clit. It made your already soaked panties even wetter. He said in your ear, in a very low voice:

"I'm gonna eat your pussy baby. I'm gonna make you come on my fingers and on my cock. And I'm sure no one has ever made you come like that. Especially not that jerk that hadn‘t been able to make  you stay with him."

Fuck… It seemed like you weren’t the only one with a dark side noone knew about.

"Take me to your bedroom", he ordered. He let go of your hand and followed you up the stairs. You felt his gaze on your ass. Once in your bedroom you turned back to him.

"Take off your bra" You did as he said.

"Wow... Your breasts are beautiful."

You couldn’t help but imagine what he had in mind at that moment, what he didn’t say, but his leer was revealing. Joel was imagining jerking off with them, or cumming on them. Or both.

He approached you and kissed you again, hands on your cheeks. The change in his attitude (sweet, animalistic, sweet again) made your head spin. You caressed his arms, his shoulders, his back. Your touch lingered on every muscle you were feeling under your fingers.

You took his hand and led him to your bed where you settled on your back, your head resting on the pillow.

He lied down next to you and kissed you. His hand went down to your breasts. He kissed your neck, your collarbone and went down to your breast which he took in his mouth hungrily.

After a few seconds he crawled down again until his face was facing your crotch. He removed your panties.

He stared at you, and it was a far cry from the look you had seen when you had first met each other at Alexandro's a few weeks ago. His warm smile turned carnal. The dominant side had taken over and you felt your pussy tighten.

He looked at your soaked pussy and ran his index finger between your lips. He used your wetness to rub your clit and spat on it.

Not that you needed it. But it electrified you.

"You like that baby girl ?"

"Yeah… fuck… yeah"

"You’re naughty aren’t you ? You need a real man who can put you in your place. You came across the right person."

He inserted two fingers into your pussy and spat on your clit again. You moaned.

He pulled his fingers out and ran his tongue over your pussy, from the hole to the clit. Flat.

"You're so fucking wet."

He stared at you. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"Look at me. Look at me when I’m eating your pussy"

You dropped down your gaze to keep the eye contact.

"You taste so good on my tongue baby"

He slid his tongue in your dripping hole and began fucking you with it. His thumb rubbing your clit. Your moans grew louder and louder.

He pushed his index and middle fingers into your pussy and sucked your bundle of nerves.

"Already gonna come sweetheart? I feel you squeezing my fingers"

"Joel... I... Yes... I'm gonna come"

"Cum on my fucking fingers. Give me your juice"

You exploded on his fingers and in his mouth.

His embrace didn’t not loose, he licked you to the last drop, until all your wetness was on his tongue.

"Joel wait.... It's too much"

"It’s not. You’re gonna give me another one, right now"

He pulled back and droped his saliva on your pussy.

"Oh god…"

He grined, hearing you. He spread your folds with his fingers and looked at the mess he created.

"Fuck baby…. You have no idea what I'm gonna do to you. You’ll become my little slut. You have that in you. I wasn't sure when I noticed it at first, but we're going to have a lot of fun you and me," he said looking at you with dark hungry eyes.

His confidence drove you crazy. How could he have this certainty so quickly? Did he see what was lurking deep inside you? That no one had ever seen?

While your thoughts were swarming, he breathed in your scent and stuck his tongue into your pussy and his ring finger went down to your ass. Wet from your juice that flowed to it. He pressed on your tight ring of muscle.

"The fuck… Joel ?!"

"Don't tell me you don't like it. Not a dirty girl like you. I know what you want. Don't worry, I'll give you everything." You moaned and squirmed again

"Come again baby. Give it to me"

You gripped his hair with your hands and brought your pussy as close to his mouth as possible. He inserted the tip of his ring finger into your ass, his index and middle fingers in your pussy, and focused on your clit with his tongue until you exploded again.

"Fuck baby.... You're gonna drive me crazy. If I had fucked you like that when I was younger I would have cum in my boxers just hearing you moan like a slut."

He crawled up your naked body and kissed you. You felt your taste on his tongue and lips

"Like how you taste?" he asked breaking the kiss.

"Yes, so fucking hot," you replied with a breathy voice. He was pleased with your answer and quickly gave you another order.

"Get up and sit on the edge of the bed"

You did as he told, and found yourself facing his crotch, still covered in boxers. You saw the bulge and couldn’t hold back a choke. You glanced up at him.

" 's gonna be okay baby, you can do it," he said gently cupping your cheek. You swallowed your saliva, and tugged down his boxers. His cock sprang free.

"Fuck", you said, biting your lip.

"I know baby. I know"

You took it in your hand and droped saliva on the tip. You began jerking it off and then took it in your mouth. Just the tip, at the beginning. Time to get used to its girth. You swirled your tongue around the tip and heard him moan.

"You’re doing so well sweetheart." His hand was on the back of your head

Your mouth went down his member.

"Shit that’s so good baby."

You took it as deeper as you could. You felt his hips rolling towards you, he started fucking your mouth gently. Until his cock reached your throat. You gasped, but didn’t back down.

"Good girl" he mumbled getting greedy, impatient.

"Fuck you’re doing so good, taking me so well."

You pulled back until you got it out of your mouth and looked at it. A trickle of saliva connected your mouth to his cock.

"You are so beautiful baby. Can I fuck your mouth?" he asked, alternating between sweetness and animality that made you lose your mind.

You said ‘yes’ and took him in your mouth again letting him handle the movements. He put his hands on the sides of your head and sank into your mouth.

"Oh yeah"

He sank deeper and deeper at a slow pace until it hit the back of your throat. His fists clenched into your hair and he held you in place. You gasped

"Stay like that honey. Don't move" Then he released his grip. You backed up to catch your breath.

"Again" he commanded.

You took it back in your mouth and he put his hands back on the side of your head. He inserted itself slowly into your throat and held you there. He moved his hand down your neck, and squeezed it until he felt his cock through your skin.

"Fuck… You take me so well.  You're such a whore" He pulled out of your mouth.

"I'm gonna fuck you now. Lie on your back"

He lied down between your thighs. He kissed you and pressed his tip against your entrance. He stoped there, teasing you. He inserted his tongue into your mouth, and you swirled yours around his. He pulled away to look at you.

"Open wide baby." You opened your mouth, he droped his saliva there and pushed his cock into you at the same time, up to half of it. He backed up and made another push, bottoming out.

"Oh fuck… Joel…. You’re so thick"

He set a slow and powerful rhythm.

"Yeah take it honey... Take it good"

Your head sank into your pillow, as you tilted it back. You felt your walls tighten against him.

"Yeah squeeze me like that, keep doing it"

You wraped your legs around his waist and followed his moves.

"You're doing well. You take me so well"

Meanwhile he kissed your lips, your jaw, your neck. He caresseed your cheeks. His gestures were gentle, the opposite of the power he was imposing on your pussy. You moaned and ran your hands over his arms, his shoulders.

"On all fours baby" You followed his command getting on your hands and knees. He sank into you and bottomed out

"Oh fuck", you exclaimed.

His hands clung to your hips and began pistoning into you. Your head was resting on the pillow as you suffered his cock strokes, that were going even deeper than before. He set an increasingly powerful pace, then spread your cheeks.

He spat his saliva on your asshole and put his thumb against it. You tightened against his finger.

"You like that baby?"

"Y… shit… Yeah i love that"

"Dirty girl."

He kept pounding you.

"Touch yourself baby. Come on my cock and on my thumb. Squeeze them while you come. Come on baby"

You brought your fingers to your clit and started rubbing it.

"Faster Joel. Please"

He picked up the pace, to the point that you started screaming.

"Oh yeah baby? Go ahead, scream. Show all your neighbors how well you get fucked by my big cock"

His words pushed you over the edge and you came hard, clutching his cock and his thumb. He continued to fuck you for a few minutes, at a frenzied pace, while you were weakened from your orgasm and its power. You heard his moans increasing, he pulled out and stood by the bed.

"On your knees, tongue out"

You watched him jerk off while he was devouring you with his eyes. He put his cock on your tongue and you felt the ropes of cum covering your tongue, your mouth and your throat. He was jerking off until his balls were emptied.

"Swallow." he told you and you did.

It was the first time you fucked. And you already knew you’d be under his spell. You just hoped he wouldn’t burn you in flames.

Part 2

********************** Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call

As promised, this is the first chapter of @gilbirda's Wrong Number AU all fixed up. A lot of it is the same as the original version, but a lot has changed. It went from 3,059 words to 5,392. I'm gonna try and get somewhere with the next chapter of this, but no promises on time-frame. Also working on transferring at least the first chapter of all my WIPs over to AO3. This'll be the only time I tag a bunch of people for this as I'm gonna set up subscription posts.

Find the original prompt and fill here.

Find the Subscription Post here.

And the AO3 version here (locked to logged in users, reach out if you need an invite).

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

----------

Jazz sat in a Nasty Burger booth and stared at her food. She'd ordered Danny's favorite, but her stomach was so in knots she didn't think she could eat.

All of this was her parent’s fault. If they weren’t so close minded and horrible, if they’d just accepted they were wrong…

Her circling thoughts were interrupted by a balled up napkin landing on the table next to her tray. Jazz was half to her feet ready to yell at whomever threw their trash at her when she saw Sam in a frilly yellow dress walking to the counter with her grandmother.

Huffing as if annoyed, Jazz settled back down and straighted the napkin. In messier-than-normal writing, Sam had scrawled the message:

I got him an old phone before he ran. His number is XXX-XXX-XXXX.

As surreptitiously as she could, she pulled out her own phone and saved the number to the encrypted folder Tucker had set up. Then she destroyed the napkin by soaking it in her unfinished pop and throwing her entire tray away, uneaten food and all.

Well, there was nothing else she could do in Amity. Might as well start the long drive back to Boston.

Upon reaching the edges of town, however, she realized leaving wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. A GIW checkpoint had been set up and all incoming and outgoing traffic was being questioned.

Two agents approached her car before she could turn around and try a different way out. She did make them knock on her window before deigning to lower it just an inch, however. After what they’d done to Danny, she would never willingly play along with their games again.

“Ms. Fenton,” said the agent as soon as she realized she wasn’t going to open the window any further, “we need to search yourself and your vehicle. You are a known ecto-entity sympathizer and are suspected of assisting in the escape of subject P1. Vacate your vehicle immediately.”

“All I did was come back to my hometown to find my missing brother. I’ll need to see a warrant before you search my car.”

“Ms. Fenton, I don’t think you understand the situation. Due to the escape of the highly dangerous specimen P1, the town is under our a state of emergency. Mayor Masters has instated martial law to ensure the safety of all citizens. You can either vacate your car or you will be under arrest.” He grabbed a packet of papers from an inner pocket of his suit jacket and pushed one end through the crack in Jazz’s window.

Jazz took them and skimmed. The agent wasn’t lying; anyone caught breaking curfew or suspected of harboring or otherwise assisting a ghost would be arrested without bail immediately. All because her brother escaped that torture chamber. She stepped out of the car.

It took over an hour for the agents to search every inch of her car, purse, and luggage and convince themselves she didn’t have Danny hidden away somewhere. By the time she was allowed to go on her way, her jaw hurt from how hard she was clenching her teeth and her eyes stung with tears.

She hated Vlad. And the Guys in White. And the US Government. But finally she was free to leave.

And then she realized the white van was following her out of city limits. Really? Was she going to have to deal with them tailing her, too?

She ground her teeth and eased up on the gas pedal, moving to the right lane. Her father had taught her how to drive, but she’d learned better from the internet and recorded driver’s ed classes. She followed the speed limit exactly, only changing lanes to pass or allow others to merge on. Through it all, her focus remained on the white van behind her. She recognized Agent O as the driver.

Every so often his attention would slip and he’d wind up closer to her than intended. And then, finally, forty-five minutes after she started her perfect driving, she saw him yawn.

“Eat dust, creep!” Jazz shouted as she slammed her foot on the gas and jerked the steering wheel to swerve into the next lane. A chorus on horns followed her as she crossed the median and began going in the opposite direction. She had learned some things from her dad.

Two exits closer to Amity, she got off the highway and stopped at a Target for a burner phone which she activated at a local library. Then she got back on the highway east.

To her satisfaction, it took Agent O three hours to find her again.

-----

That night at a motel in who-knows-where Pennsylvania, Jazz double checked the locks on the door and that the curtains were closed before pulling out her new phone.

Her fingers trembled as she typed a message and sent it to the number Sam had given her.

Hey, Danny, it’s Jazz. Sam passed on the number for the phone she gave you before we were all separated. Please let me know you’re safe. Love you.

Jazz stared at the phone, hoping for a reply.

She woke with the phone clutched to her chest, but no new messages. Her breath caught and then she was curled around the phone crying.

“Danny, you’d better be okay,” she mumbled through her sobs.

But then her main phone alarm went off and Jazz forced herself up from the bed and into the shower. She could get through this. She had to.

An hour later, with her makeup applied and secret phone well hidden in her bag, she was back in her car and getting on the highway, a white van keeping pace behind her.

That night she was back in her dorm room in Boston. Her roommate tried to ask her questions about how her trip home went, but Jazz brushed off the concern. If she’d been honest, her roommate wouldn’t know how to reply anyway.

Instead, she waited until the other girl was taking a shower to pull out the burner phone and send another message.

Made it back to Boston. They’re following me now. Please don’t come here. It’s not safe. I know they’re keeping close tabs on Sam and Tucker, too. But they don’t know about this phone. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

The next day, she got a phone call from an unknown Amity number during her Literature class. With a hurried apology to the professor, she gathered her supplies up and rushed out of the classroom as she answered the phone.

“Jazz speaking.”

“Hello, Ms. Fenton. My name is Detective Ramirez. I’m calling regarding your brother, Daniel—“

“Danny,” Jazz corrected automatically. “He prefers Danny.”

“Right, Danny. It appears he’s missing.”

Jazz’s breath hitched. She knew that, of course. But hearing a stranger say it so bluntly hit different. She walked faster, there was a single stall bathroom just a floor up.

“His teacher, a Mr. Lancer, reported his disappearance yesterday and your parents admitted they didn’t know his location either when we went to check on him. Do you know where he may be?”

“I don’t.” Finally, there was the bathroom. She rushed in and shut the door behind her, locking it before sliding to the ground. “Have— Have you figured out how long he’s been missing?”

“Near as we can tell, it’s been a week. Do you know why your parents wouldn’t have reported him missing?”

Jazz let out a mirthless laugh. “Are you from Amity, detective?”

A pause, then he said, “I am.”

“Then you know my parents. They were probably too busy trying to torture a ghost to notice Danny.”

“Would it be possible for you to stop by the station to answer some questions?”

“I’m in Boston for school, detective. You can come here or I can answer any questions you have on the phone. I will not be going back to Amity unless it is to see Danny.”

“Very well. Did your brother have any motivation to or history of running away?”

And so began an hour long interrogation. Jazz played her part to perfection. She cried, she begged, but she didn’t give him anything.

That night, after her roommate went to bed, she sent another text.

A detective called today to see if I might know where you are. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. Maybe next time I’ll let slip some lies, send the GIW on a wild goose chase. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

It became a ritual. Every day she’d keep her head down and go about her classes ignoring the agents following her and once a day when she could guarantee her privacy, she’d send another text to Danny. Each one ended the same way.

It’s been a week since you escaped. Did you make it to the realms? Love you. Let me know you’re safe. The detective actually came all the way to Boston to interview me. Can you believe it? I cried on him and begged him to find you and may have mentioned how much you loved visiting Aunt Alicia who lived off the grid. Hopefully that’ll distract them. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. Agent K tried to wait for me outside my Psych class today. I just met his eyes and glared until he said something into his walkie talkie and left. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. Today is your birthday and you're still not responding to me. I don't know what I'll do if you die a second time on me. Love you, let me know you're safe. Sam, Tucker, and I can't talk. We're under too close of surveillance. I think Sam is being home schooled now and Tucker got a scholarship and his parents sent him away from Amity. I don't know if it was the GIW or Vlad, but promise me you won't return to Amity. Love you, let me know you're safe. I got a call from the detective. They've basically given up the search. Of course they couldn't find you. I guess mom and dad made the call to have you declared dead. You're funeral is next week. Strangest part about this is it's 3 years too late. Love you, let me know you're safe. Dani was able to visit today. She’s safe and trying to find a way to the realms. We worked on finding ways to mask her ecto-signature and we’re finally happy with the results. I think she’ll be safe now. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

Jazz didn’t mention how the study room they’d been practicing in was raided by GIW agents less than twenty minutes after Dani had left.

I’m back in Amity. Your funeral is tomorrow. I hate it here. I hate even more how much it still feels like home. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. They didn’t even show up. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. I miss you so much. I hate how useless I am. I’m not you. I can't build a portal or boo-merang to search for you. You'd better come home soon. Love you, let me know you're safe.

-----

The first thing Jason did upon returning to his Gotham apartment was shower. The second was sleep for a solid eleven hours.

And when he woke up, he made himself a huge breakfast, reveling in the opportunity to put a kitchen through it’s paces for the first time in months.

But the first non-essential thing he did was plug in his phone and turn it on. After months away, his notifications would be insane and he wanted to be rested and full before bothering to skim through the family group chats.

Unsurprisingly, his messaging app showed over two thousand unread texts. What was surprising, however, was that 71 of those were from an unknown number.

He opened that thread first and skimmed the most recent message.

Agent K tried to pull me aside to question me and search my bag twenty minutes before an exam. Asshole almost made me miss it! But I managed to run and got to my classroom just in time. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

Jason raised an eyebrow and scrolled to the top of the thread. By the time he’d finished reading, his vision was tinted green.

Looked like he wasn’t going to have those relaxing few days before his next big case.

With a sigh he turned on his laptop and searched Amity. All he could find was a generic government website proclaiming it “The Most Haunted Town in America!” Every link on the page was broken when he tried to click it.

He ground his teeth and searched for “GIW” and “Agent K.” Neither yielded any useful results either.

By five o’clock he was nearly ready to scream in frustration and the green wasn’t leaving the edges of his vision. Looks like he was going to need backup.

He stomped out of his apartment, got on his motorcycle, and ignored all speed limits as he rushed through Gotham.

Traffic and noise decreased the further from Gotham proper he got until city streets were replaced by McMansions with their fancy landscaping and long drives.

He continued until he got to B’s home and made his way up the long drive. Though he quickly turned to the smaller path that lead to the kitchen entrance rather than continue up to the main doors.

After cutting the engine, he continued to sit on the bike for a moment as he stared at the door to the kitchen. Was he really going to do this?

He closed his eyes and phrases from the desperate texts filled his mind. With a deep breath he stood up and walked through the door.

As expected half an hour before dinner, Alfred was in the kitchen getting everything ready.

“Master Jason!” he exclaimed. “Give me just a moment.”

Jason watched with a slight smile as Alfred stirred the gravy and lowered the temperature. “Hey, Alfie.”

Alfred made his way towards Jason and pulled him into a hug. “Welcome home, my boy.”

“Got in yesterday. There enough food for one more? Who else is around?”

“There’s always enough food for you. Now, help me stir the vegetables. Masters Bruce, Damian, Duke, and Tim are all home.”

Jason hummed as he got to work helping with the last of dinner prep. “Is the replacement up to anything big right now? I was thinking of asking for his expertise on something.”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “You’ve only just returned from an extended mission. I haven’t even had the chance to check you over for new injuries yet. Can’t you rest for even a day?”

“Come on, Alfie. Don’t you know us better than that by now? No rest for the wicked as they say!”

Alfred gave him a Look. “You are hardly wicked, Master Jason.”

Jason looked back down at the vegetables he was helping with. “I think these are done. And you know I wouldn’t ask Replacement a favor unless it was important.”

“I know you know his name is Timothy,” Alfred said as he passed Jason a bowl. “But he is not working on anything time sensitive at the moment that I know of.”

“And you know everything.”

“Hardly. Now, help me set the table.”

Jason did as instructed and the two fell into an old routine.

Bruce walked into the dining room as they were laying things out. “Jason. When did you get back?”

Jason took a deep breath forced himself to stay relaxed. “Yesterday. Figured I’d grab some of Alfred’s cooking tonight.”

“How did your mission go? Have you filed a report yet?”

God, couldn’t he just ask how Jason was like a normal person?

Alfred stepped in before Jason could snap. “Master Bruce, you know I do not allow shop talk at the dinner table.”

“I’m doing great, B,” he said with fake cheerfulness. “Had the best breakfast this morning and slept amazingly, thanks for asking.”

“Jason—”

“I’m gonna get the last of the dishes from the kitchen, Alfred,” said Jason before Bruce could say anything more.

In the kitchen, Jason leaned over the counter and breathed as he counted to ten. He shouldn’t have come here. Not with the pits so close to the surface after seeing those messages.

But he was bat-trained and he couldn’t leave a mystery alone and he needed someone with better computer and hacking skills than he had. So here he was.

He could do this. It was just dinner then a question.

He grabbed the last two platters of food and returned to the dining room. Duke and Tim had arrived in the meantime.

“Hey, Jason,” greeted Duke.

“Hey, kid. How’s Gotham been treatin’ ya?”

“Same old, same old. Glad to see you’re back and in one piece.”

Jason grinned at him. “The other guys aren’t so lucky.”

Duke laughed. “I’ll bet.”

Tim piled food onto his plate. “You should’ve said you were back. Dick would’ve made the trip out here to join us. Barbara, too, probably.”

“It was a last minute decision. Where’s the demon brat?”

“Here,” said a voice from behind him. “Todd. You appear to be healthy.”

Jason blinked at the kid a few times as Damian walked around him and took his own seat. “Uh… yeah. Thanks. You appear… healthy, too.”

Nonplussed by the lack of aggression, Jason took his own seat and began serving himself as well.

Over dinner, the others filled him in on the major family drama as well as what had happened in Gotham while he’d been gone. Even Bruce seemed to be trying after his initial missteps.

But then they were finishing dessert and Tim got up to leave.

“Hey, Replacement, by the way, can I get your opinion on something? My computer skills don’t seem to be enough to get me the information I need.”

“Really? You’re gonna call me ‘Replacement’ at the same time as you ask for help? Fuck you?”

“Language, Master Tim.”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“Look, Tim,” Jason corrected himself, “apparently someone contacted me months ago for help and I only just found out because I’ve been gone. It seems to be time-sensitive. Now, I can spend days or weeks more trying to figure this out on my own or you could probably do it in an hour or two.”

And of course Bruce had to butt in. “Who contacted you and what is this case?”

Jason shrugged. “Dunno. Looks like a case of wrong number, actually.

“A wrong number?” That caught Tim’s attention.

Jason hid his grin. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yep. She thinks she’s texting someone named Danny. I’m the one getting the messages.”

Tim sighed. “Fine. Give me a ride back to my place and I’ll see what I can do.”

-----

“What the fuck, Jason.”

Eight hours later and they were both tired and Tim still hadn’t gotten anywhere with his search. But he had fried two computers.

“It’s not supposed to do that, is it?” asked Jason staring at the Lazarus-green screen covered in bright blue gibberish. “Is that color combination even legal?”

“You’re worried about the colors? Dude! This isn’t even code. I don’t even recognize half these symbols!”

The computer let out an awful screeching-wail that had Jason covering his ears. Then it started to smoke and the screen when black. When Tim tried to check out the hardware, it had overheated so badly the plastic casing was melted.

“I think it’s time we try calling this Jazz woman.”

“Yeah. Would it be better to call her as Jason or Red Hood?”

Tim just raised and eyebrow at him and Jason sighed as he opened up his messages and hit call, setting it to speaker phone.

He winced when a woman picked up instantly with a cry of, “Danny!”

“I’m afraid this isn’t Danny,” said Jason.

He counted the seconds until the woman spoke again. Seven. “Please, just delete all the messages. If anyone finds out about them, I’ll be arrested. And the guys in white aren’t gentle with prisoners.”

Tim’s eyebrows rose and Jason bit his cheek to hold back the curses.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. I might not be Danny, but I want to help. You’ve reached Red Hood. I was unconctactable for the last few months while on a mission and I only just saw your messages. Red Robin is with me and we plan to help you and Danny. But we need more information.”

Another pause and then Jazz spoke again. “I’ll need some proof you are who you say you are.”

“Seems reasonable,” agreed Tim. “Give us fifteen minutes to get into costume. We’ll take a selfie. You can even specify the pose and any features you want included. Sound fair?”

“Fine. I want Red Robin to give Red Hood rabbit ears and Red Hood to give Red Robin Moose antlers."

Jason groaned. “Seriously? Can’t it be literally anything else?”

“Nope. I want to be sure you’re not just stealing something off the internet. I’ll also be doing a reverse image search on whatever picture you send, just to confirm.”

Tim laughed, the asshole. “Smart. We’ll send the photos soon as we’re changed and in position.”

“Very good. I’ll also have some questions for you, you understand. My record with those associated with the government has not been very good. Which is why my brother, his friends, and I never contacted the Justice League.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t associate with the government then, isn’t it?” asked Jason.

“That’s the only reason I’m even considering telling you the truth, Mr. Hood.”

-----

It ended up being half an hour before they could both get in uniform and agree on a spot where they could take the pictures. Jason finally convinced Tim they should pose next to his favorite grotesque and the pictures were sent off.

Five minutes later, his phone range.

“Cute gargoyle,” said Jazz before they could even get out a greeting.

“It’s a grotesque, actually,” corrected Jason on autopilot. He could feel Tim’s eye roll even with the mask.

"Why can't I access anything from the town of Amity or find any information on the GIW you mentioned? I fried three computers trying to track down information. Literally. Had to disable the smoke detectors."

Now it was Jason's turn to roll his eyes. Tim always got so intense when it came to research.

“You certainly don’t waste time. But before I answer your questions, I need to ask my own.”

Tim frowned, but there was no sign of frustration in his voice when he spoke. “Of course. What do you need to know?”

“What do you know about ghosts?”

“One of my teammates is a ghost,” said Tim.

“And there’s another one who works with Justice League Dark,” added Jason.

A pause, then a surprised, “Really? I didn’t know that.” She hummed and Jason wished he could see her face to see what she was thinking. “Do you know about the Anti-Ecto Acts?”

“The what?” asked Tim even as he started typing into his watch. “Wait, if I search for this, will my device burst into flames?”

For the first time, Jazz laughed in genuine amusement and Jason felt he was getting a glimpse into who she really was. The sound pushed the green back from the back of his head and his breath seemed to come a little easier.

“No, the acts are fine. Here, I’ve got the code number.”

Tim searched the number Jazz related. Thirty seconds after pulling it up, he let out a low whistle. “What the fuck. The League has no idea these laws exist. I can promise you that. Martian Manhunter and all Lanterns would leave immediately.”

“What’s it say?” demanded Jason, trying to read the tiny screen over Tim’s shoulder.

“These Ectoplasm Dependent Entities, are they the ghosts you mentioned?”

“Yes. More specifically, the ghosts referred to are sapient creatures from a parallel dimension called the Infinite Realms by its residents and the Ghost Zone by some humans. Ectoplasm, and this is an oversimplification to the point of being incorrect, is required by ghosts the way living creatures on Earth need carbon. Hood, the Anti-Ecto Acts declare all Realm Ghosts as non-sapient, excluding them from the Meta Protection Acts. It also states that they are to be turned over the to Guys in White, more formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward and abbreviated to GIW, for experimentation and elimination.”

“Well shit. And I assume Danny is targeted by this group?”

“Got it in one.”

A chill went down Jason’s spine. “That’s what you meant by his funeral being three years too late.”

She sighed, all hints of laugher gone and Jason wished he could bring it back. “My brother is different. I won’t tell you more than that. He’s still alive, though. Or at least he was when he escaped the Guys in White about three months ago.”

Jason and Tim exchanged glances. She was definitely holding a lot back. So Jason decided to change tactics. “You mentioned another Dani, too. With an i?”

“She’s my brother’s clone. We consider her our little sister, but our parents don’t know about her. We haven’t been able to provide a stable home for her and she loves to travel and is more than capable of protecting herself, so we just keep in contact and hope she’ll come when she needs help.”

Tim perked at the word clone. “We can offer her safety,” he promised. “One of my teammates and best friends is a clone.”

Jazz hummed. “I'll let her know the next time she reaches out. No promises, though. She's even less trustful than I am.”

Jason took deep breaths. “How old are you, your brother, and sister?” She sounded young and had mentioned college many times in her messages.

Jazz hesitated. “We’re all teenagers. Dani was created three years ago, but was aged up.”

Jason spun and kicked the wall hard. Tim caught his arm to keep him from overbalancing. “Okay. Of course you are. Because adults can’t help but force children into roles they should never have to take.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Bit hypocritical of you to say that.”

“Yeah, well, look where it got me,” Jason retorted, voice a growl.

“I feel like I’m missing some context,” said Jazz.

“It’s nothing,” said Jason. “I just hate when adults put kids in danger or don’t help them get out of danger.” And it was definitely time to change the subject. “You mentioned two other people? A Tucker and Sam? Do they need help?”

“They’re not in danger like the Dannies. But the Guys in White suspect the three of us of collaborating with ghosts and are keeping a close eye on us. Our main phones are tapped and any messages we send will be read and all calls recorded. The instant they have proof we’ve assisted or plan to assist ghosts, we’ll be arrested and detained.”

“What can I do to access information on these Guys in White and Amity?” asked Tim.

“You need a computer that’s ectoplasm-compatible. I don’t have a spare, but Tucker would. He’s at a tech school in San Francisco.”

“What’s that mean, ectoplasm-compatible?” Tim was still typing away at his watch and Jason was jealous of his ability to read and listen at the same time.

“Tucker can explain it better than I can. But basically, things from our world don't work around ectoplasm. It gives off it's own form of energy and our gadgets, and bodies, can't handle it. But if something is exposed to low quantities over a long period of time, they begin to change. The ectoplasm is incorporated. This allows the device to display video and pictures of ghosts. Computers that are not ecto-compatible can't even connect to ones that are. An ecto-compatible computer, on the other hand, can access information from a non-compatible one.”

Jason couldn’t help but latch onto one specific word. “What do you mean bodies? Can humans become ecto-compatible?” The idea sent a shiver down Jason’s spine for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

“It’s complicated. Ectoplasm is dangerous for humans. Really dangerous. My brother and friends and I have done some research on how it interacts with living matter from this dimension and… Well, its far too complicated to discuss over the phone with people I don’t know if I should trust and who don’t have the requisite background knowledge to understand it anyway.”

Tim hummed in a way Jason knew meant he wasn’t satisfied and wouldn’t rest until he got all the information he could. “Would Tucker be willing to sell me an ecto-compatible computer if I reach out to him? How much would he want for it?”

Jazz laughed, but this time there wasn’t any happiness in it. “If you’re really going to help Danny, he’d give it to you for free. And if you can get him to trust you, he’ll show you all the backdoors he’s made into the Guys in White’s servers.”

“Fantastic. How can I contact him?”

Jason let them talk specifics as he stared out over the city. Not even twenty-four hours home and he was right back in the thick of things. When it seemed like Tim and Jazz were wrapping things up, he added, “I’d like to speak to you in person.”

“I’m in Boston,” she said with a laugh.

Jason made the calculations, adding time for a ninety minute nap. “I can be there in seven hours.”

“I’ve class in seven hours.” She sighed. “But I’ll text you a time and place. I need to make sure I get somewhere the Agents following me won’t be able to find right away.”

“I can go in civvies,” offered Jason. “I’ve more than a few fake IDs. Might be easier to hide what we’re talking about.”

She hummed in consideration. “I’ll let you know. I have your number after all.”

“That you do. I’ll head your way sooner than later so I’m at least close by when you manage your escape.”

“Very well. Then I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon. Will you both come to Boston or are you going to Tucker first, Red Robin?”

“I’m going to go to Tucker. I need that computer and access to the relevant information. Then we can start to plan. Before Red Hood leaves, I’ll make a few communicators so you can contact us on a secure line. And I’ll give one to Tucker, too. At least then you’ll be able to talk to each other.”

“Thank you.” Jazz’s voice was quiet and filled with emotion. It made Jason’s heart clench. No way was she faking that. But she gathered herself and her voice was strong again when next she spoke. “And Gentlemen?”

“Yeah?” asked Jason.

“If it turns out I was wrong to trust you? Your bodies will never be found. My friends and I have been keeping Amity safe from ghosts and ghost hunters alike for the past three years on our own. We have access to resources you can't even imagine. And if we are no longer held back by the fear of putting both Dannies in more danger, well, we can do a lot of damage."

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Jason. “You can trust us.”

“I hope you’re not lying,” she said before disconnecting the call.

Jason let out a whistle. “I like her.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Of course you do. You know, this could only happen to us. What are the chances of a wrong number text reaching one of us?”

-----

Far away, in a tower in another dimension, a being smiled. His appearance changed from child to middle aged to elderly and back as he watched the lives of many on the mirrors that covered every surface of his home.

“Just a little longer, my Prince,” he said as the threads of time wove a pattern that glowed just a little bit brighter.

----------

Next

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#dpxdc #answer my call #wrong number au #anger management ship #my writing #edited first chapter #ao3 link

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 9

Larissa Weems part 8 | part 10 | ao3

As promised, here’s the first part of the Harvest Festival! Enjoy <3 I didn’t write this in one sitting last night instead of getting sleep so it’s a little jumpy, soz

TW: there is a panic attack and I do describe it so please be careful if that would trigger you or if you’re sensitive to it. Please take care of yourself x

~

The last two days of the school week sees you feeling a little low - but you do a good job at hiding it, enough for your students and colleagues not to notice. The cause isn't anything that's happened in your life, more so the happenings of other peoples’. Although the facade works on most people, Alice sees through it and like any good friend she’s waltzed into your quarters unannounced. You pay her no mind, not taking your eyes off of the tv - today you had settled on an old Disney Princess classic, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ to be specific. You’re also halfway through a tub of ice cream, no bowl in sight, just the carton and a trusty teaspoon.

“It’s time for a therapy sesh! Turn that shit off,” Alice declares as she lets the door slam behind her.

You acquiesce and mute the film. She makes a beeline for your cutlery drawer grabbing a dessert spoon before jumping onto the couch next to you, worming her way under the blanket with you.

“Get that big ass spoon away from me and my ice cream,” you growl, giving her a healthy amount of side eye even though you allow her to dig into the ice cream with you.

“There’s nothing wrong with my spoon,”

You let out a half hearted chuckle before resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m alright. Just soaked in too many emotions this week is all,”

“That’s good to hear but still, talk,”

You glance up at her, an appreciative look in your eyes. You had done a Bachelors with honours in English literature at university alongside a PGDE allowing you to go straight into teaching after graduating. You’re not sure how you secured the post at Nevermore but you did and it was the best thing to happen to you. Your friendship with Alice was a lifeline you didn’t realise you needed, she was only a year your senior but that llittle bit more life experience she had was invaluable. The friendship wasn’t one sided however. You helped her just as much as she helped you. She was less intune with her emotions than you, and when she struggled to name what she was feeling you'd be there to help her figure it out - there were perks to being an empath.

You take a deep inhale, “There’s not much to talk about, a few students are feeling… down, depressed, you name it, and I’ve kinda just absorbed it all,” you poke at the ice cream with your spoon, “also it reminded me of my mum, she was very against me moving here. She wanted me to teach at a local highschool in my hometown.”

You look up at Alice and she nods, silently telling you to continue on.

“I was really excited when I was invited to interview here, and then to actually hear back and be told I was offered the job? Couldn’t have been happier… but when I told my mum she just felt nothing. Bit of a bummer right? Anger would’ve been better than her apathy.” You let out a hollow bark of a laugh, “She could have at least pretended to be happy about it, think that’s why I’m feeling more down than usual,”

Alice nods along to your words, stealing another spoonful of ice cream before speaking, “She’ll come round to it, she’ll just be anxious about you being so far away, you are from Cali after all,”

“True, I have quite literally moved to the other side of the country, but I went to uni a few states over, and she wasn’t like that…” you pause for a moment, “it’s whatever though, besides, I’m going to the Harvest Festival with Larissa tomorrow. Oh!!! I forgot to tell you! I’m so sor- Owww!”

You tear yourself away from her to nurse your arm from where Alice had slapped you. With a mouth full of ice cream she had resorted to giving you a dirty glare.

“I’m sorry!” you whined, “I meant to tell you… promise,” you fall back onto her shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me the details, did you ask her?”

“No, she asked me, she was so nervous it was adorable,”

“Y’know, for how much you fawn over her for her confidence and stuff, you call her cute quite a lot, I wouldn’t use that word to describe her, personally.”

“But she is, what would you say instead then?”

“Hot.”

“That’s so true,”

“I think there’s two Principal Weems though, you always talk about this woman who’s so… so Bambi like around you!”

“She hardly talked to me until like recently,”

“Really? She scares me to be honest, she’s so sure of herself and she knows she’s got everyone at her beck and call,”

“Exactly why she’s so hot! But seriously, she only ever talked to me about work, and even then she always kept it super short, like even for a professional conversation…”

“I think she likes you, that’s the only explanation. Why else would someone not talk to you then suddenly act all docile?”

“You’re more delusional than I am,” you scoff.

You turn the volume up a little to ease the quiet. The pair of you watch the movie, making good progress on the ice cream. You have another tub in the freezer which you know you’ll have to bring out eventually.

~

“I only really feel more negative emotions from people, but when Larissa asked me to the festival… I don’t know what I felt from her, but it was like a warm emotion? The closest I could describe it as is love but that would be so out of context for the situation.” you speak over the twelve dwarve’s song from when they’re digging around the mine.

“You do feel happier emotions though, right?”

“Yeah, but usually only when they’re really strong.”

“Hmm, that is odd.”

“Yeah, just remembered that the now,” you leave the conversation at that. Not having the energy to dissect what it could mean.

~

It was well into the night, you and Alice had watched several movies, and now you were watching ‘The Notebook’. You sniffle a little as a few tears drop onto Alice’s t-shirt.

“Are you crying?”

“No!”

~

Alice ended up staying over at yours, as you talk about your deepest fears, it reminds you of the sleepovers you’d have as a teenager. When you were spilling your soul out to people you thought would never leave your life.

You’re thankful for Alice not leaving you with your own thoughts.

~

You stand at your floor length mirror, scrutinising your outfit, you had spent the day organising lessons for the following week and before you knew it, it was time to leave for the Harvest Festival. You finally decide that your clothes would do before tossing on a jacket and scarf, it was getting so cold these days.

“Why did I fuss so much? Don’t even see them under this coat,” you mutter before grabbing your keys and heading to Larissa’s office.

~

You’re a little early to meet Larissa but you were restless, you hadn’t seen her since she had so clumsily asked you to join her, apart from organising times. You knock on the door and wait for her to call you in, her saccharine voice is heard clearly even through the heavy doors. That woman’s power would be the end of you.

“Hey, you ready?,” you say as you poke your head through the threshold before fully entering the room.

You hadn’t really been in Larissa’s office much, the first few weeks she had called you in every now and then to make sure you were settling in okay. The room was overwhelming, as was most of Nevermore. The ceiling was outrageously high, and Larissa always had that fireplace roaring with flames. The room was cast in a darker light but still illuminated enough that you weren’t squinting to see. You look around in awe, taking in the taxidermies bear, and the mirrors on the ceilings. Odd placement but you think nothing of it. Eventually your sights are turned to Larissa, framed by the rich red velvet curtains and grand window. She sat at her desk, laptop open, a heart meltingly tender smile on her lips as she looked at you through her lashes, head downturned just a touch.

“Never been more ready,” she purrs as she rounds her desk and grabs her coat before sauntering over to you. Her eyes never leaving you.

She stops very close to you, so close you can smell her perfume, it was the same earthy citrus scent from last week. And just like it had back then, it had your head spinning.

“I’ll spare you and let you drive this time,”

“You’re too kind to me,” she humours you.

You shake your head at her before placing a hand on the small of her back and usher her to the door. Larissa’s heart flutters at the action.

~

With childlike wonder you soak in the carnival, you loved them and hadn’t had many chances to go to them when you were younger. As you stand in awe at the entrance, flocks of people walking around you, Larissa is too busy looking at you with the same amazement. Studying your profile and committing it to memory, she notices a faint white scar on the corner of your jaw and she wants to know how you got it.

“Shall we?” An angelic voice cuts you free from your thoughts as you look to Larissa.

A little embarrassed at yourself you nod before you feel your stomach cry out. Your cheeks redden as you smile at her apologetically.

“Can we get food first?”

~

You watch Larissa eat, her eyes closed as she relishes the first bite. You can’t help but stare at her, she was so adorable and this felt very domestic.

“You know, I never thought you’d be the kind to enjoy a greasy burger,”

Larissa pauses mid chew, eyes a little wide in confusion. Her cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

“You just seem like you have a fancy palate, you know, like you enjoy those niche foods that are so exclusive and coveted but actually taste like ass,” you continue, leaning your chin on one hand. The other fiddling with the edge of the table as you pick at the worn down wood that was fraying with age.

Larissa swallows her mouthful slowly before speaking, “And what exactly does that mean?”

“Nothing, just one of my observations,” your tone is lighthearted.

“Just one of?” Larissa is intrigued now.

“Mhmm,” you don’t elaborate further as you tuck into your own burger.

Your eyes blow wide as you stare her down. This was a good burger, she was right. As you had perused the food stalls Larissa had talked your ear off about this particular vendor, raving on and on about how she waited for each Festival for it. She gave you a smug smile.

~

With a loud thwack you finally land the third arrow into the bullseye, turns out you were a natural at archery despite never having touched a bow and arrow before now. Well, that may be an exaggeration, this was your fourth attempt at the stall, with Larissa encouraging you from a safe distance behind. Your competitive streak and ego not allowing you to give up until you had won the game. You also had a certain blonde woman to impress. Stakes were high.

You were beaming with joy as you whispered to the man, pointing out what prize you wanted. As he goes to pull it down for you, you look over your shoulder to see Larissa talking to one of the art teachers who had been passing by. With her distracted you were able to thank the man and hide the stuffed toy behind your back. You wait patiently by her side for the conversation to finish.

“Pray tell what your trophy is,” she turns to you, with a proud look in her eyes. Your heart swells and you want her to look at you like that more often.

“More yours than it is mine.” You procure a white stuffed cat and hold it out to her. It’s of a larger size.

The Principal smiles in disbelief as she takes it from your hands, “For me?”

“Why else do you think I kept at that rigged game for so long!” You llink your arm in hers as you wander off into the crowds. Larissa allows herself to be led along as she studies the plush, it was eerily similar to her form as a cat. A horrible feeling forms in her stomach, did you know? Surely not? She decides it's just a coincidence and tucks it into her other arm, allowing herself to feel flattered you had given her a gift. She’d cherish it.

“Have you- ”

“There’s Principal Weems!” Just as you’re about to ask Larissa something, Marilyn has called over, with Alice in tow. She’s waving over at you from another stall.

You and Larissa stop as the duo walks over.

“Perfect!” Marilyn says as she notices you with the Principal, she must not have seen you over all the people. “I finally found someone willing to go through the haunted house with me, but the carts seat four people and I don’t fancy screaming with strangers, and, well, there’s two of you! Come on! The queues not long,” The botany teacher doesn't give you room to argue before she's pulling you, and Larissa who’s still got her arm linked with yours.

You look at Alice who just shrugs, seemingly unbothered by everything, then you look up at Larissa who's started to converse with Marilyn.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a few controlled breaths.

~

The redhead was right, the queue moved quickly, too quickly. Before you can protest, you’re shoved into the seat with Larissa. You just sit stock still as she comments about how they’ve really outdone themselves with the models this year. You don’t really register what she's saying.Faintly you can hear Alice and Marilyn talking about their favourite rides.

With a juddering move, the cart starts to advance as it takes you through a cheap black curtain. Your hands are clammy and you're visibly trembling in your seat. You’re shrouded in darkness before a light flashes on to reveal an unnervingly realistic skeleton drop from the ceiling right next to you. You can’t conceal the scream as you jerk away from it, bumping into Larissa. Her hands find purchase on your hips as she steadies you, chuckling at you. The skeleton bounces up and down on its elastic string as if it's mocking you. No one else screamed and now you feel oh so silly.

Larissa moves a hand up to your shoulder and it has the opposite effect than she had intended, You shoot away from her, yelling again.

“Babes, save your energy, rides just started,” Alice laughs.

You look at her weakly before you settle back down.

For the first minute or so you manage to contain yourself but the ride ups the ante and it's an onslaught of jumpscares and horrifyingly accurate props paired with the most wretched heart stopping music.

What takes the cake is when the models begin to interact, a mummified hand snaps out from the side to grab onto Marilyn’s shoulder, to which she laughs. She laughs.

It becomes too much, as more and more horror elements start leering into you, you begin to feel a horrible tightness in your chest, phantom hands clawing at your neck, wrapping around slowly. The music is too loud, the dim lighting is somehow too bright and you can hear everyone's breathing. Your clothes seem to be scratching against your skin despite feeling absolutely fine moments ago. A witch’s cackle sounds as cheap sparks are set off all around you. You flinch. Then a fog machine is set into motion, obscuring your sight as steam hisses. The world begins to rock as a cold sweat prickles all over your body.

With a sickening suddenness a grotesque, hyper-realistic cadaver drops down just ahead. A mechanic whirring is heard. It launches towards the cart. Hitting the front before it rises. You shriek in pure unadulterated terror, tearing up your throat as you launch yourself into Larissa’s lap, hiding your face with her shoulder. Your body trembles as she instinctively wraps her arms around you. Your breathing is erratic and she can even feel your heart thrashing against her chest. Your grip on her jacket is iron tight, your knuckles white. You feel stiff and unresponsive to the soothing circles she's rubbing against your back.

A series of plastic spiders suspended on string descend down, drawing the cart and brushing against everyone. Faintly you hear Marilyn and Alice giggle at it. But you tense, and the sensation of the spikey legs sets you over the edge. You press yourself even further into Larissa, as you choke back sobs. Over the music, they can't be heard, but Larissa can feel you jerk with each cry that forces itself out of you.

At this point Alice has caught on, she leans forward and looks between you and Larissa, a pointed look of concern on her face. But Larissa just quietly tells her she has it under control and for Alice to just enjoy the remainder of the ride.

Another cheap shock value scare, and just the noise has you screeching and curling into yourself more.

“Atikah?” She whispers softly into your ear, one hand stroking through your hair, her other arm now wrapped firmly around your waist. But it does little in grounding you.

You only whimper in response.

She feels guilty for not realising you were genuinely terrified.

~

After what feels like an eternity you finally break through another black curtain back into the outside world. The cart stops with a few groans, Alice and Marilyn watch you as Larissa tries to coax you off of her.

“Atikah, it’s over now,”

You move back marginally, letting the noises of the other rides filter back in, it still sounds overwhelming but the eerie music is no longer present.

Larissa eyes the other two, both varying degrees of worried, before leaning in close so she can't be heard, “You’re safe now, I promise,” her warm breath ghosts over your ear.

You take a shuddering breath and extricate yourself from Larissa’s lap, keeping your head down so your hair covers your face. The blonde still keeps a hand on your back as she watches you try calm yourself down with great effort.

Wordlessly you leave the cart and walk off to the side just out of view.

The remaining trio all exchange glances, and Alice is the first to leave, hopping over Marilyn. The other two hot on her heels.

By the time Alice had reached you, you had found a picnic bench and sat staring into the neighbouring forest, counting in your head as you took measured breaths. The tingling feeling in your hands had started to subside but you still shake.

“Hey,”

You don’t tear your gaze away from the trees. Barely registering Alice sitting next to you.

“What happened back there?” She noticed your eyes looking a little red and raw.

Your voice is weak and hoarse as you muster up the strength to speak, “Just, got too much in there, I think,”

Before Alice can reply Marilyn is heard from not too far away, “I’m so sorry Miss. Karnstein! I didn’t know- ”

“It’s fine.” You take a deep breath and wipe the dried tears off of your face, “I’m sorry for ruining it,” you laugh halfheartedly. Giving her a smile, or as much of a smile as you can.

“Don’t be ridiculous, are you okay now?” The English accent that graces your ears helps greatly as you finally begin to feel human again.

You nod slowly, still not making eye contact. It’s one catastrophe after another for you, now that you’ve regained yourself, you’re embarrassed.

“It was fun- ” you start.

“Bitch not for you,”

Alice shirks away at the look the Principal sends her.

You laugh, it's an airy laugh but it’s genuine and it dispels the tension, soon Marilyn’s joining you.

Alice hugs you tight, “I think Principal Weems has got it from here, we’ll leave you be,”

“Yeah, we’ll get out of your hair, enjoy the rest of your date,” Marilyn chirps before heading into the crowd, dragging Alice with her but not before she can send a shit eating grin your way.

You and Larissa are left in shock, both of your faces a delicious red, a charged silence between you. Neither of you look at eachother.

“Our what?” Larissa mutters into the air, head reeling at Marilyn’s cast away comment.

You don't respond immediately. Both of you had heard the botany teacher loud and clear.

“Is it… is it okay if we just sit here a little longer?” you ask meekly, peering up at her.

“We can stay here as long as you need, darling,” Larissa takes a seat next to you.

“Thank you.” You rest your head on her shoulder.

~

You’re not sure how long you sit with the blonde, at some point her arm has found its way around your body again. Another tether helping you banish the last of the nerves. She’s busy admiring the stars. As best she can with the light pollution. To you, the stars have nothing against Larissa.

Fireworks bloom in the sky, you can see their reflection in Larissa’s eyes. In that moment you sit up and press a kiss to the very corner of Larissa’s mouth.

~

AN - I have never cried at a film… I’ve almost cried. But I did cry at the notebook when I watched it aged 15. Also sorry for the downer in this chapter, but I thought it’d be fun to have our dear reader cling to Larissa 🤭

taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @eveymay @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne

(pls lmk if I forgot to tag you and I’ll have you tagged in future updates, or if you’d like removed)

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Three

Warnings: tw: child abuse, tw: verbal abuse, tw: physical abuse, tw: alcoholism, tw: death of a parent (all only mentioned).

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: There are TRIGGER WARNINGS in this part - please heed these, and if you think you’ll be affected by any of them, please do not read. I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

If someone had told Y/N six weeks ago that she’d be considering a move back to Kansas, she’d have laughed loudly in their face. Still, she’d checked out the vacancy at Lawrence Memorial, and she had to admit that fewer hours and much less stress for the same salary was highly appealing.

In Chicago, Y/N worked a sixty-hour week. The other twelve were expected, but the overtime was nice. If she went to Lawrence, she’d be working a standard forty-eight-hour week with the option of overtime. Even considering those optional hours, she’d still be working a maximum of sixty hours a week in a hospital in a much smaller city. That, and being close to her family and friends, convinced Y/N to apply for the job. Now here she was, a week later, at the car rental desk in Kansas City airport, ready to drive the hour journey to her hometown for an interview.

Y/N felt a little guilty that no one knew she was coming, but she had to return to Chicago tonight for a shift. She wanted nothing more than to see Uncle Bobby and Jody. There were so many thoughts, feelings, and doubts running through her mind, and she knew they’d be quick to calm her down and call her out on all the bullshit.

She still wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, and the somersaults ravaging her insides seemed to be backing that up. She scoffed at how pathetically childish she was acting, suddenly realising that although she’d made a good life in Chicago, she hadn’t made a home. Dean was, and always would be, home. And Dean was in Lawrence.

Y/N wasn’t naïve enough to think Dean was sitting around waiting for her to come home. They’d promised each other they’d move on. And she tried. She tried so hard to keep just one of her promises to him. The problem was, she couldn’t give him up. She didn’t want to. She’d only ever loved and wanted Dean freaking Winchester.

She took the Lawrence exit and headed downtown. She smiled at the familiar streets, shops, boutiques, bars, and restaurants. Her nerves began to settle as happy memories flooded her. Being home spread warmth through her, and everything made perfect sense.

Stopping at a red light on West 6th Street at its junction with Maine Street, she smiled widely at the diner where she and Dean had their first date. It was just as thriving as it’d been fifteen years ago. Y/N’s smile became softer when she saw Uncle Bobby’s engine pull up across the junction, heading south and back to the station. He was sitting shotgun with the same grumpy scowl she remembered from childhood, and the guilt of not telling him she was here weighed heavy on her chest.

When the lights changed and the engine moved forward, her heart stopped when her eyes landed on Dean. He was laughing at something Benny told him, and she was thankful they were too distracted to notice her. What stunned her most was that he was even more handsome now than when they were teenagers.

Y/N smiled; her mind made up that she was coming home if she was lucky enough to get this job. She had to try. She owed them both that.

Charge Nurse Rowena Macleod led the interview and couldn’t have been nicer. Meg Masters was the HR representative overseeing the process and had a kind face. However, Y/N could sense that she had a mischievous streak hidden in there.

Both women were cheery and friendly, leaving her with no doubts that they genuinely cared about their staff. Rowena’s passion for nursing also shone through, and Y/N hoped she’d get to work with her.

“Okay, dearie,” the petite redhead smiled. “Last few questions. I hope you don’t mind. These are a wee bit more personal,” Rowena smiled kindly, and Y/N exhaled as quietly as she could, trying to ease the nerves.

“You’re a highly qualified nurse only a year away from being a doctor. Why didn’t you continue to medical school?” Rowena’s face was kind, and her tone held no judgement.

“I thought about it and was going to, but I did my final nursing placement in an ER. One night, I stayed on after my shift ended to clock come clinical hours towards my final exams, and we had a major incident. The bleachers at the University of Illinois football field collapsed, and over a hundred students were injured. The doctors were slammed, and the hospital closed to new patients.

“It wasn’t long until the families started to show up outside the hospital, and they weren’t allowed in as we were over capacity and had patients lining the halls, waiting for the next doctor to be free. That night, it became my role to update the patient’s families. I realised I thrived in helping people in a way that was much deeper than diagnosing and treating.

“Treatment of patients will always be the most important thing we do as nurses, but talking and listening to them and providing comfort to them and their families is just as important, and doctors can lose sight of that,” Y/N relaxed, knowing she’d said all she needed to and her passion had shone through.

“Our doctors were amazing that night. They didn’t lose a single patient, but as soon as they moved on to the next one, they’d forgotten everything about the person in the room next door. The nurses knew their names, their medical histories, the medication they’d been given, and who’d been treating them. It was then that I knew I didn’t want to go further. I was already where I was meant to be.”   

Rowena glanced towards Meg, the brief slip of a smile showing she was impressed. Had Y/N not been watching the redhead, she’d have missed it.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Rowena smiled kindly. “Lastly, why are you looking to move from one of the best hospitals in the Midwest to a small city in Kansas?” Again, Rowena’s tone held no judgement.

“I was born here. In this hospital, actually,” Y/N smiled. “My mother died in a house fire when I was little, and in his grief, my father became an alcoholic and took his grief and anger out on me. My name at the time was Y/N Y/L/N. When I turned eighteen, I legally changed my last name to Singer, which was my mother’s maiden name.

“I recently learned that my father doesn’t have much time left, and it’s made me reevaluate my life and the direction I want it to go. I still have family and friends here, and I’ve stayed away from them for too long. So, although I initially thought about only being here until my father passes, I’ve decided it’s time for me to come home.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, and thank you for your honesty,” Meg said kindly.

Y/N could only nod in response, all words failing her at that moment. Too many people in this town knew her, and even more knew her father. Eventually, it would’ve come up, and she didn’t want to lie to a potential new employer.

“We’ll have a decision for you in a few days,” Meg continued. “It was lovely meeting with you.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” Y/N smiled warmly.

“Oh no,” Meg chuckled. “Thank you for seeing us! I know you have to travel straight back to Chicago for a shift,” she finished and stood to shake her hand.

“My goodness, dear! You don’t even have time to visit your family?” Rowena asked sadly.

“No, and that’s why they don’t even know I’m here!” Y/N chuckled. “Well, that, and I didn’t want to get their hopes up about a permanent homecoming too soon!”

“I can understand that, Y/N,” Rowena squeezed her forearm. “Have a safe trip home, and we’ll speak to you in a few days.”

“Thank you. It was great to meet you both,” Y/N smiled and offered the women one last handshake before returning to the rental car. It had gone better than she’d thought, and she knew it would be a long few days of waiting.

The next few days were absolute hell. When Y/N reported for her shift on her return to Chicago, it was one major incident after another. A drunk driver thought it was a good idea to get behind the wheel and drive down the wrong side of the freeway. After that, a derelict and condemned building collapsed, the floor unable to withstand the weight of the hundreds of people attending an illegal rave. Next came victims of a fire in one of the student accommodation buildings. And to top the night off, just as her shift was about to end, the charge nurse begged her to cover the day shift as a few staff had called off with stomach flu.

When she finally got home from the thirty-hour shift, she showered, ate the leftover pizza Pamela had left for her and went straight to bed. She wanted to sleep for a week solid, but in eighteen short hours, she needed to be back at the hospital for another damn shift. At least she was finally going back onto day shift rotation. Small mercies and all that.

Y/N climbed into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and curled up in a ball to get comfortable. She groaned as her joints popped and cracked and her muscles finally relaxed. With a long, loud huff of air, the remaining tension left her body, and she drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

A shrill noise roused her to consciousness, and she blinked at the clock. Y/N groaned in annoyance, realising she’d only been asleep for six hours and grabbed her phone, ready to give someone a piece of her damn mind.

She frowned as she recognised it was a Lawrence area code calling. Taking a breath, she tried to bury the thought that whoever was on the other end of that phone was calling to tell her that her father was dead.

“Hello?” Y/N answered, sounding much stronger than she felt.

“Good morning, Ms Singer. It’s Meg Masters from Lawrence Memorial Hospital. How are you?”

“Morning Meg, I’m good, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m doing great! I’m calling to tell you that Rowena feels like you would be a fantastic addition to the current ER nursing staff, and we would be honoured to have you working here. So, what do you say?” Meg said excitedly. Y/N couldn’t see it, but she could hear the grin in Meg’s voice.

“Oh wow!” Y/N chuckled. “Thank you! Yes, I’d love to join the team. I can’t wait to get started!”

“Great! We look forward to having a nurse with your passion and knowledge on our staff. I know you’ll need some time to move and settle, so I’m proposing your start date be four weeks on Monday; that’s the second.”

“That will be more than enough time. Thank you, Meg,” Y/N smiled.

“No problem, Y/N. Rowena would like to speak with you sometime this week to review some of the finer details and any contract negotiations you have.”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled and gave Meg her shift pattern for the week before ending the call. This is it! Home, sweet home! Y/N smiled as she scrolled through her contacts, finding the person she needed to speak to.

Next Chapter >>

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#the one that got away #firefighter!dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #tw: child abuse #tw: alcoholism #tw: physical abuse #tw: verbal abuse #firefighter!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

[porcelainseashore]

Teenage Headache Dreams (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: More fluff, might be cringe, who knows? Leon’s facade is starting to slip up, but I think he rolled a natural 20 at the end. There’s also a tinge of childhood trauma and hurt/comfort. I hope I did it justice somehow and that you like it.

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Before You Slip Away

Just as summer and fall came and went, your school days merged seamlessly into one another, passing by like a blur. You kept your part of the deal and spent what free time you had with Leon. Likewise, he fulfilled his end of the bargain by attending your informal study sessions, which pulled both of your Grade Point Averages up, much to your relief.

In the meantime, Leon had competed in the track and field competition against other high schools in the surrounding Midwest region, coming out top overall in the short sprint category. You had never cheered so hard from the sidelines in your life. To you, it was a crime that cheerleaders mostly focused on football and basketball games, ignoring the other sporting events. 

Flashing his winning smile with a shiny medal raised in his hand, the cameras adored him. Throngs of his teammates came over to celebrate with him and his coach patted him on the back, proudly exclaiming, “That’s my boy!” 

Despite all of the commotion, Leon kept an eye out on the spectator stand, scanning it from one end to the other. As soon as his eyes met yours, he leaped off the podium and sprung towards the bleachers, as if another race had started. You scurried towards him, weaving in and out of the crowd. Once both of you were in closer contact, he reached out and pulled you in, lifting you off the ground as you felt the air knock out of your lungs.

“Oof, Leon, put me down!” You laughed hoarsely, as he complied and your feet landed softly on the ground again. He was perspiring profusely and his damp hair clung to the sides of his forehead in a mess. Some of his sweat had rubbed off onto your clothes, but you didn’t care. “You were amazing!”

“As always,” came the shameless reply. His hands traveled to your shoulders, gripping them keenly, as he confessed in exhilaration, “I’m really happy you made it out here!”

“You think I’d miss this for anything else?” You cried out amongst the usual racket that followed the end of a sports meet. Sure, it was a good few hours’ drive from your hometown, but it was more than worth it.

He met your rhetorical question with a pearly white smile, his eyes sparkling as he hugged you again. 

“Wanna get some tacos? My treat,” you offered. You knew about Leon’s whims and fancies when it came to food. Tacos were his latest obsession, so you dangled it like a carrot before him.

He was tempted, but also embarrassed that you were the one taking him to dinner. Was that a date? Shouldn’t he have made the first move? He shrugged off those thoughts, convincing himself that you didn’t mean anything by it.

“Hellooooo…? Earth to Leon?” you waved your hand in front of his face, seeing as he was lost in daydream land again.

“Uh-” He blinked, shaking his head and composing himself. “Nah, I can’t make you pay for that,” he argued.

You ignored what he said as you started jogging towards your car, turning back briefly to him, yelling, “Last one to get in is a loser!”

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

━━━━━━━━━━━

Although you didn’t think it was necessary for Leon, or anyone else for that matter, to catch your dance showcase, he never gave up pestering you about it. Your parents weren’t entirely fond of you pursuing a further education in the arts, preferring that you would pick up something “useful” instead. So you learnt to avoid the topic and keep these interests to yourself, even though you knew both sides were playing a cat and mouse game, which would end up in disappointment and begrudging acceptance anyway. You viewed Leon’s presence as an added pressure to perform well in front of a person you knew in the audience, but he only saw it as being supportive towards his friend. In the end, you relented, knowing there was no way of changing this stubborn boy’s mind.

The days leading up to the showcase had you throwing yourself onto your bed in a heap of exhaustion and fatigue every night. You hardly had any time to spare, except eat, sleep, dance and repeat. Occasionally, you had to skip school with permission, to attend the rehearsals. Thankfully, Leon being the good friend he was, dropped off whatever class notes and homework assignments there were to your place. He also had the tendency to add motivational “You can do it!” sort of quotes in marker pen on sticky notes, which he pasted within the pages. He claimed that doing so helped him get through more difficult times. You found them cheesy, but you couldn’t deny that they made you smile each time you opened a page and found one there, just like an easter egg.

On the day of the performance itself, your nerves were a wreck. You had done this countless times, but nothing could cure the intense stage fright you usually suffer from just before the show curtains are drawn. Your co-dancers were busying themselves in the dressing room, applying last minute touch-ups to their makeup and costumes, or stretching their limbs to keep warm. Meanwhile, you puked out nothing but air and water for the umpteenth time in the adjacent bathroom.

There was a gentle knock on the toilet stall. “Is everything alright?”

Quickly flushing the toilet and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you opened the door cautiously, as you peered out at a bespectacled lady in an all black outfit and walkie-talkie attached at her hip. It was one of the crew members. “Yeah, um, I’m done here.”

“Great,” she heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s five minutes to standby. We need to get you to the stage wings pronto.” You nodded and followed her immediately, as she darted out of the lavatory. 

On the way, she stopped abruptly, as if she remembered something. She pulled out a folded note and handed it over to you. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your… boyfriend? He was very insistent,” she shook her head and huffed wearily.

Boyfriend?

As you peeled it open, you were greeted by the same handwriting in marker pen you had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks: 

YOU GOT THIS :)

A wide smile spread across your face, as a wave of renewed energy coursed through your veins. How this silly boy could brighten up your day with random scribblings on loose bits of paper confounded you. Passing it back to the crew member for safekeeping, you strode onwards purposefully, mumbling to yourself the only words you knew at that moment, “I got this.”

Once the performance started, you eased in, forgetting the outside world as you crawled, flew and spiraled through the dark room like an uninhibited creature. Illuminated only by the intense beam of spotlight, you glided across the floor, synching your breath together with that of the other co-dancers.

Time always passed so strangely during your dance pieces. Just as soon as it began, it ended, and you panted heavily as the lights came back on to a roaring sound of applause. You and the rest of the dancers walked up hand-in-hand to the stage front for a deep bow. With the harsh light in your face, you couldn’t see anyone in the crowd, but then you heard the distinct sound of your name being called, followed by a shrill whistle. Leon. 

You exchanged looks with your co-dancers and laughed. “Someone’s got a fan,” one of them whispered. You continued clapping with the rest and gestured towards the sound and light technicians in gratitude, before heading backstage, hugging each other in relief and celebration.

After packing up and saying your last goodbyes to your fellow performers, you threw on a coat over your attire as you headed out to the foyer. Leon was waiting patiently against a pillar, watching the crowd disperse out of the theater. You observed that he seemed a little out of his element in this place, with the way he was fiddling with the program brochure and his clothes. The outfit he had picked out for the evening had caught you by surprise. You’d never seen him in something so formal before. His navy blue blazer and matching colored trousers fitted perfectly against his form. He wore a white collared shirt underneath, with the top unbuttoned, but the bottom tucked into his pants neatly, and donned a rather smart pair of chestnut brown leather shoes. He looked almost… dashing. You mentally lectured yourself to shut down that thought immediately.

“Hey,” you called out meekly as you approached.

He turned around, flipping his bangs out of his eyes as he spotted you. “Hi.” You detected a sense of shyness - or was it hesitance? - emanating from his greeting, which seemed odd considering how boisterous you both could be with each other.

“I, uh-” he scratched the back of his head, before revealing a long-stemmed rose and pressing it into your hands as quickly as possible, like it was searing hot coal. “-got you this.” 

He tilted his head downwards with his gaze glued to his shoes, as you inspected the flower in your hand. Before you had a chance to say anything, he spoke up again.

“My parents, t-they,” he stuttered. “I didn’t know-” he paused again and exhaled heavily. “Well, I wasn’t sure what was appropriate.” 

He searched your eyes for any sign of mockery but found none. You nodded at him to continue.

“So I, um, researched.” He coughed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “They said, it’s customary to bring red roses.”

The poor guy was so flustered, you were beginning to feel sorry for him. “It’s-” you began, but were immediately interrupted.

“If it’s too much, I can take it back, no problem!” He reached out for the flower, but you sidestepped and evaded his attempts to grab it, chuckling softly.

“Leon, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I’d like to keep my gift, thank you very much.”

At this, he relaxed a little but shook his head in dismay, “God, I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, finally!” You jested. “About time you realized.”

Without waiting for his comeback, you embraced him, thanking him for all the support he had showered you with recently and of course for showing up. You didn’t know how much you needed it until he did.

“That’s what friends are for, right?” he grinned, realizing that you managed to receive his last note of encouragement before heading on stage. And he was back to normal Leon. “By the way, in case you didn’t already know, you were awesome up there.”

“Oh yes, very awesome.” A husky, feminine voice piped up from the side. She was definitely European, but you couldn’t quite place where her thick accent came from more specifically.

Something about the way that sentence was said unnerved you. You weren’t sure if it was because a stranger had been listening in to your conversation or that she had just gatecrashed it without asking.

It didn’t seem to sit well with Leon too, as he placed his arm in front of you protectively, while you both came face-to-face with a rather peculiar-looking older lady. Her platinum white hair was slicked back into a tidy bun and she was draped in a plain brown dress which reached all the way to her ankles. Her hands and arms were covered in long, black leather gloves and the weirdest thing of all was that she adorned pitch black sunglasses indoors.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Her thin lips curled into what you thought might be a smile, as she gave him a flippant wave.

Glancing up at Leon, you could tell from his furrowed brows and tensed expression that he didn’t like this woman. Not one bit.

“Hm,” she scoffed and readjusted her sunglasses, obviously unimpressed at his defensiveness. Directing her attention to you, she fished out a white business card between her fingers from her chic clutch. “Here.” With a flick of the wrist, she passed it over to you swiftly. You caught Leon’s disapproving frown as you accepted the card. It felt weighty and luxurious in your bare hands.

“Maybe this might interest you at some point,” she added, and with that, she spun on her heel, giving the slightest of waves as she sauntered off.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Leon muttered. It didn’t take a genius to notice a fuming rage brewing within him.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off as you turned the card over from side-to-side, examining it. In white bold embossed letters, it read:

TANZTHEATER SILJE VÖLKER

━━━━━━━━━━━

When it was time to break for the Christmas holidays, you honestly felt a little lonely without Leon. He was celebrating a family reunion with his relatives in another town and wouldn’t be around until the new year. Nonetheless, both of you had exchanged presents in advance and failed miserably to follow the age-old tradition of waiting until Christmas Day to open them.

“No way,” you and Leon uttered simultaneously, right after tearing off the wrapping paper. It turned out that the two of you had thought of the same thing. There was a rock band you shared a mutual interest in and constantly listened to together. You had gotten him a limited edition CD signed by the band members, knowing it would pair well with the second-hand stereo he had picked up a couple of months ago at a thrift store. 

He, in turn, had gifted you a pair of tickets to see them live in Chicago in spring, seeing as you had always dreamed of catching all the bands you liked in the city one day. You enthusiastically chatted about your travel plans together, since you were obviously taking him with you. At the same time, he proudly displayed the CD on his bookshelf, commenting on how Blood Sugar Sex Magik was the best album ever released.

Christmas itself was rather uneventful. It was the same story of families huddling together around the dinner table and eating too much over a couple of days. Then there were the usual prying questions from relatives, which was mainly used to compare you with their offspring. How have you been doing at school? Which colleges are you applying to? Have you thought of your major? Are you dating someone?

Sometimes you were able to escape from the madness by excusing yourself for some fresh air. You took whatever chance you could to take long walks on your own around the neighborhood, breathing in deeply as the crisp evening wind chilled your nose and cheeks. The days had grown shorter, but you didn’t mind the cyclical nature of seasons at all. It made you appreciate light and warmth, as well as the cold and darkness even more. You enjoyed the stillness of the streets as you trudged along, admiring the decorative lights people had hung up in their homes, which contrasted with the velvet night sky.

You missed Leon. He always had a way of making things more bearable. You imagined his charming smile winning over your relatives, the inside jokes both of you would pull, and bunking off to hang out at your favorite small town haunts. Still, you couldn’t avoid the niggling feeling that there was something more to your interactions with him, even though the topic was being avoided like the plague. It had always been there from the start, masked under being all fun and games, especially with Leon’s antics and wisecracks when it came to anything vaguely romantic or sexual. However, it appeared as if he was beginning to lose his touch. Things that wouldn’t have bothered him before, now caused him to stumble over his words and turn away red-faced. You were a visual person. You caught him stealing lingering glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, only to divert his gaze the minute you turned towards him.

You were so adamant about having a friendship, you didn’t really plan for anything else to happen. Plan. That’s a funny word. As if you could plan such things. And now both of you were on the verge of breaking the rules again. The rule of not falling for a friend.

Maybe you just didn’t want to admit that your nosey classmates saw it coming all along. Or maybe you just weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. Which brought you to the million-dollar question: how did you actually feel about him?

Ignoring the tingling sensation in your stomach that crept up steadily to your chest, you kicked a stray pebble into the drain, deciding to leave your thoughts where they were for the moment and headed home.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Soon, the temperatures began to dip even further as the Midwest entered into the coldest period of the season. You were used to the continental effect of living inland, surrounded by mountain ranges, where the weather could be rather extreme. This meant sometimes braving through heavy snowfall and tundra-like winds to get to wherever you needed to go. You had taken up a new part-time job assistant teaching in a children’s ballet class, whilst Leon volunteered at a nearby dog shelter. You took turns picking each other up from work, but there was hardly any time for a break until mid-February, when the locals organized the annual winter market, to stave off the seasonal blues.

You had gone out to the market with Leon to drink warm punch and eat some hotdogs, while having a go at some of the stall games. He did unexpectedly well at the target shooting one, which garnered him a neat Swiss Army knife that he gave to you. “For safekeeping,” he quipped, bestowing you with another one of those bashful smiles you’d grown used to.

“Wanna get outta here?” he offered out of the blue.

“Sure,” you replied, even though you were mildly puzzled by his abrupt request. He took your hand and led you out of the market square.

It was a while before the flood lights came into view, as you slowly sidled up to the school’s football field.

“You dragged me all the way out here?” you guffawed.

“Uh huh.” He unlocked the gate and pushed it open with ease, holding it for you to go through.

“I can’t believe you still have the key!” Now you were jealous. You shook your head with your arms akimbo, laughing in disbelief at how the blonde boy in front of you managed to keep getting a free pass at things.

“I’m just that amazing,” he shrugged, as you both made your way towards the stand. It was thankfully rid of snow, courtesy of the local community who took care of it on a regular basis.

“More like, annoying,” you scoffed, plonking yourself down on one of the benches.

“Keep saying that if you wanna get locked in,” he shot back. God, you missed his banter.

Luckily, you still had a few tricks up your sleeve. “Won’t stop me from getting out.”

“I know.” He paused, taking a moment to sit down beside you. “That’s what I like about you.”

Your breath hitched as he mentioned that. Was that a confession in disguise? You tried to read his expression, but it was impossible to decipher.

“So why did you bring me here?” you inquired, as a way of breaking the awkward tension.

“I started to get what you meant back then, when you said it was peaceful. Sometimes I sit out here myself, just to think things through.” He gestured to the field. “Kinda nice, isn’t it? This wide, vacant space.”

Your eyes glittered as a smile tugged at your lips, glad that he understood what it meant to you.

“Also, I didn’t want to be a creep by bringing you into the woods.”

“Leon the serial killer. Has a ring to it,” you teased. He laughed in response, as his breath turned into misty puffs swirling in the air. “But yeah, this place holds a lot of memories,” you added.

“Of meeting you and getting stoned.” You recognized the look of mischief in his eyes as he finished your sentence. “Best day of my life.”

“Mine too,” you murmured, while something stirred within you to share your innermost thoughts with him. 

“You know, before that, there were times where I’d sit here after a game till late on my own. Even after the flood lights shut off, I’d stay on in the dark, feeling like nothing could get rid of this emptiness… not even the crowd earlier.” You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to tell Leon all of this or where you were going with it, but it was important to you. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, more than you know,” he remarked quietly under his breath, such that you had to strain your ears to hear it. 

His answer piqued your curiosity. “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

“All the time,” he huffed.

You were taken aback by this. Leon never struck you as someone who’d feel the same way you did. You thought he fit in with the suburban lifestyle and he was well-liked by his peers. Was there a missing piece? Not knowing how to deal with this newfound information, you blurted out without thinking, “Well, whaddya know. A jock and a cheerleader just faking it till they make it.”

He didn’t respond. As your eyes briefly darted in his direction, you noticed the discomfort that dumb sentence had caused him.

You felt a pang of guilt in your chest, regretting that you had inadvertently touched upon a sensitive subject. “It was a bad joke, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head sadly. “No, it’s fine. It’s just a lot more than that.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” you reassured him. 

However, Leon seemed determined to continue. “I want to, with you.” You realized his hand was trembling as he ran it through his hair. “I’m guessing you’ve never been in foster care?”

“No?” There was a tone of apprehension in your voice, as you wondered where this conversation was headed, though you had a vague idea.

“Just wanted to be sure.” He smiled sardonically, before explaining further. “What it’s like is… moving from one family to another every few months, never really knowing where you’ll end up next,” he sighed. “And praying to god that they won’t be scumbags.”

Gradually, you started to make sense of what he was going on about, and everything fell into place as your jaw fell slightly ajar.

“Thing is, I’m lucky my current family took me in long-term.” At this, he paused for a minute, frowning at an invisible threat. “Many aren’t.” 

Then, it came as a cracked whisper. “Sometimes I’m scared… I’ll be taken away again.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, as you placed your hand over his, squeezing it tightly. “I won’t let that happen.”

He turned to face you with a dry laugh. “What, you’re gonna fight the authorities for me?”

You saw the fear and pain in his eyes, but you wanted to let him know that you were completely serious. You would do anything to make sure he was safe. “To hell and back. I mean it, Leon.” You gripped his hand firmly again. “We’ll find a way.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, relaxing a bit.

“I’m sorry… I wouldn’t have said such stupid-” You started to apologize again, but he stopped you, curling his fingers under your chin and tilting it towards him.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You couldn’t have known,” he surmised. “I mean, people have their questions, but my parents are really good at protecting me, and shutting down small talk.”

You continued listening empathetically, as deep down you had a hunch that he had kept this to himself for a very long time, and he couldn’t bottle it up anymore. He just wanted someone, specifically you, to hear him out.

“I can’t deal with shit like explaining to people all the time, over and over again, why I don’t look like my parents, who my real parents are, how I fit in… just so they can pretend to be my pity party.” His mouth twisted in distaste at the memory.

“The funny thing is, I don’t even remember much about my real mom and dad. It’s like a blackout. Like that part of life just died.” Closing his eyes, he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as if trying to recall something in vain. “I heard they were assholes though. Or, I dunno, ‘very bad people’ as they said.”

What he had just articulated hit you like a ton of bricks, yet you wanted to be there for him, no matter what. “Leon… I will never know what you’ve been through. But one thing I’m certain of, is that they did not make you who you are.” 

He gave you a look of skepticism, but you pushed forward. “You’re a good person.”

“A really, fucking good person,” you emphasized, and you truly believed that with all your heart. “Remember that.”

“I’ll try,” he sighed. The doubt still remained. You weren’t expecting it to magically disappear, but at least this was a step in the right direction. “That means a lot to me.”

“Do you still feel alone?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Since meeting you? Not a chance.” You narrowed your eyes at him as laughter spilled out into the night. “Do you?” he questioned back.

“No.” You bit your bottom lip and professed, “I’m really glad I met you.”

Stroking your hair gently, he began to inch closer towards you, leaning in till the tips of your noses touched as you held your breath. It felt like time had slowed down, and despite knowing what would come next, you’d never felt more unprepared.

As if on cue, the flood lights switched off and you were enveloped by the obsidian night. Damn, the timer.

You were used to it, but it was clear to you that Leon wasn’t faring so well. You felt him wince, his breathing getting shallower and more uneven, as he tried to cling on to you. A part of you suspected that his vulnerability had something to do with previous foster placements. 

You interlaced your fingers with his, linking hands as you comforted him. “I’m here. Don’t worry,” you asserted. “You’ve gotta let your eyes adjust to the darkness and you’ll be able to see again. It just takes time.”

He nodded as both of you waited in silence, with only the sound of the wind whistling and each other’s breaths to keep you company. He started to calm down, as you caressed the back of his hand with your thumb. Just as you had promised, he began to make out shapes in the darkness and slowly regained his sight again.

You gazed up in wonder, admiring the celestial winter sky that lay before you, as Leon followed suit. The moon and stars seemed to hang close to the ground, as if frozen in stasis. They glimmered to the point of being dazzling.

“Do you see that?” Leon pointed upwards, captivated by brilliant light that shone across the sky.

“Yeah, they’re really bright when it’s cold.”

“Hm, yeah they’re beautiful,” he muttered thoughtfully. “I should do this more often. Just stop and take a moment to appreciate things.” Once again, he turned towards you, his words laced with double meaning. “Before they slip away.”

You caught the subtle implication behind what he said, as he waited to see how you would react. Your heart was racing, but this time, you decided to shut off the rational side of your mind and follow your gut feeling instead. It was as though an unseen force was guiding you, as you closed the gap, delicately brushing your lips against his. 

Just as you were about to second-guess yourself, he responded by cradling your cheek in his hand and pressing his warm, soft lips on yours. His hot, shaky breath tickled your skin, as you entwined your arms around his neck and kissed back, taking in the sweet taste of his mouth even further, and causing him to hum in satisfaction. You could get addicted to this. You really could.

Apparently reading your mind, Leon murmured through your parted lips, “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted this.” As you locked lips again, consumed in yet another tender kiss, you didn’t want to think about what would come next. For tonight, everything was perfect.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #high school au #college au #re2 leon #re2 remake #resident evil 2 #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

[weirdmorefics]

Unmasked Masterlist

A Spencer Reid X Reader Story

Status- Writing Start Date 11/27- ongoing

Genre- Horror

Warnings- Horror, murder, PTSD, Criminal Minds spoilers, Scream spoilers

Word Count- Ongoing

Summary- Sidney Prescott and her younger sister Y/n Prescott went through three Ghostface killing sprees together. The first was in their hometown, the second was when Y/n went to tour her sister's college campus, and the third was when Y/n convinced Sidney out of hiding to catch the man ruining their life yet again. Unlike Sidney, Y/n was determined to live life to the fullest, and not hide. Y/n changed her last name and now works for the BAU and has a good group of friends who don't know her backstory till that ghost mask comes rearing back into her life again. Will she be able to keep her secret and catch the new killer? Will she be able to keep Spencer Reid safe?

Chapter One- The Call

Chapter Two- Flight to Woodsboro

Chapter Three- You Are Not The Star

Chapter Four- My Weakness

Chapter Five- The Unplanned Press Conference

Chapter Six- Haunted Memories

Chapters- Coming Soon

Also Available on AO3 here

Taglist- @bunbunbl0gs , @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds masterlist #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

[camels-pen]

The Law of Fenton

Summary:

The more a Fenton tries to be scary, the funnier and lamer it is.

The vice versa, however, is also true.

based on @notoverjoyed's prompt "Danny goes to college and dodges the attention of the campus paranormal club as they try to figure out just what the hell he is."

Ao3 Link

“There! He’s over there!” 

Danny sprinted down the path, just barely managing to scramble around the corner and pulling tight to the wall as a thundering cloud of footsteps ran past him. He waited a moment, straining his hearing for any sign they were turning back. After a long enough silence, he slumped against the wall with a breath of relief.

“Danny! I just have a few quick questions.”

He jumped, flailing his arms. “What the fuck?! Where did you even come from?!”

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, just answer my questions, please.”

“Are you sure you’re not the paranormal one?” he muttered. “And I already told you no, I don’t wanna be interviewed.”

“We never mentioned a full interview, but if you’re willing—”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you want an interview? Talk to my secretary, she’s behind you.”

The man whipped his head around… only to furrow his brow at empty air. He turned back only to curse as his eyes darted around the side of the building.

Danny shook his head with a smirk, invisibly watching as the man got increasingly frantic as he searched the area. Well, at least the President was as gullible as the regular members. 

---

Off and on, Danny struggled to get through his classes because, despite being more than a state away from his hometown, there were still people trying to ruin his life.

He thought it would be better here—no ghost attacks, no ghost hunters, no Dash—and yet, somehow, it was worse.

If he could go back and smack his younger self from 6 months ago, he would— deciding to use his ghost powers late at night to sneak into one of the lab rooms to staple an assignment together was so not worth it.

Someone else—sneaking in without ghost powers—seemed to catch him in the act and a picture started spreading around campus of a floating stapler, his name on the cover page of the assignment in. 

Full. 

View. 

Ever since, he’d been hounded by these chuckleheads calling themselves the “Paranormal Exploration Experimentalists” between classes, outside his dorm, in other clubs.

They used to try getting to him during classes too, but his professors quickly put a stop to it. Whether out of the goodness of their hearts or out of hating students talking over them, he didn’t know and didn’t care. 

He grumbled to himself as he angrily munched on a bowl of cereal on the couch, having pulled an all nighter and having a physics class in an hour. A rerun of some older cartoons were playing on the television.

Danny sighed. Oh to be a prey animal in a cartoon. It seemed like such a good life: going wherever you want and not having to worry about having the money for it; sneaking food from restaurants or unsuspecting humans; (third thing).

He continued to yearn for the simple life of a road runner when Looney Tunes ended. Class time was coming up soon and he was just about done with his sort-of-breakfast sort-of-dinner. Just as he grabbed the remote though, the title card for the next cartoon came up. In an instant, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head.

He couldn’t live the simple life of a cartoon prey animal—maybe temporarily if he jumped into the tv with his powers—but he could treat that pesky club president and the other jerks in the P.E.E. club to the same karma as an unlucky cartoon predator animal.

---

The following few days lent itself to preparation. After all, he had lots of reality breaking powers at his disposal, but without a plan, he’d just end up peaking their interest as some strange entity haunting the campus or, worse, they’d take it as some kind of proof that he wasn’t human. Which is true, but he didn’t want them to know that.

So, he set up a call between himself, Sam, and Tucker—he was going to include Jazz, but she’d probably yell at him or something for being so petty about this—and they plotted how exactly to scare the P.E.E. club shitless in a way that didn’t lead to Danny’s human identity, with many of the best ideas surrounding an item featured frequently in the cartoon that inspired him.

It was fairly simple: ‘Tom’, as Danny had started calling him, would be the first victim.

---

“Hey, president guy!” he waved a hand at the man, walking up to him in the hallway where he was sitting outside a closed door, papers and binders spread at his feet. “I’m ready for an interview.”

‘Tom’ raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yup!” Danny squatted down in front of him. “If you get it done, you’ll probably leave me alone. So the sooner I get this over with, the better.”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” The guy pulled out a faded agenda and a pencil from under one of his binders. “When are you free?”

---

“I’ll agree to an interview with Tom.”

“To lure him out?” Sam asked.

“Well yes, but also to have all his club members’ attention on me.” 

“They already have all their attention on you. I thought that was the problem?”

Danny grinned. “Yeah, but this way they’ll be more focused on hearing about the interview than poking around for other supposed paranormal stuff around campus. Including anything my duplicates get up to.”

---

Danny Duplicate #13 roamed the skies above the building the original Danny was currently sitting in. The duplicate combed the roof and jammed the lock by phasing some wood in it just for good measure.

“So, you’re some kind of invisible man?”

“Starting off strong, huh?” ‘Tom’ was no journalism major, but he was expecting some lead up questions. “Well, not really. Everyone back home can do this kind of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff, exactly?”

The duplicate began poking Danny on equipment placement. A little further from the door, he mentally responded, don’t want to actually get anyone hurt. Absentmindedly, he said, “Oh, lots of stuff. It’s like magic with how versatile it is.”

“Okay, but what is ‘it’?”

“Ectoplasm,” he said, before his thoughts caught up to him. Fuck fuck. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

---

“And you’re gonna direct a bunch of duplicates while also trying to avoid spilling everything in this interview?” Sam said, squinting.

“What?” he said, crossing his arms, defensive. “I can do it.”

“Danny, I love you dude, but you remember what happened during that scramble at graduation, right?”

“No.” He blushed. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Tucker smirked. “I have the video saved on my phone if—”

“ANYWAY,”—he interrupted loudly—“I’m older now—”

“You’re, like, six months older—”

“I’m OLDER now. It won’t happen again.”

---

God. He can’t believe it happened again.

Danny’s duplicates froze where they were setting things up. Danny himself laughed awkwardly. “Y-Yeah, y’know. There’s always been a bunch of ghost sightings around Amity Park, y’know? So, uh, the most popular theory is that sometimes the ghost’s leave weird energy stuff behind and we call that ‘ectoplasm’.”

Tom was furiously scribbling on his notepad, nodding along. “And how does that relate to your powers of invisibility? Does this mean everyone in your town can turn invisible?”

“Uhh—”

---

“So,”—Tucker spread his hands, voice low and promising with ideas—“you could set up a giant mouse trap right on top of the roof. Then drag him up there with an invisible duplicate so Danny Fenton has an alibi from the victim himself.”

“Don’t call him a victim,” Danny said. “You’re making it sound like I’m gonna maim him.”

“Oh, and he could conveniently look away as Fenton while his victim is being taken—” Sam continued, speaking right over him.

“Guys—”

“Yeah, and then Danny can, like, turn up the ghostliness to the max on his duplicate and threaten them not to meddle in some completely unrelated supernatural rumour on campus.”

“Then Danny Fenton can pretend to be a scaredy cat and panic. Maybe call for help from the people eavesdropping on the interview to help look for the kidnapping victim too. So he can build up eye witness reports that make it seem like he couldn’t be the perpetrator.” 

Tucker slapped a fist on his palm. “Oh! During the interview, he could bring back the fear of ghosts excuse from high school, which would help when he inevitably slips up too.” Sam nodded. “He could say he doesn’t know any specifics, but that he knows that weird stuff happens in Amity all the time.”

“I hate that excuse,” Danny grumbled.

Sam snorted. “Well, unless you want to gaslight the entire club or admit to being an amateur magician, suck it up.”

---

“I’m not too sure,” Danny said, grinding his teeth a little. “I’ve been afraid of ghosts my whole life so I tried to avoid learning any specifics.”

“Then, the picture?”

Fuck. The picture. “Uhh, the—the picture.” Oh, he really had to use that gag back up excuse, didn’t he? Ugh. “I really didn’t want to give it away, but you guys have gotten really annoying with the constant pestering.” He sighed. “I’m an amateur magician. I was using a really thin wire and hooks.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, yeah,” Danny said, putting on his most condescending voice. “It’s pretty obvious when you look for it. I’m surprised that wasn’t the first thing you ruled out.”

---

“You gotta scream.”

“I’m not gonna scream!”

“Danny, you have to scream,” Sam repeated. “No one’s gonna buy it if you don’t. You suck at acting.”

God, he hated it when she was right.

“Fine, but I draw the line at calling for help. I’m not gonna be some dude in distress.”

---

Danny Duplicate #1 hovered behind Tom, ready and in position. It seemed the other duplicates were prepared too. Good. He just needed to plant the idea in the guy’s head that he was a regular human and then he could strike.

“We did rule it out. We ruled out many forms of illusions from stage magicians. Professional ones,” Tom said calmly, tapping the end of his pencil on his paper. “We also ruled out photo editing as the person who took the footage is not only part of this club, but also a good friend of mine.”

Fuck, are you serious? Stupid Fenton luck at it again. “Maybe they should get glasses then?” He slumped back in his seat, putting on his most pathetically tired look. It wasn’t hard. “Look, I’m not trying to call your friend a liar or anything, but I really was just practicing some tricks.” 

“Of course,” Tom said, disbelief clear in his voice.

He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t even mind you throwing around rumours or anything, just quit hounding me everywhere I go!”

At that, Tom did start to look a little guilty. “I guess, regardless of if you’re telling the truth, we should probably back off a little.” Oh thank god. Maybe Tom was reasonable after all. Maybe he wouldn’t need to even go through with—“After all, we aren’t sure what you’re capable of, and if you get upset, you might hurt someone.”

Wow. Wow. This guy really just said that to Danny’s face. Suddenly, he was glad he decided to amp up his threat from the original idea.

---

“The mousetrap isn’t enough though. If I was Tom, I wouldn’t give a shit about a single ghost threatening me.”

“Your viewpoint is skewed,” Tucker said. “You’re, like, Ghost Threat Georg; you get threatened by ghosts so often that you think people get ghost threats all the time, which is very much wrong.”

“Your viewpoint is skewed,” he said petulantly.

“Look, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but going to school in a place with basically no ghosts means most days I don’t get a single threat.” Tucker shrugged. “And the ones I do are usually some of your old rogues trying to ask to hang out somehow. I haven’t gotten a legit ghost threat in ages.”

“Yeah, same here,” Sam said. “It’s kind of weird, but Tucker’s right. I’m pretty sure the trap is enough.”

“No,” Danny shook his head. “It needs something more. It needs something to really send the message home.” He grinned. “And I’ve got just the thing.”

---

“A very bold claim you’re saying to the face of said person you think might hurt someone.” Danny strained to stay loose and relaxed. “If you’re so worried, why not go to campus security or something?”

Tom waved a hand. “Security guards are functionally useless in this situation. I’ve prepared myself and my club members on how to defend themselves and others against paranormal threats”—oh good, Danny thought gripping his leg, another GIW scenario, just what I needed—“using purified salts, stakes, holy water, etcetera. The basics.”

Okay, the lack of any real anti-ghost stuff made him feel a little better. “Right. The basics.” Wait a second. “Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you think I am? Just some guy with invisible powers?”

“We haven’t pinned anything down, but none of our theories are that simple,” Tom flipped through his notebook. He stopped on a page and read aloud, “Shapeshifter, shapeshifter, dragon with camouflage abilities, shapeshifter, a human shaped chameleon, shapeshifter, creature made entirely of string that can unravel at will, and shapeshifter.”

Huh. 

He really shouldn’t ask, but—“Why didn’t anyone think I was a ghost?”

Tom laughed. Fully belly laughed. “Danny,”—he wiped a tear from his eye—“you might be elusive, but you’re nowhere near scary enough to be a ghost.”

“I could be scary!” he protested. 

“You were the only entry in the haunted dorm room competition back in October to make everyone laugh their asses off.” Tom grinned. “I still watch the video sometimes to lift my mood.”

“Hey, I worked really hard on that—”

“Anyway, it’s just not possible.” Tom said, talking over him. “You don’t have it in you to be some spooky spectre come back from the grave to haunt the campus. You don’t have a single scary bone in your body.”

Okay, well, Danny’s had enough of this slander. Clearly, Tom didn’t believe in Danny being a ghost so, whatever, fine. That was what he wanted in the first place. He was fine with it. Didn’t make him want to spill his guts just to prove the guy wrong at all. Nope, no sir.

He did wish he’d put more effort into making his plan more fear-inducing, but whatever. It might not be that scary, but it was gonna get Tom off his back forever and Danny was done talking with this jerk.

---

“And you don’t think this isn’t… a little much?” Tucker hedged.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s probably gonna scar him for life,” Sam said. “It’d still fix your problem, but I didn’t think you liked going that far.”

“What? No.” Danny shook his head. “You guys probably have a messed up sense of fear from fighting ghosts and stuff for four straight years.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You were fighting those ghosts too.”

“Yeah, but I’m just built different.” He looked through the list of equipment he’d written down next to him. “This is gonna be hilarious. He’s either gonna laugh his ass off or, if his sense of humour sucks, call it lame and move on. Either way, I’m freed from those stupid P.E.E. stalkers.”

“I don’t like this slander against our sense of fear,” Tucker said. “I have very normal fears. This is definitely one of them.” Sam agreed.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine, maybe, by some miniscule chance, you guys are right and his sense of fear’s messed up like yours.” He raised a finger. “But! At most he’ll probably get a little spooked and end up staying away because of it! So, I win regardless.”

Sam hummed disbelievingly. 

---

He sent the signal. Off to the mousetrap with him.

He couldn’t see it, but he felt Danny Duplicate #1 salute him. On it boss.

“What—?!” Danny Duplicate #1 grabbed Tom around the middle. Tom wiggled in the chair, unable to move his arms or get up. His notepad and pencil fell to the ground. “Hey, what the fuck?! Did you—?!”

Despite how he hated it, Danny’s best blood curdling scream was so impressive it shocked Tom into flinching, even stopping his struggling to press his ear to his shoulder with a wince. At least the guy would totally believe Danny’s excuse after this.

The faint chatter outside the room silenced. Then all at once, people were yelling, jiggling the locked doorknob—one of Danny’s conditions for the interview, being alone with Tom so as to ensure his plan went off without a hitch—and Danny jerked his head up towards the ceiling. The duplicate nodded and quickly phased through the ceiling, Tom in his arms.

Now, what to do about the bystanders….

Oh, duh. 

“A FUCKING SPIDER, OH MY GOD!”

The yelling and lock jiggling quickly started to peter out after that, followed by the faint sounds of laughter and one, “Jesus Christ, the lungs on that guy,” which Danny would take as a compliment.

He chuckled to himself as he shared his senses fully with his first duplicate.

The plan was going perfectly. Sam and Tucker didn’t know shit.

---

“It’s really not that bad!”

“It really is,” Sam and Tucker chimed in together.

“It’s not,” Danny sent a picture through their chat. “Look, see! It’s cute!”

“Danny, this is fucking horrifying,” Tucker said.

“Fuck, that’s so cursed, what the hell?” Sam said. “Why did you choose this one? Where did you even find it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Also, they’d probably tell him not to buy stuff from people hanging out in the rundown bathrooms in the engineering building every time he happened to pass by. “What does matter is that it’s fine.”

“Danny, your plan is to restrain and drag someone to the roof, put them in front of a giant mouse trap prepared to go off, and have him surrounded in a circle of your duplicates, who are going to be backlit by green flames and wearing the most cursed version of a Jerry costume I have ever seen in my life,” Sam said. “This is not fine.” Tucker nodded his agreement.

“It is!”

“You’re not gonna be right about this.”

“I’m gonna be so right about this. I’m gonna be the most right anyone’s ever been about anything.”

---

Tom pissed his pants and fainted.

Damn, Danny thought as he phased the guy back into his club room, I can’t believe Sam and Tucker were three for three on this.

#danny phantom #phic #phic phight #phic phight 2023 #nemo the writing ho

[copperbadge]

The Royals And The Ramblers

Good morning readers and welcome to the latest Shivadhverse novel! As with my previous books, I’m making a draft of the novel available for public commentary, so that you all can help make it awesome. 

The Royals And The Ramblers is the fifth novel in the Shivadh Romances; earlier novels are available for purchase as ebooks or hardcopies or in PDF for free. This book largely features the cast of previous novels, and may be a struggle to read without having read the others, although I've done my best to make it accessible.

Constructive criticism is welcome! Tell me what you liked, what you didn’t, where my typos are. 

Summary: 

Change is in the air for the Shivadh royal family! King Gregory III is marrying his American fiancee, Eddie Rambler, in a series of weddings -- one in Eddie's hometown in California, one for the family in Fons-Askaz, and one memorable blowout for all of Askazer-Shivadlakia. When the royals visit California, Eddie's shy brother Ephraim finds an instant soulmate in extroverted chatterbox Noah, while his sister Monday, a little protective of her big brother, is wary of the royals at first. Still, by the time the first wedding rolls around she's agreed to travel back with them and serve as a surrogate so that Eddie and Gregory can start a family.

The only snag? She's been enjoying a no-strings affair with the royal bodyguard, Georgiana, and they had agreed it would just be a fun fling until the royals went home again. Now they're both in Fons-Askaz, Monday feeling a little in over her head and Georgie feeling a little wistful -- so an extension on the fling might be in order. They both know Monday, whose family is in California and whose life is on the waves, can't stay, so they're doing their best not to get attached.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family is undergoing changes as well: Jerry and Alanna are negotiating their way through new developments in their relationship, while Noah and Jes are both adjusting to Noah's almost-adulthood and his new role as prince. Gregory and Eddie, having taken a young prodigy under their wing, are becoming dads a little ahead of schedule, and Michaelis would like to be granddad to young Joan, but she's making it...difficult. Everyone's going to have to find a few new ways to keep growing up, but given their tight family bonds and the Shivadh sense of humor, that shouldn't be an impossible task.

The chapters will be posted one-a-day at AO3, starting today with: 

Prologue and Chapter One

You can also read the entire novel chapter-by-chapter, available starting today, in googledoc form:

The Prologue and Chapter One are here, or you can access the entire novel at the folder here. 

Happy reading! 

#shivadhverse #self-publishing #romance #romance novel #indy author

[readerhead]

Invisible string

summary: what happens when you’re in love with your friend? Would something happen? Would there be a perfect occasion? What if you two were predestined?

pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader (I wrote this thinking of a female reader but I think there isn't any word that imply it)

warnings: some drinking? It’s actually just fluff

word count: 2.7k

a/n: first of all, English isn’t my first language so sorry beforehand if there's any mistake. I obviously did this while I was procrastinating because I thought there are not many Stiles x reader fanfics that are not long series (I think I read all of the ao3 ones) so here I am to contribute and hopefully encourage people to do more because I need them to live. Hope you enjoy it <3

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

I remember very clearly the day all started, years ago. You were in Beacon Hills, your hometown, right after the accident. You were in the hospital waiting for news from your parents when you saw the lovely nurse you met before. She was kneeling, trying to calm a kid your age. You walked over there and tried to help.

"Oh, hi sweetheart! This is Stiles. He's having a hard moment, I'll go with you when I finish." the boy stopped crying and opened his eyes, he was met by your comforting smile. He sniffed a little while you introduced yourself.

"Why are you sad?"

"My m-mom, she's very sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that. My parents are here, too. Maybe we could cheer each other. I-If you like of course." your chubby little cheeks turning rosy.

"Sure. That'll be awesome." his eyes were a lot less watery than before.

You too spend all the evening talking and distracting each others from your cruel reality. You really wanted to stay here forever and not confront your life or emotions. But forever seemed like a joke for you after that afternoon and the sweet nurse was coming to you with your aunt. You were sure that meant no good so you took the scarce time with the boy to say goodbye.

"I think they are coming for me, so I've got to go."

"But we were having a great moment." he pouted a little and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Here." you handed him your bracelet made of gemstones. "If you ever feel panicked again this would help you." The boy looked at the clear and black crystals confused. "The dark ones are obsidian and the other is quartz, my granny told me they would keep away bad energies and attract good ones."

"Thank you very much." He was genuinely happy because, even if it worked or not, he had something to remember you.

"I'll never forget you." as you said this your aunt touched your shoulder and told you that you're going with her. You heard him say something under his breath but you didn't understand it.

Less than an hour later your parents had passed away in the hospital due to the injuries of the car accident. You had to move to the big city with your aunt. Years passed and your aunt found a better job offer in Beacon Hills. That and the delicate health of your grandma made you move back there.

You found yourself being friends with the popular girls of the school which was really strange to you, but they were nice. You also befriend one of his exes, Scott. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable but after a couple of months and some weird shit happening, all of you ended up in the same friend group. You learned that the supernatural existed and you thought the craziest thing that would happen to you here was when you started having a crush on one of your friends.

You lived near Scott, so you went to his house before Stiles picked you two up to the costume party in Lydia's house. You were greeted by his mom, you haven't met her in the couple months knowing him because you only went there a couple of times and she was working.

"Hi, sweetheart! I'm Melissa, you must be Scott's friend." you were paralyzed.

"Y-You-u." your face lost all its color.

"Are you alright?" she asked, reaching for you in case you passed out. You gulped and recovered yourself. When she saw you better she let you in and went for a glass of water.

"I'm sorry. It’s just... You were the nurse that calmed me years ago, the day my parents died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." she gave you an apologetical look, probably because of the trauma dumping and she not being able to remember you.

"Don't be. It doesn't affect me that much after all these years." she gave you an understanding smile. "I don't know if you remember but there was a boy there with me, his mother was sick. I always wondered what happened to him." In that exact moment Scott entered the kitchen, greeting you.

"Wow, your costume is really cool!"

"You don't know who I am, don't you?"

"Not a single idea, but it's still great."

"Thank you. I'm Padme by the way." you saw his confused look. "From Star Wars?" his face lightened up.

"No chance dude! Stiles is going as one character too!" you blushed, maybe it wasn't a couple one but you'll be matching costumes with the guy you liked.

"They're made for each other." Melissa said in a tone you barely heard because a honk overlapped it.

"That's him, we should get going." Scott made his way to the door while you turned to face his mother.

"I promise I'll tell you about the boy, now go and have fun!" you just met her again but it seemed as if you have known her a long time. You made your way out entering the jeep, not registering the boy at your side until he talked.

"W-Whoa. You're amazingly dressed as Padme." you frowned and turned to look at Stiles. First you notice his eyes wide and lips parted. Then you inspected his costume realizing.

"And you're going a-as Anakin." you surely looked like those cartoons with their eyes out because of the shock.

"What am I missing? Are you guys going like an accidental couple costume or something?" he said laughing but you both faced the windshield with your almost crimson cheeks not laughing at his joke too and he realized.

"No way! You are!" you made yourself little in your seat while you still heard Scott chuckling in the back. Stiles started the engine and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

The way was a little uncomfortable, but between their talking, your silence and the music, your desires of drowning stopped. Just when Stiles parked you undid your seatbelt and opened the door.

"See you guys, I'm going to look for Ally and Lyds!" you almost ran until you found them.

"Girls red code!" you said a little too loud when you found them.

"Werewolves?" Allyson asked.

"Oh. No, no. I clearly should've not used those words."

"What is it then?"

"Isn't obvious?" the redhead interfered grinning. "Is a boy red code."

"Did Stiles finally kissed you and you did something stupid like run to us?"

"What? No! He doesn't like me. And why do you think I would mess that up?" that offensive supposition made you almost forget about the matter.

"And I'm black haired. Now go on." she said, rolling her eyes.

"StilesandIareaccidentallydressedasacouplecostume." you took a deep breath after that.

"Oh that." Lydia nudged Allyson.

"What? You knew?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I know you've been here long enough to take a shot and there's not even a drop of alcohol in you." you knew they knew something, but you needed that shot.

"Okay, I'll go to the kitchen but we'll talk about it." you went there and took a couple of shots before pouring a drink.

"Hey." you almost poured the cup when you heard his voice.

"Hi." you stopped your actions and took the filled plastic cup in your hand.

"What a coincidence this outfit choice."

"Yeah." you looked over the responsibles of it, even if you didn't know how.

"I mean if you're uncomfortable I have another costume in my house. I can go and change." you saw him looking at the floor and your heart skipped a beat.

"No! I mean, I don't have any issue at all."

"Thank goodness." He looked back at you. "When you ran away from Roscoe I thought you didn't wanna see me all night."

"It was just... Unexpected, but it's kinda nice." you saw the dimple you love appearing in his cheek.

"You look really badass in the Geonosis battle's outfit" he took a step closer.

"You don't look bad yourself, Skywalker" you slightly tugged his dark robe as if you were stretching it. You two were inches apart, your cup long lost on the countertop. He smelled heavenly and his warmth made you lean closer. You could swear he was also inching closer.

"You know, we should do a Star Wars marathon." he pulled apart scratching his nape.

"Yeah, totally." you couldn't help the disappointment slipping between your lips while you gazed at your cup. "You know, this was a lovely chat but I think the girls are waiting for me."

You took your drink and surrounded him, making your way out. You searched for any of your friends until you found someone. Not exactly who you had thought of, but the only one who wasn't inside the house. You sat at Scott's side on the wicker couch near the pool.

"How's it going little pupdawan?"

"You know only Stiles gets those jokes, right?"

"Right. But I was worrying about my friend, so tell me why you're here all alone."

"Nothing, just music sometimes gets too loud when you have super hearing."

"That makes sense."

"And what are you doing here? I doubt you were looking for me."

"Well, I could be!" your mouth opened by the offense.

"Of course, but it's a party. You usually are too drunk to remember anyone." you smacked his shoulder.

"I guess today I'm sober enough." you looked at your drink between your hands and he followed your eyes.

"You don't look in the mood. Is this because of Stiles?" your gaze returned to him, now confused.

"What?"

"I'm a werewolf, I have a pretty good hearing."

"You didn't have to eavesdrop!"

"I didn't want to, is like when you have the TV as noise but they say something that catches your attention." you nodded. "And I also can hear your heartbeat and smell some emotions."

"I guess it's difficult to have some secrets with supernatural friends. So I'm assuming Isaac also knows." It was his turn to nod. "So everyone in the pack knows." you put your head in your hand.

"Except him."

"Except him." your eyes went to the party inside.

"Maybe you should tell him."

"Scott, you're his best friend, you should know that's not gonna work. He's in love with Lydia. He sees me as a friend. That's just giving me false hopes. Like before, I was in the kitchen and he came and I thought he was going to kiss me but he backed out. He probably-"

"He almost kissed you?" he cut off your rambling.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! He didn't want to kiss me. If he wanted he would have."

"You know what? Wait here." you were confused as you saw him enter the party.

Scott was taking his time so you rested your head on the back of the couch, staring at the stars. You heard the noise of the door closing and supposed it was him until you heard a tapping in the glass. You looked over and saw Scott at the other side of the glass and a very familiar back, knocking the pane.

"Stiles?" he turned around to face you.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here? Why isn't Scott coming?"

"He might have locked us out."

"Why-?" you cut yourself when you realized his not so subtle plan. "Oh my gosh. I'm sorry, this is my fault. I'm going to kill him."

"How could this be your fault? In any case it is mine."

"What? No, I was talking to him about an issue and he decided to handle it on his own."

"Am I the issue? I thought you were cool with the costumes."

"It's not that, it's just... Wait, why do you think this is your fault?"

"I... Uh... He wants me to confront a situation."

"Since we're stuck outside I guess I'm the one you have to confront."

"Kind of."

"So how do you feel, Sti?"

"What do you mean how do I feel?" he looked really nervous.

"I mean that if you have to confront someone is because you're feeling somehow about them, perhaps you're mad at me?"

"What? No, I don't think I could ever get mad at you."

"Then what is it? Did I make something that bothered you?"

"No."

"You don't like something about me? Do I breathe too loudly? I chew too noisily? I laugh too hard?"

"No. No. No. Please stop!" he took your shoulders.

"Is it my rambli-" you were cut again, but this time you didn't mind interruption because he was kissing you.

Stiles was kissing you. After the initial shock you relaxed and let both of your lips melt as if they were one. You thought them fusing would be the sweetest sentence. His hands gently took your face, deepening the kiss, and yours found their perfect spot in his chest. Then both of you slowly pulled away.

"So you had to discuss with me about kisses?"  you had the biggest smile which brightened more when you saw his upside-down one.

"I actually wanted to discuss which day you can come over for that marathon. As a date, of course." you touched your lip as if you were thinking while your heart felt like it was on a race.

"How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect." and he pecked you.

You were thrilled when you woke up that morning, you were going to have your first date with Stiles. He told you he would go to pick you up, but he needed to pass over Scott's for something his mom made, so you decided to meet there.

"Hey Melissa! Is Stiles here already?"

"Yes, Scott is with him in the kitchen helping him to put the tupperwares in a bag." when you both went there, she called your name.

"Do you want to know what happened to that boy?"

"Oh, yeah. I always worried about how he would be."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Do you have his number or address or something?"

"What are you talking about?" Stiles' curiosity intervened in your conversation.

"A boy I met when I used to live here. Right when my parents had the accident, he was in the hospital because of his mother's illness and I like to think we bonded. Melissa knows him so I asked about him."

"Wait, you gave him a bracelet?" you were beyond confused.

"Yes, it was made of quartz and-"

"Obsidian." he finished for you.

"How do you-" that's when it clicked to you. "It was you?"

"Yes, he was." Melissa interrupted this time.

"That explains why your name was so familiar!" you always thought you had heard his name before even being so rare, you just couldn't pinpoint where. You two headed out to the jeep to enjoy your date

"So you still got it?" he looked sad when you asked him.

"I wish. It broke the night we went to the forest and Scott was bitten. When we went the day after that I only found some of the crystals."

"I'm sorry, maybe we could do another one. I'm guessing it protected you since all of the supernatural started after." you smiled at him.

"Are you sure you didn't give me something made of rose quartz?"

"It was clear quartz. Do you even know what giving rose quartz means?" you were going to chuckle when he replied.

"Yes, that's why I'm asking." you really were shocked, that was the crystal for love and attraction, he was openly admitting his feelings to you. "That day after I met you, I did some research on crystals." he confessed a little awkwardly, clearly a little embarrassed.

"Wow. That's really sweet, Sti." you kissed his cheek. "So I guess there's nothing I can show you, little padawan."

You two made the way to his home talking about random things and the day before, you even told him the part where you met Scott outside, he laughed at your joke and your heart tightened at the sound.

I love my job, being able to bring two soulmates together, as you two. Making the opportunities happen, like the fact that you two went to the same hospital, you going back to Beacon Hills or even you two choosing the matching costumes. Maybe putting Lydia and Scott in his first full moon was a little far-fetched, but it was worth it. Some people call me Destiny or shorten it to Fate, others say I'm a red thread or even a golden invisible string, but it doesn't matter who I am, the only important thing is you two finally being with each other.

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

a/n: I almost forgot to mention that this was inspired Taylor Swift’s song ‘Invisible string’ :)

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfic #stiles x you #teen wolf #stiles fluff

[alexthefly]

Take My Hand

This was supposed to be a @flashfictionfridayofficial , but I was a bit late and got my timezones mixed up, and then the word count went over and... well here it is anyway.

Or read it on AO3 here.

Also tagging @tagloveandthunderbirds 'cos ❤️

Fandom: Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds are Go

Word count: 1048

Warnings: feet/shoes

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

“You ready to do this, Sweetheart?”

Lucy took her time smoothing down the front of her dress, purposely not looking at the empty dance floor yawning in front of her.

“Are you? You know dancing isn't exactly my forte; a first dance in front of all these people just seems like asking for trouble." She shuffled in her chair. "Are trampled feet covered by the wedding insurance?”

Jeff snickered. “I checked the policy just before I came over here. We’re all set.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. But I’m wearing heels, don't forget; it's going to be like Bambi on Ice out there.”

He shrugged. 

“Well I did suggest the hiking boots instead, but you shot me down; something about ‘the aesthetic’. Which looks stunning on you, by the way.” 

He stood back to better take her in, grinning appreciatively.

“Last time I make that mistake,” she muttered, waving away the compliment. “Given ‘the aesthetic’ is currently cutting off the circulation to my pinkie toe, respectfully ‘the aesthetic’ can go jump in a lake.”

She mentally cursed the salesperson who’d talked her into putting fashion ahead of comfort.

Concern flashed across Jeff’s handsome face. “Are they really hurting you, honey? We can get you other shoes.”

She smiled up at him reassuringly. “No really, I’m exaggerating …sort of. They just kinda pinch, that's all.”

If she was totally honest with herself, it wasn't even the salesperson’s fault, really. She’d been the one chasing a dream of being perfect and ladylike, even if it was only this once. Dammit, why was dressing up fancy so hard?!

Of course it didn't help that her new husband managed it so effortlessly. He was currently working ‘the aesthetic’ to within an inch of its life, cutting a very dashing figure in his elegant new grey suit and tie, dress shirt and shoes all perfectly matched and filled out perfectly.

Seriously, where did he get off being so good-looking? 

She’d just wanted to appear worthy of him, that’s all. Jeff Tracy: ace pilot, hometown hero, handsomest guy in the county and a genuinely good man to boot. He was the prince, and just once she’d wanted to feel like she could be his match - a princess - instead of some awkward, clutzy science nerd who’d somehow managed to win the husband lottery.

She sighed. Clearly that wasn't to be.

There was a pause, then without another word her very handsome husband - God, he really did look good in that suit - knelt down in front of her and took one of her feet gently in his hands. He examined the delicate and uncharacteristically high-heeled white shoe with utmost seriousness, before removing it and flinging it across the room.

“Jeff!”

Lucy felt her face burst into flames as a roomful of eyes turned towards them.

“What? Doesn't that feel better?”

In all fairness it absolutely did. She wiggled her newly-released toes appreciatively even as she fought the urge to hide underneath the table.

“You can't just go throwing shoes around. You’re making a scene.”

He stopped and looked at her, ignoring the rest of the room, then slowly and deliberately reached out and took hold of her other foot.

“I want to enjoy a dance with my beautiful new wife, and if these admittedly pretty little shoes are getting in the way of that…” 

The second shoe flew over his shoulder, just missing a nearby waiter.

“...then they’ve gotta go.”

The room was hushed; everyone was looking at them. Part of her wanted to run and hide in the coatroom until they’d all gone, but he was holding her gaze, keeping her steady. 

“I don't want anything getting between me and the most amazing, beautiful, perfect person I ever saw, ever again.”

He rose gracefully to his feet and held out his hand to her.

“So how about it? May I have this dance?”

…

It was late spring and the cicadas were singing. Airbase staff were bustling all around, knocking into her, sending papers flying everywhere. She knelt down to pick them up, and suddenly there was a hand in front of her.

“Can I give you a hand, Miss?”

…

It was fall, and the trees around them were every shade of red. They’d talked about everything and nothing, walking side by side, until he stopped and reached out to her.

“Would it be alright if I held your hand?”

…

It was winter and the snow was falling softly. His ice skates made long swooshing noises on the ice around her, while hers clacked noisily as she tried and failed to keep her footing. Another swoosh and then he was there in front of her, hand extended.

“Okay, so not my best idea. How about we go get a hot chocolate instead? My treat?”

…

It was the last days of summer, and the clear water of the lake lapped at her toes. She’d never felt so happy in her life. A perfect day. Beside her she felt him shift nervously, and then he was holding his hand out, a little red box in it, one knee on the ground.

“I’ve got a question I wanna ask…”

…

Her head flooded with the memories of a hundred moments, small and huge, all of them important. A hundred images of him offering his hand, and at last she understood.

He'd reached out for her.

She was the one. And she was worthy, just as she was.

Smiling, she accepted the offered hand.

“Of course you may, Mr Tracy.”

He grinned and bowed. “Why thankyou, Mrs Tracy.”

She rose and he led her, barefoot and spotlit, to the dance floor without a care in the world. Keeping her hand in his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, enveloping her like a delicate, precious treasure, safe and protected. Their eyes met and he beamed at her like his face was made of actual sunshine.

She grinned back at him.

“You’re sure about that wedding insurance now? Last chance.”

“Don’t you worry about my toes, darlin’. Just keep a hold of me and we’ll do fine.”

And with that the band struck up an old favourite, and hand-in-hand they danced the night away.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can't help falling in love with you.

#tag:love&thunderbirds #jeff tracy #lucy tracy #thunderfluff #romance #alexthefly fic #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #FFF238 #...kinda #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go fanfiction