#i usually reply to their holiday messages politely but this year i was like no. absolutely none of my energy going to u guys anymore

[writingpostmidnight]

not my mom messaging me after four and a half years of no contact outside of like two texts on christmas/birthday saying i need to reach out to my oldest brother (guy who also caused me a great deal of childhood trauma) like hello. the fucking audacity.

#i’m not replying but like ugh #is he lonely?? bc of the holidays?? oh so sad. so sad the kid u chose over every single other kid u have misses us #so sad that the guy behind why i fear every argument will turn violent misses me #terrible way to wake up today i’m so glad i don’t have work #i have the right to be so much more annoyed by this but i’m just too tired #i usually reply to their holiday messages politely but this year i was like no. absolutely none of my energy going to u guys anymore #pick me out of a line up of men now after a year HRT and then come try and be my mom dnsbshdb #vent // #tw #abuse tw

[leggerefiore]

Salutations Fi! I saw you ask about Valentine’s Day requests and I was wondering if I might be able to give a suggestion. What if Ingo’s beloved on Valentines Day we’re to romance him when he can’t get the day off by showing him in old fashion romance. Flowers delivered using the language of flowers to express their love and devotion to him, his favorite sweets left on his desk to be found, and sending him long love letter message on his phone throughout the day, until he is able to come home to a candle light dinner and a night of lovemaking where he is showered is words of adoration. Ingo is always so giving, he deserves to to wooed like a Victorian lover every once in a while too 🥰 thank you so much for all your hard work, you time, and consideration on this Fi! 

I'm happy I still have people enjoying my work! I know my stuff has changed a bit since I started, but I'm happy people are still reading my writings.

Love's Holiday

cw: fluff, valentine's Day fic

Ingo hated the expression that crossed your face when he had to inform you that he had been unable to take Valentine's Day off this year. So much more than anything, would he had preferred to, but it seemed to just not to come to fruition with how everything at work built together. You did not say that you were upset, but the disappointment was apparent with how your shoulders drooped and lips fell. Just before he could begin to lament endless apologies about his shortcoming, you embraced him softly and told him that it was alright. This was not the first holiday that had seen him called into work, and it was unlikely to be the last.

The twin still wished it had not needed to be this way yet was endlessly grateful that you understood that he adored his job. You cupped his face and asked when his next day off was. He supposed a rain-check on the romantic day would not matter, so long as you both experienced at least.

~

The day was admittedly test him when it finally came. Many Depot Agents thankfully did not have too many complaints about having to work the holiday, most younger and not in relationships, but it did not mean there were not a few that hated it. One would not stop lamenting about how his Kalosian girlfriend was going to end him for failing to spend the day with her, while another whined that his boyfriend was going to be mad about it. Ingo stiffly told them that his partner was unhappy, too, and that was simply how it was today. He did politely offer them advice on how to amend their lovers' unhappiness and to plan to celebrate on another date, to which they just cruelly called him 'mom'. Again.

How he wished Emmet had not started a bunch of them onto that by teasing him with that when he was fussing about a ketchup stain on the younger twin's face.

He had begun his check-list duties, going through the station in order to make sure everything was up to code and that his employees were acting as they were supposed to. When he was passing through the middle of the station, he could only sigh when a lost delivery man clearly entered. A large bouquet of flowers in his hands. The man's eyes went large when they landed on Ingo. “Ah! You are Subway Boss Ingo, no?” he called out with a strong voice, “You have delivery from your 'dearest'.” The twin froze for a moment, an odd warmth flooding his chest.

“Yes, that is me,” Ingo replied in his usual station voice, “Thank you for the off-path delivery.” The man only returned his words with a big grin and handing off the flowers. It was clear as day that someone held the Subway Boss in high regard. Commuters in the station stopped to stare at the odd sight of him with a bouquet of flowers. Ingo could only lower his eyes and stiffen his posture. He headed to his office to lay the flowers somewhere they would go unbothered.

Holding the bouquet in his sights, he observed the flowers chosen closely. White camellias, red chrysanthemums, a single black iris, and baby's breath all compromised the bouquet. He felt a small smile fall across his lips. It may not have been a common bouquet of roses, but the meaning of it all was not lost on him. The flowers were gently laid across his desk. It still stung that he has unable to spend the day with you, but this certainly lessened the blow.

He just hoped Emmet would not tease him too much for this. One more glance to the flowers left him at ease.

~

His checking work went over with little concern but led into his battles for the day. He found himself going against couples on the Multi Line with Emmet, and upset singles on the Single Line. They were wonderful challenges, but he simply felt distracted by the way the couples worked together in such sync. Naturally, he had that in a different with Emmet, but not in that form with you. His heart raced as he waited for the next challenger. Even Emmet commented on how distracted he seemed to be.

Ingo did feel bad about throwing battles on accident, but his mind could not refocus on anything. Just as he was about to let out another sigh, his phone went off. He took it out after some thoughtful debate. It was a text message from you. Air felt caught in his throat. Clicking open the app, his racing thoughts came to an end.

“Hey, hubby, I hope your day is going alright! I know how upset you were with having to leave me today, but I hope my flowers made you smile! I sneaked another surprise in for you, too. Win me some battles, okay? I love you so, so much! See you this evening. PS. I resisted going with a romantic Chandelure light dinner. I don't think she would have enjoyed that.”

His heart raced in his chest as pink dusted his cheeks. He held the phone tightly to his chest and felt at an emotional loss. How had he found someone this wonderful? Nothing about you felt real to him sometimes. His past struggles with love faded after he met you.

Another challenger entered his car. The poor guy was unprepared for just how much effort Ingo put into that battle. You asked for a victory, so he would give it to you. Chandelure's battle shriek left the challenger dumbstruck as his team fell with ease.

~

His lunch came, and he finally found himself back in the office. The flowers were moved to another location temporarily as he decided to begin some paperwork as he ate. As the bouquet was lifted, a heart tin became visible. He knew that was certainly not there earlier. Your text has mentioned another surprise, making him smile once more.

While he was not the biggest fan of sweets, especially when put in competition with his brother, he knew you got him the dark chocolate ones he so adored. Daring to pop it open, he took one of the small truffles out. The flavour bloomed against his tongue wonderfully. He could only wonder what he should do to repay you for all of these things you had done for him. A few more chocolates were enjoyed with his lunch as he felt prepared to finish the rest of the workday.

~

When Ingo got off the end of it all, he felt himself rushing through his closing duties. It was to the point he could feel the looks from his brother and the Depot Agents. This display led to Emmet dismissing him before he made a mess of things trying to get off sooner. He thanked his twin endlessly, but Emmet just shrugged it off and told him to enjoy his evening with you. Ingo grabbed his bouquet and chocolates with speed comparable to a bullet train as he rushed to leave.

Each step that brought him closer to you felt like an eternity as he rushed away from the station to his apartment building. Of course, he had made a quick stop to retrieve some chocolates and a card for you. Of course, due to the time very few remained to his disappointment. Hopefully, you could forgive him. By the time he made it to your shared home, a light sheen of sweat covered him from the speed at which he moved and the stress of finally getting away to see you.

The door opened for him before he could grab the knob, and you smiled at him sweetly. The room behind you was solely lit by candlelight. His eyes focused on you, who wore a tight-fitting black outfit that left him a bit hypnotised. He held out the chocolates and card almost instinctually. A laugh came from you as you took them and held the door open for him. Ingo could smell the food you had made and flustered when his stomach growled. He had taken a lighter lunch since his focus had been on paperwork, too.

You seemingly danced around him, getting him into a seat and taking the flowers and his chocolate from him. The bouquet was added to a vase in the centre of the table, while the chocolates joined yours on the counter in the kitchen. You sat down across from him and looked at him with pure adoration. Just as he brought a piece of the lovingly cooked meal to his mouth, you spoke.

“I hope you're prepared for a long night, Ingo,” you cooed.

He nearly choked on his food.

His night was quiet long.

And enjoyable.

Emmet's laughter about his hickies the next day left him as red as the chrysanthemums you had given him.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokemon x reader #ingo.ima

[the-trinket-witch]

A TWSTed Christmas Carol

(I don't know whether to put this as an entry to @bunnwich's Holiday Fan Event , only cause it's generally Holiday themed, not specifically Green One themed U_U CAN ALSO BE READ ON AO3 )

Azul Ashengrotto has always been a hard working mer. But will his drive for success cause him to lose his holiday spirit? Potentially more?

The Holidays were fast approaching, and such times sounded like easy money to be had at Azul's Monstro Lounge. Octavinelle typically hosted New Years, as most dorm denizens had to stay on campus over break due to 'inclement weather'. Of course for Nightraven College's Merchant of the Deep, any chance afforded to rake in more business was always welcome. Fliers had been plastered across campus of the Lounge's special holiday hours, which in itself drummed up a bit more business than usual. 

One such day, the final day before break officially let loose for Yule, found him holed up once again in his office. The piano that had been enchanted to play continued its tunes as backdrop noise for his accounting. A familiar voice rang out over the trill of the music; one of Azul's partners had momentarily pulled his focus from the pages. 

It's in the singing of a street corner choir

It's going home and getting warm by the fire

It's true, wherever you find love

It feels like Yuletide

A cup of kindness that we share with another

A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother

In all the places you find love

It feels like Yuletide 

It was nice to have someone more actively musical in his life than he was currently; it left more room on his shoulders for things to advance him financially. Said responsibilities didn't leave room, though, for him to seemingly enjoy the season as the rest of those poor unfortunate souls. He hadn't noticed the song having ended until the rap of knuckles on his door alerted him of company.

It is the season of the heart

A special time of caring

The ways of love made clear

It is the season of the spirit

The message, if we hear it

Is make it last all year

"Azul? Do you have a moment?" Albert asked. Always polite, he waited for confirmation before entering. "Still have your nose to the grindstone, Love?"

"Indeed. Last year was a resounding success in pulling in business over the holidays. This year's looking similar. Tomorrow's going to be our busiest day next to New Years, and I don't plan on letting a single mark slip by."

He passed a few sheets over: projections, estimates and the hours needed to make it happen. Albert sat silent as he perused, but as his brow knit the further he read, the more nervous the Octopus became.

"Dear, I may have missed it but there's no days off from now through New Years. Is that right?" 

"It is-but remember, again: it's a busy part of the year. There's no time to have downtime."

Hearing that dropped Al's expression from confusion to frustration. "You should at least have a day off. Most businesses are closed tomorrow for Yule, anyway. You won't be out much at all if you had even just a day to relax."

"Are you saying my business is non-essential?" A twitch of a smirk crossed Azul's lips, trying to steer the subject away. 

"You know that's not what I mean," Al replied, a bit more indignant than Azul would have liked. "I'm saying you are more essential than all the madol in the world. You look utterly exhausted. I had wanted to have you three over for dinner tomorrow but if you're not taking it off, then neither can I." He offered back the stack of sheets, now heavier with disappointment. 

"Well that's not fair." He was pouting now, another tactic with his partner to try getting his way. "I'll be just fine; and once I'm done with my shift tomorrow, the Twins and I can stop by-" 

Albert drew in a breath, trying to reel in his shaking from a scarcely-seen anger. Azul never liked being the source of his human's frustration, and like any other time, it made him feel about as minute as krill. Worse yet was he could pinpoint exactly what he'd said that put him in hot water, once it had passed his lips. If Albert's unique magic hadn't been time manipulation, it might have been being able to sniff out a lie. 'I'll be just fine' was one such lie that he'd grown keen on sussing out. It didn't take the bags under his eyes nor the smell of coffee replacing tea in his cup to see that. 

"No; if I'm coming in tomorrow with you, there won't be time even with an extra hour from me to make dinner. I have to go, though. I need to see what I can make for Yuu and Grim tonight so it's ready by tomorrow."

He disappeared in a blink before resuming time around himself to close the door behind him. Azul deflated back into his chair, his final tasks seeming more daunting without his previous gusto at his sails. 

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Kitchen prepped, drinkware polished, decor placed; the Monstro Lounge was ready to go for Yule. Somehow it felt…hollow as Azul turned in for the night. He periodically checked his phone, but why? Was he expecting Albert to text him? Debating on whether he should send a text? What would he even say? Why was he even worrying about this? It’s not like this dinner plan had to be tomorrow. But then…something roiled in his gut; he hoped it was just the coffee giving him indigestion and not something like guilt. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, so he found it best to curl into bed to at least try sleeping. The sound of waves far above were a familiar, comforting sound, soon carrying him off to sleep.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Part of him hoped that whoever had the gall to demand his attention this late at night had heard his groans. He stumbled towards the door, grumbling a, “Just a moment,” as they knocked again. A thinly veiled look of contempt flashed on Azul’s face before one of confusion took over; Yuu leant into the doorframe, arms crossed and a sharp frown being the only visible part of their face not hidden by ringlets. 

“Ah, Yuu. What can I possibly do for you this very late evening?” He didn’t really care why, but it was always best to at least pretend cordiality to prospective clients.

“I think you know why I’m here.”

“Might it be a contract for your little Grim to at least pass with a C this semester?” At this point, being coy was more of a way to kick back against being awoken. 

“If a contract’ll get you to close shop tomorrow so you three can come over, then I guess-”

“Not possible. As much as I’d like to debate what you even might have as comparable collateral, Tomorrow is too big of an opportunity to miss out on. I know he’s concerned about me, and I’m sure Jade and Floyd’s added nagging is because of him, but he’ll see once everything’s been counted out that the added profits will let us do more extravagant things later. I just need him to be patient.”

“You do know he likes smaller kinda affairs, right? Like, his birthday, remember?”

While yes, he did remember, he also had wanted to keep in mind the preferences of the Twins, who leaned more towards larger types of parties. Yuu shook their head, tossing back their bangs waiting for an answer. They cocked a now visible eyebrow when an answer wouldn’t come, as well as let out a resigned huff. 

“Whatever, Scrooge. Not my relationship, not my dinner plans; just means Grim gets maybe another half a day of leftovers. Don’t be surprised if some Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present or Future show up or something. ‘Night.”

Yuu didn’t give Azul much time to further protest, or ask what a Scrooge or Christmas was before they disappeared into the dark Octavinelle halls. Well, at least they weren’t bugging him anymore and he could go back to bed. The clock ticked, tocked, ticked as his eyelids lost the fight to keep open, finally bringing him to sleep. 

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

Azul had always been a light sleeper, so it only took a faint giggle in his room to jostle him back awake. Accompanying this giggle had been light flaps and squeaks of something airborne and battish. 

“Who’s-!”

He instinctively clamped his sheets to his chin at the sight of a familiar 3rd year floating at the foot of his bed: Lilia. Not in his typical Diasomniac wear, instead, the bat fae donned a similarly colored black and green Feileadh Mor, draping like wings over a festive red leine tunic.

“Ah, good. Lil Ashengrotto’s up~ Get any good sleep yet? Ya look a bit worn out.”

“Mr. Vanrouge, what’re you doing in my room?!”

“Hmm? Nah, I’m the Ghost of Yuletide Past. A little birdie told me you’re in need of a little bit of perspective~ Got a lil time to go on a fieldtrip? ‘Course ya do. C’mon.”

The spirit that only looked like Lilia floated a bit closer, a hand outstretched in invitation. 

“I have to be dreaming. No one’s ever snuck up on me before. This has to be a dream; there’s no other explanation.” His pale blue eyes darted back and forth from the fae’s, erm, spirit’s hand to his face. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep, thank you very much. And I’d appreciate if you locked the door behind you when you go.”

“Well, before you do, since ‘this is a dream’, You wouldn’t have trouble going along with this-?” The Spirit purred, before snatching the Octopus’ wrist, lurching him from his cotton sanctuary. In an instant the entirety of Azul’s room melted away to reveal the dark trenches of the Coral Sea. Not just that, but his human form had reverted to his more cephalopodic one. Oh to not have himself exposed to his upperclassman in such a way. This was turning into an outright nightmare. Seeing his tentacles again drew out a howl of fright, seemingly to the Spirit’s enjoyment. 

“Oh calm down, my fishy lil friend. C’mon, I got something-well someone-to show you~”

Like a marlin, the Lilia-shaped Spirit shot, still clamped to the cecaelia’s arm. Through the sea they swam, darting over cities and shanties alike under the sea. A familiar set of city lights eventually broke through the dark, ones that indicated he was coming home. And home was where they stopped. 

"Wh-what're we doing here? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?" He demanded. 

The Spirit answered with a nudge through the door to a cozy mer home. No decorations had been laid out; most mer either didn’t celebrate Yule, or made not as much an extravagant display as their neighbors on land. Each room sat quiet, of course being the middle of the night, save for one small room, his room. The two floated up towards where soft, almost inaudible sniffling. They poked through the small doorway, finding it equally dark. Along the ceiling hung shells littered with scratches and scrawls, all hanging off of loose strands of net like some conspiracy mobile. Below the shells,  curled in a little black ball of weeping was a much younger Azul. It was a common memory for him, to lay in bed letting out his frustration in tears of ink. Ink that also laid out spells scrawled on the shells above him; testaments to his dedication to becoming better. 

"I don't know why you're showing me this. I know what my past was like, I see these moments everytime I got to sleep."

"Well, I'm not so much showing you just this, but to show what you'd been missing all around you."

The fae-spirit floated back down to where a larger, mauve cecaelia sat at a table, staring down in thought with a much more refined, troubled look. 

"I wish I knew how to help him. Cooking just seems to push him away, now. I can't just demand those children stop. Asking him to ignore them just seems to make them try even harder…."

She held her head, now even heavier with worry. It made Azul's hearts contort into knots. He wasn't surprised his mother wanted to help, but he'd been better for being allowed to figure his problems out on his own. 

"This…doesn't surprise me. If we're done I'd like to 'go back' so I can finally sleep." 

"Fufu, if you insist~"

The spirit once again took Azul by the hand to float back to the surface. His gaze turned back one last time, to see two long figures-eels-staring into his window. For a brief moment, he wondered if the look they seemed to wear was also concern, pity, or something else. They’d been watching him? Why? By the time he tore his gaze back, they had been fast approaching his room. His skin prickled at their speed;  fast, way too fast, he shut his eyes waiting for impact with the floor, only to bounce back onto his bed. 

Dark, quiet, Azul was once again back in his room-albeit with much more disheveled sheets and a singular heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe. He just had to breathe to settle down, give himself a second to collect his thoughts. This had to have just been a dream, or some fae magic he wasn't privy to, yet. The thought that his coffee may have been laced with…whatever Jade had brought back on his last hiking trip, while still concerning seemed a placating possibility. He just had to sleep off the supposed mushrooms and mentally note to have Floyd make the first pot tomorrow, instead. Once his heart rate was back to a more manageable level, did he try attempting to sleep once more. The sooner he could sleep, the sooner he didn’t have to think about the salty moisture dripping from his hair to the pillow, or the notion that his visit was more than a dream.

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

The mer tossed and turned; his bed was becoming way too uncomfortable to lay in. His gaze bore into the ceiling, now awake and irritated. First the bed lost its comfort, and now some growing chatter, clanging and ringing ebbed in from behind his door. Whatever forces were out to deprive him of even a wink of rest, he hoped they’d give up if he somehow could hide under his sheets. It was darker and cozier, anyway.

"Azul, what're you still doing here?! Come on! We got places to be, new horizons to pursue!" 

The shout made the mass under the sheets flail and kick and holler until it finally revealed the other housewarden, once again huffing for air. A quick smooth over his hair and retrieval of his glasses did little to polish up his image, or bury the floundering he’d done just moments ago. 

"Kalim," Azul took a sharp, 'calming' breath. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night, can this wait til morning?"

Standing as open and jovial as ever, was the Prince of The Scalding Sands: Kalim al-Asim. Or, at least, someone that looked like him. Whomever it was, had been dressed in a warm-looking red kafka and band of holly where a turban otherwise would have been.

“Can’t wait-all we got’s the present! More like ‘Ghost of Yuletide Present’, am I right? C’mon! There’s so many cool things going on, still; gotta catch it before it’s gone!” 

This particular ‘dream’ was already beginning to grate on the cecaelia’s nerves. He let loose that sharp breath of his, and defiantly tucked himself back under his sheets. If this was a dream, he’d just wake up from it in a moment and-

“Hey now, you’re gonna miss out on all the food-right guys?” Kalim asked.

Cheers rang out around him, and the waft of exotic spices and cooked meat flooded in with him under his covering. Azul’s gut betrayed any attempt he might have had at protest; it all smelled too good. He flipped off the sheet to be immediately accosted by a harsh breeze. Once his eyes adjusted to the gust he could finally catch sight of the enormous spread laid out along a tablecloth, resting on…the magic carpet? But as his eyes trailed further and further back, and the longer he saw the ornate rug stretch behind them with what seemed like all of Scarabia seated, the closer he came to realize just how high they were up in the air. A chill not caused by the wind ran down his back at the sight. On complete instinct he tangled his lankiness around the young prince for some kind of stability. 

“Get me down, get me down, GETMEDOWN!”

His panicking only seemed to incite another hearty laugh out of the Kalim-shaped apparition. “Hang on, then! Have a bite while we land?” 

This Spectre of Yuletide Present kept his jovial smile on as he rolled an apple down his arm in offering. While Azul did catch it, it was only a moment before resuming his clamp on the spirit for purchase. With a steady anchor, he caught glimpses of the world passing by below him. Any observers below could have seen the persian rug procession and mistaken it for a festive dragon floating through the Yuletide sky. But per request, their magic carpet ride had begun to descend. It wove through headstones and trees, gliding to a hovering halt at the front door of the no-longer Ramshackle Dorm. Oh how he wished it wasn’t here. He hadn’t prepared anything to say, to rebuttal, to offer in apology…

“Awe, that’s kinda disappointing. I thought he’d have done some more decorating. Wonder if he’s done anything inside…”

The Spirit mindlessly took a hold of Azul’s sleeve, leading through the door as if it hadn’t been there, or rather, as if they weren't even there. Inside immediately silenced the laughter and merry-making from the caravan of spectral partiers, but not for replacement with its own festive sounds. 

For a place still rather holey, the fire raging in the main den did a wonderful job in keeping the cold at bay. Its warm light danced across the furniture and garlands of festive colors. Something had clattered away in another room, the kitchen. Whatever was being made smelled wonderful, and again his gut protested being teased with only the scent. He had to know what was being concocted. Azul instead took the lead towards the source of the smell and noise, giving the door a nudge open. 

Inside, Albert had finished washing up before laying protection over a dressed turkey and resting it somehow in the fridge. The smell, though, had been attributed to a tray of cooling ramekins of creme brulee. 

"There. At least it's done and ready to bake. I better put instructions out for Yuu. Maybe they'll invite Malleus' crew over instead of them going out. Are they even here? -sigh- If anything, once it's done tomorrow I can bring some prepped plates over after,” he murmured to no one, as he covered the ramekins and laid them also to rest over the turkey. 

Albert sat, finally done prepping, to begin scribbling down instructions to cook. His brow scrunched once in a while as he thought about something, and as Azul approached, he saw the detail of his instructions. Even Grim had a possibility of being able to follow them. He didn't care at this point whether his partner could see him or not, he just desperately wanted to tell him sorry. He rested a hand to his human's shoulder, but something seemed to come over Al in that instant. The human under him blinked, and immediately fell asleep, but only for a moment before jerking back awake. Azul had seen it happen before: micro-sleep. It meant that this wasn't the first night he'd spent sleeplessly. 

Al just rattled, frustrated again and rubbing at already red, raw eyes before thrusting out of the chair to find something-anything-to wake himself up. Squats, stretching his crackling back, checking his phone, he settled eventually to pace across the lounge. Azul merely followed with the Spirit behind, now, watching him make lap after lap. Certain spots were not tread on, which made Azul assume they must have been creaky boards. Eventually even that wore out its effect on his wakefulness, landing him on the sofa. From there his attempts to keep himself awake began to falter. A weak rub against his legs, running hands through his hair; eventually he just seemed too tired to even do that. He gave one last glance back to the doorway, the one Azul and the Yuletide Ghost took up, and for a moment the mer wondered if he had actually been seen. And with it, Albert eventually succumbed to slumber.

Azul curled his arms into himself, knowing that peaceful look on his partner’s face was only temporary. 

“Take me back.” Azul demanded. He wasn’t going to just sit there and let this dream make him watch his partner wrestle awake from his own nightmare, especially if there was nothing he could do about it.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” The spirit said, but sounded much older, more mature, than the one Kalim he knew. 

Azul turned to see why, only to find a much older, wizened Kalim curled in on himself with age. It gave him a start, but reminded himself it was all just a dream. The old spirit led back out to the carpet and banquet. Upon coming back to view, the patrons, food and merriment all but dissolved into sand, only to blow away with the winter wind. He didn’t know why he looked back to the now even older Kalim for some explanation, but his query must have been easy to read on his face. 

“Sorry to cut things so short, but that’s the present for ya. Sooner or later the future just becomes ‘now’, and then even that’s gone. Ya might wanna hurry back if you don’t wanna catch your-” The spirit’s words faded away as his form did, too, disappearing into blowing sand. 

Now alone, there was no option in this supposed dream other than to get back to Octavinelle and hope he’d wake up this time. It seemed as if the wind had it out for him, what with it blowing directly against him. He could hardly see anything, let alone the open grave so haphazardly laid just off the path. One moment his foot hit solid snowy ground, the next: open air. 

Down, down, down he fell; roots flew by too fast to grab, and nothing else offered itself as some form of ledge. His eyes closed, he didn't want to see the bottom come up to greet him, or how long it would take for it to do so. This seemed to be the end, if not to this dream, then more regrettably, his whole life.

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

But a worn sofa ended up being his landing pad, not frozen grave dirt. Azul painfully bounced on the cushions before finally coming to rest. He clamped onto the seat to give his heart a chance to come down out of his throat. Once he finally had a chance to process the danger having passed, could he get stock of his new environment. Not a grave, but a living room, equipped with Ignihyde-blue accenting from the TV, coffee table, and sofa itself. 

"Greetings, Foolish Mortal, hehe" a voice hissed behind him. 

Azul whipped around to find a pale face behind a simple dark hood, famed by shoulders trembling with giggles. He seemed more 'Dungeon Master' than 'Spectre of the dreaded future'.

"I-Idia?" Great, the dream wasn't over yet, it seemed. 

The hooded figure eeped, "N-no! -ahem- I'm:

'死の恐怖: ユールタイドの未来の亡霊~!'"

A blue blush flooded the hooded spirit's face; he seemed to have practiced rather hard on the execution of both the pronunciation and pose he flexed stiffly into. All of it in vain against a very unamused octopus' scrutiny. 

"-sigh- Th-The Ghost of Yuletide Future," he clarified. "OK ok, look: let's just get this over with. Here ya go," the spirit moaned with a lazy plop of a controller into Azul's hands. "Also, in case ya get any ideas~"

Azul let out a groan of protest, making the controller groan in turn with his octopod grip. The Idia-shaped ghost flipped the television on before the octomer got any ideas about up and leaving. On the screen flashed an ornate purple script, 'Azul: The Game'. Underneath were the only options to check the control scheme and Continue. With no other choice, he pressed to continue. A quick chime and he was off.

The graphics were very well rendered, it was almost eerie. His first-person perspective let him maneuver through a house he didn't recognize. He thought the decor was quite tasteful, something he could imagine a future home of his own being decorated like. A photo on the nightstand of himself between Albert and Jade caught his eye-they all looked still rather young. A series of frames lined a wall with his now-larger collection of coins; Jade let his terrariums fill space on shelves all over. His perusing led him down the hall, finding it also modestly decked with distinctly individual tastes that somehow came together nicely. The den had, of course, a piano he'd recognized as Albert’s family's own. A small dining table took up the space across from the den, on which neatly piled papers were beginning to skew and a starched, rendered Jade. The model had been filling out papers when the option to allow Azul to interact appeared. 

"What a time to go, Dear. Hardly a wonder Albert disdains this part of the year. It's getting late; he's probably off shift by now."

Jade wrenched himself from his seat, leaving the unreadable paper alongside a newspaper clipping. Hovering over it allowed him to interact with that, too. The script of the image flashing on the screen only offered a picture and the beginning of an obituary. 

"Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto, 30, of Altus, Shaftlands, died suddenly December 18th due to heart complications. The young restaurateur had established……"

"What?! No, that's not fair! I'm right here!" Azul about chucked the controller in defiance of what the screen had read. "So then, am I controlling my ghost? Someone else?"

"That's the neat thing about this game: it doesn't tell you," the spirit of Yuletide Future smirked. "What do you think you're seeing right now? Good ending? Bad ending? True ending? Only the devs know."

>Stay Here

This was such an 'Idia' answer. Azul went back to steering the camera towards the door, to follow Jade. The options when touching the door only offered:

>Follow Jade

So much for options. Taking the only logical path, he was greeted with a momentary loading screen. Out of the dark screen came a serene, but no less chilling sight. A cemetery blanketed in white, noiseless in its crystalline batting. Headstones stood straight and proud, cockeyed and crumbling, or simply hid much like the bodies they marked below them. Simulated snow crunched under his perspective’s non-existent feet as he trekked along the path. Where was Jade, though? Tire tracks weren’t of much help, plenty of vehicles seemed to have come by recently. A hushed voice could be heard, but it was difficult to follow. 

“Sorry, I know you would have wanted to have the Lounge open today, but…I just can’t. It all just makes me think of you. I keep thinking I hear you, and I know it’s not. I should have led a better example-maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Once again, he could hear Albert’s voice. Closer and closer he came, the white ground making way for kicked up dirt and packed snow. Azul had finally come face to face with it: a plot of freshly dug dirt now packed back into place, and a modest headstone with room for two more names. Albert had been kneeling next to it talking to, assumedly, the contents of the grave. His face had been flushed red, raw with grief and the biting cold. This was only a game, but by the Seven, he just wanted to reach out and hold him, tell him he was right there. All Azul could do was position the camera down, to try prompting an interaction. Pressing the button to react, sent things into a cutscene. His hands reached out to hold his partner’s face, who seemed to react to his voice.

"Albert, I'm here. Please-I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

It only made him withdraw further in to try containing more sobs. A car squeaked to a halt on the path further off, revealing Jade. The rendered figure strode over to rest his own arms around their simulated human. Game or not, he didn't want any of this to happen; he didn't want to die so young, he didn't want to be cried over…His frustration made the controller creak with the pressure he'd put on it. He felt so helpless as his character just sat there as the credits began to roll and his partners began to walk away. 

"That's. NOT. Fair!" His fists beat on the coffee table, punctuating his words. "I did everything right! There has to be something…" He began pacing, wracking a quickly frazzling mind for some solution.

"You ought to slow down, you'll work yourself to death. Heh, 'work yourself to death', PFFF," the spirit mumbled, seeming to be enjoying Azul's squirming. 

"What?! I'll show you!" 

Azul whipped back at the ghost with a fist reeled back. But as he turned to sock him, what greeted him wasn't some Ghost of Future Yuletide. A skull, jagged in tooth and wreathed in blue flame, stared back. It made no indication of pain as the momentum carried Azul's fist into its jaw. The sight of it sent a frigid chill down his back. It began to advance closer, a hand now stretching out to grab him. Each step the blue-clad pile of bones made, Azul would take one back. It came a hair away from touching his cheek, if it weren't for the coffee table knocking into his legs and tripping him backwards into it. 

His teetering sent him slamming onto the table, breaking it open, and once again sending him back down down down into darkness. His descent had been much quicker; cold hard wood bashed up against his back before more planks began to surround his front. Trapped. Dark, cold and alone, this would have been a comforting place similar to his octopot, if it weren't for the coffin shape surrounding him along with the smell of 6 feet of dirt on top. All that came out were screams, pleas and knocks from within the box. He beat against his confines for however long, his tears all but dried up. Before his exhaustion won out, he weakly pressed his face against the lid, some kind of last plea for release. But the lid hadn't felt like the rotted wood he'd been pummeling, but cool white tile. 

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

Cool white tile that only Octavinelle's dorms had. Azul’s eyes fluttered open once more to find himself facing the floor. His back arched uncomfortably, legs hung over the side of the bed, and every sheet had been utterly rumpled. While it was uncomfortable, he didn't consider moving until his eyes had fully registered where he was, on some off chance shifting might send him back to where he was. But, when all seemed calm, did he finally chance to peel himself off the floor. 

Stretch, lean, shake off the nightmarish remnants of sleep. He flopped back onto the bed, he wanted to re-register the sensation of his sheets, the tile, his nightwear. As he recognized each texture, and giving his heart a chance to slow, a knock came at the door. The knock was only a courtesy as, quickly after, the door burst open with Floyd dashing in. The eel must have been quick about waking and entering, what with his disheveled hair and pj's. 

"What's up? Where're they? Who needs a squeeze? Eh? Azul, you okay?" Floyd demanded.

"We heard quite the commotion coming from your room and wanted to see what all the fuss-omph!"

Before Jade could finish, their boss hand wrangled the both of them into a tight hug. 

"That must have been quite the nightmare," Jade finished with a quiet hum of amusement. He smoothed over his partner's hair, relishing his affection being leaned into. 

"Yes-yes it was. What time is it?" He soon withdrew to better compose himself. 

"It's like…a lil after 6.00, why? What're ya missing?" Floyd asked. His face drooped a little as his partner retreated.

"Then he might not be here yet. I still have time. We need to hurry and get to Pentergeist, quick. There's a few things I still need to bring, I need dressed…"

His scattered organizing was interrupted by Floyd’s sigh, "On top of opening the Lounge?  Ehhhhh~ isn't he comin' over anyways?"

"Exactly why we have to hurry. We have to catch him before he gets over. Well? Go on, get ready."

Floyd groaned, reluctantly turning back to go change. But, his face immediately began to light up at the note Azul wagged in the air as he plodded towards the Lounge. 

Anyone attempting to enter the Monstro Lounge would, instead of being greeted by eels, be greeted with a notice in a handwritten notice tacked to the door:

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

"The Monstro Lounge will be closed on Yuletide, due to unforeseen circumstances. Business will resume regular hours 12/26. We apologize for the inconvenience. 

-A. Ashengrotto"

Albert had a rather long night, prepping what was supposed to be a Yuletide meal for his partners and more to send off with Yuu as salvage for whatever they were met with when attending Malleus and company’s dinner invitation. The same nightmare that had plagued him for close to two years now had made its presence once again. But instead of being startled back awake from its familiar events, a knock jostled him from sleep. He almost forgot about his journey to the couch, now a bit thankful that he was closer to the door. But he wasn't expecting company. More over, looking at the clock showed he needed to hurry so he could make it to help opening the restaurant. 

"Just a moment!" He called. 

Al creaked for the door, both from the floorboards as well as his own chilled joints. Whoever was at the door, he hoped it was quick so he could-

"Happy Yule, Dear," Azul declared. His presence only received a confused look in response. 

"Oh, sorry. I must have overslept, if you're coming to get me. Give me a moment, I'll-"

Albert wasn't able to finish, immediately being swept into another of Floyd's squeezes. Both twins erupted into peals of laughter, most in part from their human's even more confused expression.

"You're not goin' anywhere, Kajiki~"

"And neither am I," Azul added. 

"I-I don't understand. Don't we have the Lounge to open?" Al asked. 

"It seems Azul has had a change of heart since last night. I'm a bit curious as well what's come over him. Not to say I'm complaining," Jade noted. 

Once Floyd came to release his human, Azul took to swooping in, grasping at him desperately close as if he'd disappear. Nothing mattered in that moment but the real, waking tangibleness in his arms. With just the twins to watch, he felt no shame holding Albert to take in everything from the bristle of his hair, to the faint wood smoke smell on him, to the subtle beat of his heart in time with his own. Al was more than happy to reciprocate, just content to bask in the moment. 

"So then…?"

"Yes. We're having today off. I'm so sorry for just dismissing you like that. I've…come to realize how much you just want to look out for my health. Just know I plan on doing the same for you. All of you," Azul sighed.

"Eh? Is Azul gettin' all sappy now?" Floyd teased, poking at his cheek. 

"No! I'm just stating my new year's resolutions early!"

"In any case," Jade interrupted, "while we are cold-blooded, it is dreadfully chill out. Won't our Gracious Host offer us inside?" 

"Of course," Al smiled. 

Everyone gathered in the modest little kitchen to begin their dinner prep. Drinks were passed, snacks chewed through like the logs on the fire, and a very specific set of cooking instructions Azul would ignore, having seen them once before. He had to feign surprise at the small custard desserts, but found himself anticipating them all the same. Everything slowly came together in the freshly renovated dining hall, when a knock rang out. 

"Happy Yule~ Little Yuu here invited Malleus over. They also seemed to extend the offer to the rest of us; might we come in? If I'd have known sooner, I could have made a better cake, but I think this'll work in a pinch," Lilia announced. Yuu took up the rear of the procession of human and fae. A quick glance towards Azul, they gave both a surprised but welcoming smirk. 

Before long, the table had finally been set, drinks passed and everyone sat down. Good thing, it seemed, as Grim had been getting antsy and taking chances to sneak a bite before the rest. Yuu took Grim into their lap as everyone else but Azul seated. 

"I'd like to thank everyone for being here today. I understand it's a busy part of the year for everyone, but we come together like this…to give ourselves a chance to slow down." It was a bit difficult for Azul to keep himself composed. "While yes we have to work the rest of the year, time is a more precious commodity than anything. So we have to spend and invest it wisely. Thank you."

To that, everyone raised their glass in agreement. 

"A Merry Yuletide, everybody!" Grim hollered. 

#bunnwich winter event 2022 #twst writing #twst fanfic #oc x azul #azul ashengrotto x oc #octavinelle #octavinelle x oc #yuu x malleus #albert eastwind #eugenio hernandez #floyd leech #jade leech #malleus draconia #idia shroud #lilia vanrouge #kalim al asim

[fuck-customers]

Yesterday (2/7) I submitted something about my paycheck being late. Well, update: It is now 2/8 and I have not been paid. Usually what happens is I get my pay stub emailed to me on Monday (I get paid every other week), and my paycheck is directly deposited into my bank account by Tuesday morning.

This week, however, my pay stub did not arrive on Monday, and I kind of had a bad feeling about things already but I figured maybe my paycheck would still hit on time. Nope! Tuesday dawned and no paycheck. Which was frustrating because I had plans to go grocery shopping and get a haircut, and I couldn't do those things without my paycheck, but as I mentioned in my other ask, my paycheck is sometimes delayed by a day if the banks are closed on Monday for some kind of holiday (not that there was one this week, but I was still hopeful).

Today, Wednesday, was my anniversary with my partner, and we had plans to go shopping together, but when I woke up and checked my bank account, no paycheck. I did, however, finally have my pay stub in my email. I messaged my managers to (politely) ask what the fuck was going on, and the owner replied "There was a delay. It was my fault. It should be deposited tomorrow. I’m very sorry."

Like, it's nice that you're sorry, I guess, but a heads-up would have been appreciated! One of the other managers mentioned that she also had a delayed paycheck, so I know I'm not the only one, but no one bothered to send out any kind of text/email/message to give us a warning about the problem. 😡

This isn't the first time I've had issues getting my paycheck, which I've complained about on this blog before, and honestly if I thought I had any better job prospects I would have left ages ago. I wish I was close enough with my coworkers to start talks about unionizing, but given that I'm literally always scheduled alone (I work in a small store so one person can technically run it by themselves but imho it would be better with two) and I'm not very good at socializing to begin with, I don't see that happening anytime soon. Fuck managers, get your shit together or at least give us some warning when you fuck up.

My company did that to us a few times in the mid 90′s. And that was when they still had stores in 14 states and just bought another chain and gained 3 more states. And not one word was said. All of us just kept harassing the manager to get paid. The longest was a week and we got two checks at once. Then they pulled the BS of changing payday from Tuesday to Thursday without a word. Then Tues again then Thurs. Then Tues again and it’s been that for about 25 years solid now. But I really don’t put it past them to pull this BS again. This is the company that remodeled about 1/3 of the stores then declared bankruptcy so they didn’t have to pay for it and closed the stores that didn’t get the remodel.  

-Rodney

[terrm9]

All The World Seems At Ease Tonight

a.k.a. Christmas Fic

Three years of Christmas Eve for Ethan and Chiara.

Warnings: some kissing, some cliché like mistletoes, mutual pining in the first part, other than that just fluff fluff fluff

Words count: 4 300

Author’s note: Here we are, in times when Valentine’s Day fics are being posted, I finished my Christmas Fic. Yay! It was supposed to be made of three equally long parts but I went crazy with the first one (it was my first time writing about Book One and I just truly enjoyed it). However, I hope you enjoy <3

Intern Year

It took longer for Ethan to finally walk the deserted corridor than he expected, but he decided to work on Christmas Eve for a reason – as he did every year – and checking on patients had to be the main priority. Of course it had to.

Yet, his steps carried him more swiftly than usually and he could feel his forehead ache from the constant concerned furrow of his brows. Naveen was feeling especially unwell these past two days and Ethan hated the idea of his older friend left alone and in pain on the day he loved that much.

Not that Ethan understood. Christmas, as every other holidays made no sense to him and if it was up to him, the whole nonsense would be erased and never celebrated again. But Naveen loved the festivities and the ‚merry spirit‘ of them, and so Ethan tried his hardest to keep him company for as long as he could.

Crossing the corridor enough to see the door of Naveen’s room, Ethan’s heart jumped in his chest as he noticed that they were slightly ajar.

Damn the man if he tried to take a walk.

Opening the door to the room fully, a soft breath of relief left Ethan at the sight of Naveen peacefully laying in his bed, his eyes closed but a gentle smile formed on his lips.

And he was not alone.

Ethan’s breath hitched in his throat again.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, he just kept standing in the doorway, devoured by the scene in front of him.

Chiara was sitting at one of the chairs next to Naveen’s bed, her back turned to the door and a small book in her hand.

And she was reading aloud.

„In fact I have no other choice

than, being alive, to live.

And every day,

into its every moment,

I lead this highly destructible body.

And if hope morse-signals: life

while hopelessness outruns possible death,

my decision is made -

I side with hope.

You can find me anytime

near its hidden paths.

Talking or silent.

I guard the human dream.

And I hold out

where I stand.“

Ethan’s throat tightened and he thanked the universe for the fact that the two doctors – the two doctors that meant so much to him – haven’t yet noticed his presence.

He was not sure what exactly made him feel the emotions currently filling his mind, and he could easily blame it on the merry spirit of Christmas, had he believed in it.

Maybe it was the melody of Chiara’s voice as she read the poem, so soft and gentle and beautiful. Or maybe it was a sight of Naveen, sick and weak and dying and yet looking so peaceful.

Perhaps it was the combination of both, the woman that captured his mind more often than he was willing to admit and the man that was like a father to him, spending time together in a perfect harmony, the air around them so serene it made Ethan wonder if his interruption would even be a welcome one.

„This one was my favorite,“ Naveen spoke into the silence, although he didn’t open his eyes.

„You said that after I finished the one before,“ Chiara chuckled softly, closing the book in her hands.

It was a miracle – not that Ethan believed in those – that Naveen managed to laugh at Chiara’s reponse without coughing. They looked almost... normal. As if his life was not ending anytime soon.

„It truly is a pity that there are only so few of his poems translated to English.“

„When you get through this,“ Chiara replied and Ethan hated that he could hear the sad smile in her words, despite not seeing her face at all. He had no right to know her that well. „You should learn the language and translate all of his poems.“

Naveen only hummed in a response, letting them both believe for a blissful moment that he would get through it.

It was the time for Ethan to make them aware of his presence. He coughed politely and stepped inside, doing his best to maintain a stoic mask on his face.

„Ethan!“ Naveen smiled brightly, just as brightly as Chiara did when she noticed Ethan, and for a moment it was easy to forget who they were, where they were.

„What are you doing here, Dr. Ray?“ Ethan asked instead of greeting and almost immediately winced at the choice of his words, knowing that he sounded rather rude.

When truly, he was simply surprised. He was not aware of Chiara working today.

„I am sorry, Dr. Ramsey,“ her bright smile turned into somehow sheepish one and she put the book on her chest, as if it could serve as a shield protecting her from Ethan’s inevitable anger. „All my patients are stable so I stopped by to keep Dr. Banerji company, at least for a while.“

„And what a pleasing company it was!“ Naveen exclaimed, shooting Ethan a reprimanding look, obviously not pleased by his behavior. „Are you finished with your tradition?“

Ethan tensed visibly and only gave away a stiff nod, the last thing he wished to share the tradition with the younger doctor.

„The... tradition?“ Chiara dared to ask despite his less than kind reaction. „I didn’t take you as someone with Christmas traditions.“

„I am not,“ Ethan spoke flatly, sitting on the chair on the other side of Naveen’s bed.

There were seconds of rather awkward silence between them before Chiara stated that she would leave them alone, wished Naveen Merry Christmas while hugging him and left the room.

It was as if warmth of the air went with her.

It didn’t take long for Naveen to chew Ethan out for how he behaved to Chiara – and Ethan noticed the affection, the gentleness lacing Chiara’s name as Naveen said it. He was right, of course. Ethan was hard for no reason and he wasn’t proud of himself, but what was he supposed to do? Ever since getting back from Miami, it was becoming more and more difficult to control his actions with her.

But Naveen was right. He had no right and he should make it all better.

And so after Naveen made it clear he would like to sleep, Ethan checked the schedule to make sure none of Chiara’s friends were working and then with a bated breath clicked on Chiara’s contact.

E: Where are you?

The reply came almost immediately, a sign that there was not emergency – which Ethan wasn’t sure he considered a good sign or not.

C: The on-call room. Why?

It didn’t really make sense to Chiara, why was Ethan texting her, him of all people. If there was an emergency, he could have easily paged her.

The answer to her question came quickly.

E: I am about to grab some take-out. I was wondering if you would care to join me in my office to share a meal.

Saying that Chiara gasped would be an understatement. She had to blink twice to make sure she was not missing a message stating that he sent it to the wrong number. But no.

C: Are you inviting me over for a Christmas dinner?

E: Do not be ridiculous. Do you like Italian kitchen?

C: Sure.

E: 9 PM, my office, then.

And then nothing. Chiara was almost absolutely sure that she was dreaming, because there was no way the same Dr. Ramsey that has been avoiding her ever since the conference would be inviting her for a – definitely Christmas – dinner.

But free food is free food and she would be lying if she said she wouldn’t welcome a distraction. No matter how hard she tried to stay positive, she missed her family terribly today.

And Ethan was a rather pleasant distraction after all.

 At 10 PM, with her risotto eaten, a paper cup filled with an apple juice – the best option for a toast for them -  she managed to get in the cafateria in her hand, Chiara found herself sitting comfortably at the leather couch in Ethan’s office, one of her leg crossed over the another, her white coat shrugged off and hanging over the arm of the couch.

It surprised her to see Ethan next to her, looking almost equally relaxed. One of his arms was draped over the back of the couch and Chiara could feel the warmth radiating from the skin of his hand, on her neck.

"So... is there a point in asking you about the tradition Dr. Banerji mentioned?" Chiara asked after finishing her drink, mischievous sparks dancing in her irises.

"No," Ethan replied immediately, although his voice wasn't nearly as stern as he wanted it to be. The right corner of his mouth twitched slightly, Chiara noticed, as if her question amused him.

Ethan wanted to share it with her, he almost let it slip, but he made a promise in Miami - to her or rather to himself, he didn't know - and damn him if he didn't keep that promise.

Professionals.

That's all they should, all they could, be.

And as if to prove himself wrong in the very next moment, he spoke again, asking a question that professionals shouldn’t want to ask.

"Are you going to share your reason for not visiting your family over Christmas?"

Chiara shrugged, her smile not quite faltering but losing some of its brightness.

He didn’t mean to pry, but he was curious. Chiara mentioned home and family fairly often and back in Miami, he could hear her on the phone with her mother – and it was exactly the kind of call a child and a parent that love each other share.

He found it only logical that Chiara would want to spend Christmas in San Francisco.

“I am not sure I would get that many free days as an intern.”

“All your friends have gotten three free days, so would you. It is not much, but it enough to take a quick trip to San Francisco.”

She laughed softly, her gaze strained with the thought or memories, Ethan didn’t know.

“We don’t celebrate Christmas at home since…” she stopped herself and cleared her throat and it didn’t take a diagnostician to see that she was looking for a way to tell Ethan enough without telling him the whole truth.

“It has been six years since we celebrated in San Francisco. For these last years, me, my mom and my sister travel abroad at the time of Christmas. This year, they are in Singapore,” she chuckled and turned to Ethan, a smile on her face wide, however her gaze still lost in the haze. “I am sure three days wouldn’t be enough for a quick trip to Singapore.”

Ethan laughed shortly at that and shook his head, no that would not, and he fought the urge to ask more, to get to know her more, to tell her about his mother, because professionals.

That is why Chiara hasn’t asked him back, why are you working today?, because he made it clear he wanted to keep things professional and she was not brave enough to push him again.

“I would want to stay in Boston anyway,” she added after a while, looking away again and she was biting her lips nervously.

Ethan didn’t want her to be nervous around him but damn, her teeth sinking into her lower lip and her cheeks flushed slightly and it took the last remnants of his strength to repeat the word in his head, professional, professional, professional.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well I knew that Dr. Banerji would be here and I thought it would be nice to spend some time with him. And I didn’t know if you would be here so,…”

She trailed off, not knowing what else to say and when she turned to Ethan, it surprised her to see how close he has gotten, his whole upper body slouching to her and his face so close she could feel his breath on her face.

And it would be easy to believe that he was only listening intently, that was the reason of his sudden proximity, it would be right to believe so, but Chiara was anything but stupid.

“Ethan,” she exhaled quietly and noticed how his pupils dilated at the sound of his name rolling off her lips.

She raised her hand and rested it on his cheek slowly, waiting for his reaction.

And in that moment, there were many words swirling through Ethan’s mind but professionals was not one of them.

He leaned closer, so close his lips brushed Chiara’s ever so softly and-

-and her pager went off.

Chiara stood up abruptly and took the pager out of her pocket.

“I guess that’s my call,” she smiled and it didn’t go unnoticed by Ethan that she sounded out of breath, that his effect on her was as strong as hers on him and he cursed himself for letting the damn word slip out of his mind.

He also cursed himself for not kissing her earlier, so that he could feel her lips fully before the pager went off.

“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” Chiara smiled at him for the last time and left the office before he could respond.

And Ethan thought that if he could celebrate the Christmas like this, with her, every years, maybe the holiday wouldn’t need to be erased.

 Second Year

“So you already finished this tradition of yours today?” Chiara asked with that sweet, innocent smile on her lips as she stood between Ethan’s legs as he kept sitting on his chair, gently removing his glasses.

Only then she kissed the bridge of his nose softly, caressing his cheek with such care it almost didn’t make sense to Ethan.

“Yes,” he smiled back at her, enjoying their position and the fact that for once, Chiara was above his eye level and he had to raise his head to meet her gaze.

“And you are not going to tell me what it is?”

“No,” now it was Ethan’s turn to smile all-too-innocently and he knew Chiara was burning with curiosity.

He wouldn’t mind telling her now, but he would lie if he said that he was not enjoying seeing his Chiara, usually so composed and calm, freaking out about his secret Christmas tradition.

She leaned down to capture his lips and Ethan wondered if that was a part of her plan because if she’d continue to roll her tongue like that, he would tell her everything she would wish to hear.

And she knew that.

Ethan grabbed the back of her thighs, making her stumble slightly and sit in his lap and soon their kiss turned into proper make out session, his hands roaming her bare torso hungrily while her hands tugged on his hair, leaving them in the disheveled state she adored so much.

Before their Christmas evening could turn into the gala’s sequel – the memory still fresh in Ethan’s mind – Chiara pulled out with a reluctant sigh.

“My mom and Alicia told me to say Merry Christmas from them to you.”

Ethan nodded in thanks, however he couldn’t contain a sigh leaving him. He knew Chiara missed her family.

“Do you regret staying here instead of going with them?”

“Are you crazy?” Chiara laughed and unlike last year, Ethan remembered, her laugh was sincere and full of joy. “I am cold enough here in Boston. I wouldn’t wish to freeze to death in freakin’ Iceland.”

Not able to stop himself from rolling his eyes, Ethan let out a soft laugh too, however he had to agree with Chiara – the woman was cold all the time. He couldn’t imagine her hitchhiking through Iceland – a trip that evolved from what Chiara called ‘her mom’s middle age crisis’ idea’.

“And again, with the time off I took after the senator’s attack and Edenbrook’s closing, I wouldn’t be able to leave for three weeks.”

“You know I would sign off your vacation, three weeks or not,” Ethan mumbled into her neck.

Chiara smacked his arm lightly, an amused grin on her lips.

“And that, Dr. Ramsey, is not at all professional.”

Ethan wanted to argue that he could think of many not at all professional activities that happened in this very office, but sometimes not reminding himself of his terrible failure at staying colleagues was for the best.

Not that this relationship was by any means a failure. Letting himself fail his principles for once in his life turned out to be the best decision he has ever made.

“I knew you would be working,” Chiara added much more seriously and she was, of course, right. There were reasons Ethan was dedicated to work every Christmas Eve, reasons he never talked about but were enough for him to not to break the habit.

“And you would rather spend your Christmas at work with me, than in Europe with your family?”

“Yes,” Chiara stated simply, not a single hint of doubt in her voice. None.

Who knows how much longer we are going to work in this hospital together, she thought but didn’t say it aloud, not wanting to ruin the bright mood.

Checking his watch, Ethan gestured at Chiara to stand up and followed her in her tracks, trying his best to tame the mess his hair has become.

“I am going to pick up the food. Are you going to join me?”

“Nope, I still need to check on some patients. I will accompany you to the nurses’ station.”

They left the office together and Ethan still couldn’t quite comprehend this new reality for them, the life where they walked the corridor freely next to each other, Ethan’s hand put on Chiara’s lower back gently, and he didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing them.

“Dr. Ray, Dr. Ramsey,” Marlene smiled at them from the desk and noticing Ethan’s relaxed shoulders, she dared to go on. “Didn’t you want to spend your Christmas outside of the work?”

Chiara shrugged and smiled widely, not giving Ethan a chance to ruin Marlene’s mood by his sour response – it didn’t matter how relaxed he was, he couldn’t stand people asking him personal questions.

“We like to work. Someone has to do it even today, right?” she smiled at the nurse.

“Maybe you could engage at least in some form of Christmas cheer, hm?” Marlene gestured at the green adornment above their heads and Chiara couldn’t contain her smirk when she noticed what it was.

Mistletoe.

“Absolutely not,” Ethan stated, his arms crossed at his chest. “We are at work. I will not fuel rumors by indulging in such public display of physical affection.”

Chiara raised an eyebrow at him and Ethan was not sure if she was trying to remind him that the office’s walls were still made out of glass and therefore their earlier escapades could be very well considered a public display of physical affection, had anyone come by, or-

“Ah,” Marlene laughed loudly. “You didn’t mind to fuel those rumors at the gala not even three weeks ago, Dr. Ramsey.”

Ethan’s cheeks flushed brightly but it was clear at the moment that those two women would not let him leave that easily.

Sighing reluctantly, he planted a quick – yet gentle – kiss at Chiara’s cheek and muttering ‘food’ left the corridor.

“What are you doing to the poor man, Dr. Ray,” Marlene whispered as she watched his retreating form, winking at the young redhead she came to like very much.

 Third Year

It seemed like it would become their very own tradition, to share their Christmas dinner behind the walls of Ethan’s office.

Chiara was extremely tempted to join her mother and Alicia this year – after all, it is at least warm on Mauritius and Chiara deperately wished to feel warm for a while. But with Leland not that approving of her relationship with Ethan – with her boss, as he reminded them – she wouldn’t dare to ask him for two weeks of vacation.

And maybe she was secretly thankful that he made that decision for her – she missed her family, but she couldn’t imagine sending Ethan beach pictures while he would be working. And she knew he would be working.

It took her by surprise, by the most beautiful surprise, when Ethan asked her if she wouldn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in San Francisco – there was no doubt they would get three or four days off for that – and that he would accompany her, if she would like that.

Only then she found out he exchanged messages with her mother rather regularly and they came up with the idea together, actually.

And so there she was – walking down the long corridor of renewed Bloom Edenbrook’s hospital, a patient chart in one of her hands and a Christmas card she got from one of the patient in the other. Chiara only needed to drop the charts off at the nurses’s station and she was free to enjoy her take-out with Ethan for as long as their pagers would remain silent.

After checking everything twice and making sure she wasn’t needed anywhere, she stepped into the office, smiling at the sight of a single candle glowing in the middle of Ethan’s desk – maybe the idea of this truly being a Christmas dinner was finally getting on him.

„Before we start,“ Chiara spoke first, taking a seat next to Ethan on a couch. „I saw you leaving a paediatrics wing today and I know you have no patient there. Is that your tradition?“

She normally wouldn’t really care about Ethan being somwhere weird, but this was their third Christmas together and there were many, many attempts on Chiara’s side to get the information out of Ethan through the years, only for him to resist.

And it was beginning to be ridiculous.

„Yes,“ Ethan rolled his eyes but he didn’t really seem anyhow bothered. He hugged Chiara’s waist and put a lingering kiss on her temple, her smell intoxicating him even after years of knowing it. Knowing Chiara.

„So what exactly is it what you do there?“

„I read books to the kids that have to stay here and are alone. I am not dressed as Santa,“ he added quickly, noticing Chiara’s curious eyes. „I just come there, bring some books with me, read them for as long as I can. It’s not much, but...“

Chiara turned to him fully now and whispered: „It is more than much,“ before kissing him softly, pouring all the love she felt into the simple act of their lips meeting eagerly.

And she still wondered, how was it that it was her, that she was the privileged one to see this side of Ethan Ramsey, the side that reads book to sick kids and hugs overwhelmed mothers and buys a candle because he knows his girlfriend loves candles on the Christmas table.

„Didn’t you want to spend this Christmas with Alan?“ Chiara asked between the kisses, genuinely curious – the relationship between two Ramsey men was finally good, after all.

„He knows I will come tomorrow. I wanted to work today.“

„You... wanted to work?“ Chiara leaned back and shot him a confused stare.

She knew that it was Ethan’s habit to work on Christmas Eve, but it never occured to her that it was something he truly wanted.

Ethan leaned into the back of the couch, exhaling slowly before responding.

„I never had anyone waiting for me at home on Christmas. And I made sure, every year, that I would be working on Christmas Eve, because me working meant someone else being able to go home. When I work, it might guarantee another doctor to spend his evening with his family, his kids.“

There was a mix of emotions in Ethan’s eyes, even if his voice was steady – a gentlesness mixed with pain and perhaps even anger.

„I believe that parents should be home for Christmas. I am aware of our job being demanding, but no child should feel left behind because their parents have important job. If there is only one of the fellow doctors that is able to play board games with his kids now because I am here – we are here – working, then yes, I want to work.“

He propped his head on the back and closed his eyes for a while and it stunned Chiara how peaceful he looked, how content. She squeezed his hand, however before she could say anything, Ethan spoke again.

„Until that is something we have, I am more than happy to spend my Christmas Eve’s here with a take-out and you.“

It seemed like he didn’t even realize what he just said, his position, his expression not changed.

But Chiara noticed.

Until that is something we have.

They never really talked about family. Future. They loved each other, there were no doubts about that, and they enjoyed planning the upcoming months of their lives. Chiara knew she wanted to spend her life with Ethan. And deep down she knew that he felt the same – that they didn’t go through that much for him to just let her go.

But the statement left her speechless nonetheless.

It wasn’t even that much about him saying that there might be an option for a family in his future – Ethan changed a lot after all.

It was the way he said, with such easiness, such certainity, without a single doubt, until that is somethig we have.

We. Us.

It was his third Christmas with Chiara and Ethan knew that if it hadn’t been for her, he would still wish to erase Christmas from the existence of an universe.

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #christmas fic #chiara ray

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

Mistletoe and Pining

@hrmdream Ho Ho Ho, it is I your Secret Santa! The Barden elves and I have been hard at work in the workshop to bring you your Christmas gift and we’re very excited for you to read it! Have the best holiday period, and I hope you enjoy your present!

Mistletoe and Pining

Rating: G

Words: 6.6k

Pairings: Bechloe

Summary: When Chloe panics and tells her mother that she's dating Beca so that she doesn't set her up on yet another disastrous Christmas date, both women have to try and navigate the holiday whilst harbouring their own feelings.

Read on AO3!

Chloe paced the floor of the studio apartment, running her hand through her hair, biting her lip. Why had she done this? This was perhaps the single most stupid thing she had ever done. There was no way Beca would agree to this. Oh god. What the hell was she going to do?

“Yo, dude, I got the groceries we needed on the way home!” Beca called as she let herself into the apartment, “Although they were out of that yoghurt you like-” She stopped as she saw the look on Chloe’s face, brow furrowing in concern, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Chloe forced a smile, trying to adopt her normally breezy demeanor as she looked at Beca.

“Nice try Beale.” Beca raised an eyebrow, “How long have we know each other now? I know when there’s something wrong.” Beca went and set the bags of groceries on the table before turning back to Chloe, “C’mon. What is it?”

“I- I told mom we were dating so she wouldn’t invite someone over for Christmas dinner to set me up and now she’s insisting I bring you for Christmas…” Chloe knew there was no point dancing around the issue. Better to rip the band aid off now.

Beca’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered, shaking her head a little as she tried to keep the idea of dating Chloe out of it. Now wasn’t the time for that, “You… told her we were dating?” The brunette asked slowly, an amused smirk on her face.

“It’s not funny!” Chloe exclaimed as she saw the look on her friend’s face, “I panicked okay? She always picks the most boring people to set me up with, and I just didn’t want another Christmas of awkward flirting and trying to let them down easily…”

Beca could see that Chloe was starting to spiral a little, and she reached out and put her hands on her shoulders, “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Of course you’d pretend to be dating me, I’m delightful!” She grinned as Chloe giggled a little, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to come, I know you were gonna go and see your dad, and Atlanta is way warmer than Portland at this time of year.” Chloe smiled reassuringly, “I can make an excuse for you.”

“Are you kidding? A chance to see where Chloe Beale grew up? I’m there!” Beca was still grinning, her mind racing with possibilities, but the one that stuck out most was that this was probably her only chance to date Chloe. Even if it was all pretend.

“Beca, you don’t have to change your Christmas plans just for me.” Chloe shook her head. It’s not that she didn’t want Beca to come for Christmas, it’s just that something felt… wrong about lying that Beca was her girlfriend, especially when she wanted it to be the truth.

“I know. But otherwise it’s dad and the step-monster trying to turn us into some perfect sitcom family, and that feels more painful than this.” Beca let her hands drop from Chloe’s shoulders as she started to unpack the groceries she’d brought home.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asked, heart beating a little faster as she thought about the prospect of having Beca there on Christmas morning.

“Certain.” Beca flashed her a grin, “So when do we leave for Portland?”

“Day after tomorrow.” Chloe smiled. Maybe Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-----

AUBREY: YOU’RE DOING WHAT????

CHLOE: It’s fine Bree, it’ll be fun!

AUBREY: Fun??? Fun??? You’re taking Beca, a woman I once saw eat spaghetti with her hands, to meet your family, who use more knives and forks than even my parents do, and you’re lying to them that the two of you are dating WHILE hiding the fact that you have a raging toner for Beca. You’re right that does sound fun!

CHLOE: It’ll be fine.

AUBREY: Who are you convincing here Chloe, me or you?

AUBREY: Honestly you’d have been better off saying you were dating me, at least I know how to mingle with that crowd!

CHLOE: Oh, so you’d have left your pregnant girlfriend to come spend Christmas pretending to date me?

AUBREY: I typed yes but Stacie smacked my arm…

AUBREY: Just be careful Chloe… I don’t want you getting hurt

CHLOE: I know. It’s gonna be fine, Beca knows it’s not real, it’s just to get my parents off my back

AUBREY: Is it?

CHLOE: Yes.

So now Chloe was lying to her parents and to Aubrey. Brilliant. Chloe set her phone down as she carried on with her packing. Beca was finishing up her shift at the record label, and Amy had already left to spend Christmas with her mom in Australia. She sighed as her phone pinged again, picking it up to see another message from Aubrey.

AUBREY: Does Beca know who your parents are?

Chloe didn’t reply to that. Aubrey knew the answer. None of the Bellas knew that Chloe’s parents owned the biggest digital processing unit company in Oregon, a family business that, once her brother took over, had four generations of Beale men running it. Her family were basically royalty in Portland, but Chloe had never told anyone, except Aubrey of course, but that was only because she’d come to stay with them over the summer their freshman year at Barden.

Chloe had always been determined to be her own woman, and her family had respected that for the most part. Given that she was the youngest of her three siblings, her father had paid relatively little attention to her compared to the others and had opted instead to just throw money at her. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, Chloe never doubted that for a moment, it was just that he focused on her older brothers more, the heir apparent and the doctor. She didn’t mind, not really, but as she got older, she found herself never wanting to have to rely on her parents for anything, including money. Although they had insisted on paying her tuition fees for every year she was at Barden, and Chloe was never going to argue against not having a student loan.

She was worried that once Beca found out about her trust fund and the money that her family had, she’d be mad at Chloe for not getting them a nicer place to live in New York, or for not getting her a nicer birthday present. Three people in a studio apartment was difficult at the best of times and knowing that Chloe could have changed that might make Beca mad, especially as it would have meant that she had got her own bed. The redhead sighed again as she sunk onto the end of the bed, head in her hands. Why had she made this all so complicated?

-----

It was Christmas Eve and Chloe was pacing again, this time outside the airport in Portland. Beca watched her with a mildly bemused look on her face, but inside her heart was pounding. She hated Chloe being stressed out, the redhead usually the more optimistic of the two of them but watching her like this you’d think the world was ending.

“Dude, it’s gonna be okay. It’s just three days, and then we’ll be back in New York.” Beca tried to reassure Chloe.

“Yeah…” Chloe mumbled, pausing her pacing as she looked at Beca. Their eyes met, and Chloe felt that connection that she had felt ever since their eyes had first met at the activities fair all those years ago. The connection that convinced her, on occasion, that Beca might feel the same way about her, but she was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Chloe opened her mouth, intending to tell Beca about her parents whilst they waited, but at that moment a town car pulled up, the brunette’s jaw dropping not for the first time that Christmas period.

“Um…” Beca started, “Is that… is that for us?” She frowned slightly.

Chloe could feel her cheeks blush as an older man got out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a suit, a warm smile on his face.

“Miss Beale, I’m so glad you came for Christmas. May I help you with your bags?” He had a light English accent, every bit the stereotype.

Beca stood with her mouth agape as Chloe returned the warm smile, picking up her bag herself.

“Me too Arthur. I’ve got them, thank you though. Arthur this is Beca Mitchell, Beca this is Arthur Wallace he works for my family.” Chloe introduced them to each other with a grin. As bad as she felt about not telling Beca about her family before now, she was enjoying the lock of shock on her face.

“It’s nice to meet you Miss Mitchell.” Arthur nodded politely in Beca’s direction as the brunette just stood there, gob smacked, “Miss Beale perhaps I am overstepping a little here, but surely you should tell your friends about your family’s business before you bring them here?”

Chloe giggled a little as she loaded her bag and then Beca’s into the trunk of the car. She turned to Beca who was still trying to figure out what was going on.

“Dude…” Beca started, finally finding her words again as she looked to Chloe, “Are you loaded?!”

“My dad is Portland’s leading data processing unit producer. It’s a family business, he does really well from it.” Chloe shrugged, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck.

“Woah...” Beca managed to squeak as Arthur opened the rear door for Chloe and Beca to get in.

Chloe thanked him, Beca nodding as she clambered in next to the redhead, still trying to figure out just what was going on. She was thankful that the dividing window between them and Arthur was up when they got in the back of the town, swallowing hard as she turned to Chloe.

“Exactly how posh are your folks?” She asked nervously.

Chloe smiled softly, taking Beca’s hand in hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. It was a familiar action that seemed far more intimate than ‘just friends’ but that fact seemed to pass both of them by.

“They’re gonna love you Beca. And they’re not that posh, it’s going to be fine.” Chloe could see the gears in Beca’s brain working overtime as she tried to take in all this information, “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you about my family before we came.”

“Why didn’t you?” Beca asked, a soft frown on her face. She thought Chloe trusted her with everything.

“I didn’t want you to be mad…” Chloe’s voice was barely more than a whisper, “I didn’t want you to think I was hiding money from you or something, because I’m not. My family has money, but I don’t use it unless I have to. Sure there’s my trust fund, but I don’t touch that, I’m saving it for the future.”

Chloe was starting to ramble the way she always did when she was nervous and it caused a smile to form on Beca’s lips in spite of everything, “Chloe.” She interrupted, “It’s okay. I’m not mad, why would I be? It’s your money and your family, whatever you need to do with it, it’s your business.”

Chloe just smiled gratefully, not taking her hand from Beca’s as the car headed for her parent’s house. Deep down, she supposed she knew that Beca would understand, complicated family wasn’t exactly a new concept to the short brunette.

“So how are we doing this?” Beca asked, “Do you just want me to follow your lead with it?”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t involve anything too intimate so don’t worry about that.” Chloe was conscious of Beca’s issues with people in her personal space, so she was trying to accommodate for that, “And my parents are insisting we sleep in different rooms, despite the fact that I’m nearly thirty. But it’ll be fine, it’s been a while since I had a bed that I didn’t share with a starfish!”

Chloe giggled at the look of mock outrage on Beca’s face as the brunette raised an eyebrow, “Well at least I won’t have to wrestle someone for the blankets anymore!”

Chloe just rolled her eyes, already feeling more at ease than she had when the plane had landed. It wasn’t long before they pulled onto her family’s estate, Beca’s eyes widening as she looked out of the window.

“You guys have a whole forest?! That’s so cool!” Beca’s eyes were wide with excitement as she watched the winding road take them up to the Beale’s house.

“It’s not a forest…” Chloe laughed, “It’s just a few trees. In a group. Okay so maybe it is a forest…” She conceded with a thoughtful frown.

“Whoa…” Beca exclaimed as they pulled up in front of the house.

House might be the understatement of the century. It was easily twice the size of any house Beca had ever lived in, more akin to a mansion or a small castle to the short brunette. Waiting on the front steps of the house were two people, red hair like flames against the white walls, older than Chloe or Beca, but as the car pulled to a stop in front of them, Beca could see the family resemblance and knew they had to be Chloe’s parents. She put her hand on the handle of the car door to open it but was stopped as Chloe placed her hand quickly on top of hers.

“It’s dumb, but you have to wait for Arthur to open it.” She smiled softly, “First impressions and all that.”

“Oh.” Beca pulled her hand away from the handle, turning to look at Chloe again, “Sorry. They’re gonna hate me aren’t they?”

“No…” Chloe took her hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze, “No they’re not. They’re gonna love you.” She smiled warmly, ‘Just like I do.’ Chloe added silently in her head.

Beca bit her lip as she looked down at herself, at the flannel shirt and pants that she had travelled in, and suddenly feeling like she was incredibly under dressed. She wished she could believe her, but her heart was pounding a mile a minute.

“It’s going to be fine Beca.” Chloe reassured her as she saw Arthur’s shadow fall upon the door, “Just take my lead.”

Chloe stepped out of the car first, Beca’s hand in hers as she let Arthur shut the door behind them, warm smile on her face as she led the brunette to meet her parents. Beca was trying hard not to think about the fact that she felt so out of place here, or that her hand in Chloe’s felt like the most normal thing in the world, but honestly what else was there to focus on? None of this was a situation that Beca was used to.

“Hey mom.” Chloe grinned as the older women quickly and easily wrapped her in her arms, Chloe’s hand dropping from Beca’s as she hugged her back, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas sweetie, I’m glad you came!” Chloe’s mum hugged her tightly, her daughter the spitting image of her mother and definitely every bit the hugger she was, “We’re so happy you could make it, we really missed you.”

Chloe pulled back from the hug with a wide grin, turning to her dad and giving his hand a firm shake, “Hi dad.”

“Hi Chloe. Merry Christmas.” His smile was wide and warm, and his eyes had the same twinkle that Chloe’s always had, “Are you going to introduce us to your guest?”

“Of course!” Chloe grinned, taking Beca’s hand again, the brunette shuffling her feet awkwardly, “Mom, dad, this is Beca Mitchell, my girlfriend.” The word girlfriend rolled off her tongue with surprising ease, her heart leaping a little even though it was a bald-faced lie.

“Hi.” Beca forced a smile, anxiety making her chest pound as Chloe’s mom pulled her into a hug, “It’s really nice to meet you both.”

“It’s really nice to meet you too! Chloe’s told us so much about you, it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Chloe told us that you two were dating.” Chloe’s mom grinned broadly as her daughter blushed furiously, Beca’s grin genuine when she pulled back and looked at Chloe.

“Really?” Beca asked, mischief written in every line of her face as she looked at Chloe. She turned to Chloe’s dad, shaking his hand as it was offered to her, “It’s nice to meet you sir.”

Beca hadn’t meant to call him ‘sir’ but her brain was in overdrive as she tried desperately to adjust to the unusual situation she found herself in. It seemed to be the right call though as a smile of approval crossed his lips, returning the firm handshake. Beca mentally thanked god for her experience with meeting new clients at the label as the experience seemed to be paying off.

“It’s nice to meet you too Beca. Our daughter speaks very highly of you. Arthur, bring their bags up to their rooms please.” Chloe’s father’s tone was warm but still commanding as the older man nodded.

“Of course, sir.” Arthur smiled as he went to get the bags from the trunk.

“Dad, Beca and I can manage our bags.” Chloe frowned a little at her father as she moved to go and help.

“Chloe, whilst you are here you get the same luxuries as everyone else. And I’m sure your friend would like to experience them as well.” The look from Chloe’s father was a little condescending and Beca bristled slightly but said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene.

Chloe opened her mouth to argue but seeing the look on her father’s face she new it was futile. Instead, she followed him and her mother inside, her hand slipping into Beca’s once more. It took all of Beca’s self-control not to let her mouth hang open again as the short brunette stepped inside, the interior of the house looking like something out of a fairytale. The large staircase in the hallway (if you could call the cavernous room they were in a hallway) had green and gold tinsel twisted around the banisters, and a huge tree stood pride of place next to it. It was the biggest Christmas tree Beca had ever seen, dwarfing her as she gazed up at the gold and silver decorations in wonder, feeling a little like a child again.

“Chloe! You made it!” A cheerful voice echoed through the hallways as a young man, perhaps two or three years older than Chloe came into view.

Beca was still in a trance looking at the Christmas decorations as Chloe let go of her hand, allowing herself to be swept into her brother’s arms, laughing as he spun, hugging him tightly.

“Hey Ben! Of course I did, wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see my favourite niece was I?” Chloe grinned as he put her down, their matching blue eyes both sparkling with excitement.

“She’s so excited to see you, Jenny took her to do a little bit of last-minute Christmas shopping, they should be back soon.” Ben beamed as he looked over his sister’s shoulder at Beca who was still looking at the decorations in wonder, “Do I get to meet your girlfriend then or…”

“Oh, of course!” Chloe beamed, a soft laugh on her lips as she tapped Beca’s shoulder to pull her out of the trance she seemed to have fallen into, “Becs?”

“Hm? What?” Beca shook her head a little as she came back into the moment, a light blush on her cheeks, “Sorry.” She mumbled with a sheepish grin.

“This is my brother Ben; I think you guys met actually a few years ago? After the ICCA finals in your first year?” Chloe grinned.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t recognise you without all the eye makeup and the earrings!” Ben teased, sporting the same infectious grin his sister always did.

“Yeah, the earrings make security at the airport a nightmare.” Beca shrugged, grinning in spite of herself, “It’s nice to see you again.” Beca couldn’t remember him for the life of her, but in all fairness most of that night was a blur thanks to the adrenaline of winning and the less than legal drinking after their performance.

“There she is my baby sis!” Another male voice made both Beca and Chloe turn their heads as the oldest of the Beale children joined them, grinning broadly as he gave Chloe a tight hug.

“Rob, I missed you!” Chloe grinned, hugging him back just as tight. Once they broke apart, Chloe turned to Beca again, “Beca this Rob my oldest brother, Rob this is Beca.”

“Hi.” Beca grinned as she shook his hand, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Where’s Laura?” Chloe asked, looking around for her sister-in-law.

“Right here!” A woman, about five years older than Beca and Chloe walked into the room, a wide grin on her face, blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Chloe gasped in delight as her eyes fell upon the unmistakable bump of a pregnancy.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant?” Chloe grinned, going to hug Laura as she laughed.

“Yep! We figured it would be a nice Christmas present for you all if we just didn’t say anything.” Laura giggled, hugging Chloe back.

“This is so exciting! I’m gonna be an aunty again!” Chloe was beaming from ear to ear as Beca watched fondly.

Watching the redhead surrounded by her family, all of them so happy to see each other gave Beca a warm comfort that she hadn’t really experienced before. Being an only child of divorced parents meant that she had never really experienced a Christmas like this. She might be there under false pretenses, but Beca was glad that she had decided to come.

“Laura this is Beca.” Chloe introducing her pulled Beca from her thoughts, “Beca this is Rob’s wife Laura.”

“Hi.” Beca grinned, “Congratulations on your pregnancy!”

“Thanks!” Laura beamed as Rob wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, “We’ve been waiting a long for this.”

“AUNTY CHLOE!” A loud voice rang through the hall as a small bundle of winter wear barreled its way over to Chloe, the young redhead beaming as she bent down to scoop her in her arms.

“Monkey!” Chloe grinned, spinning her niece in her arms as the young girl giggled gleefully, “Ooo I’ve missed you! You’ve gotten so tall!”

“Mummy says if I keep growing like this, someday I’ll be as tall as Uncle Rob!” The little girl grinned.

“Woah, that’s so tall!” Chloe gasped in amazement as the young girl’s mother joined them, dark hair a little windswept as she set a few shopping bags down, “Hey Jenny, merry Christmas!” Chloe beamed at her other sister-in-law; arms currently wrapped around the young girl.

“Hi Chloe, merry Christmas.” Jenny’s smile was easy as she moved her hair back from her face, “Did you guys have an okay flight?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Chloe set her niece down and turned to Beca, “You guys haven’t met Beca before right?”

“Hi.” Beca gave an awkward wave as she smiled.

“Hi! I’m Ellie!” The young girl beamed, sticking out her hand as Beca squatted down so they were the same height, shaking her hand.

“Hi Ellie, it’s really nice to meet you.” Beca smiled warmly, the young girl reminding her of her aunt a little.

“You’re aunty Chloe’s girlfriend?” Ellie asked, eyes wide, “But you’re nearly as small as I am!”

Chloe laughed as Beca blushed furiously, Jenny shaking her head, a little mortified with her daughter.

“Ellie, grown ups don’t have to be really tall!” Jenny gently chided her daughter, “I’m sorry, it really is nice to meet you.” She smiled apologetically as she turned to Beca who had stood up, still sporting a smile.

“It’s fine.” Beca shook her head, “If I wasn’t used to short jokes by now there’d be something wrong with me.”

“What’s that saying? All the best things come in small packages?” Chloe grinned, arm easily and naturally slipping around Beca’s waist as she chuckled, the brunette feeling her heart pound, ready to leap out of her chest at how natural this felt for two people that weren’t actually dating.

“Alright, how about you two go and unpack and freshen up, we’re having lunch in an hour.” Chloe’s mother beamed at her children, happy to have a house full of them again.

“Okay.” Chloe grinned, “Which room’s Beca’s?” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice at the idea that (even though they weren’t actually dating – Chloe had to keep reminding herself of that -) her mother didn’t trust her with a partner in her room.

“The one opposite yours.” Chloe’s mother smiled warmly, “I know you’re both grownups, but still you know the rules of this house Chloe. No guys OR girls in your room overnight unless you’re married to them.”

“I know, I know.” Chloe mumbled, taking Beca’s hand and leading her up the stairs.

In the back of her mind she was cursing herself for wrapping an arm around Beca’s waist like she had, it had simply been a spontaneous moment, the redhead caught up in the charade and how easily Beca fit into their family dynamic. Once they were upstairs and had reached the room that Beca would be staying in, Chloe quietly shut the door, turning to Beca with a guilty look on her face.

“I’m sorry. About the arm around your waist thing, I got in the moment and-” Chloe started, the beginnings of a nervous ramble starting to talk form before Beca cut her off.

“It’s fine Chloe.” Beca grinned, giving her a reassuring smile, “You told me to follow your lead, so I am doing.”

“I know… I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, I know how you feel about people in your personal space.” Chloe gave her a small smile.

“It’s really fine.” Beca reassured, “Besides, when it’s you I don’t really mind…” The words were out of Beca’s mouth before she could stop them and she blushed deeply, red with embarrassment as looked at her feet, at the bed that her bags had carefully been placed on, at anything but Chloe.

“Oh.” Was all the redhead could think to say, “W-well that’s good! Um, the bathroom is the second door on the left as you head back down the hall, if you want to shower or something, and I’m just across the hall. I’m gonna go unpack.” Chloe hurriedly left the room, heart pounding as Beca’s words bounced around her head. She couldn’t have meant them in the way that Chloe had heard them right? That wasn’t what she meant.

‘Cool it Beale. This is all pretend remember?’ She thought as she stepped into her room with a sigh. Maybe asking Beca to do this had been a mistake. Maybe Aubrey was right, this was going to be too painful. But it was too late now.

Beca sank onto the edge of the bed, head in her hands. Why the hell had she said that? How much of a dumbass was she? She had been so swept up in the warmth of Chloe’s family, of the residual feeling that had been caused by the arm around her waist that had placed there without a second thought, that she hadn’t thought before she’d opened her mouth.

“Dammit Mitchell.” She whispered, shaking her head, “Just be cool for once in your life. This is just a temporary thing, a favour you’re doing for a friend.”

‘A friend you’re in love with!’ Her brain unhelpfully responded as Beca groaned softly. Why the hell had she agreed to this? Chloe was her friend, that’s all she was, and here Beca was letting her ridiculous unrequited feelings get the better of her.

-----

Christmas Eve with Chloe’s family was far easier than Beca had thought it would be after what she said in the guest room. The way Beca slotted in the Beale’s family dynamic was effortless, almost as if she were meant to be there all along. It was a weird feeling for Beca, to be waited on rather than helping with the food and serving it, and there had been a couple of awkward exchanges that Chloe had quickly helped her figure her way around, but that aside it had gone off without a hitch.

They had bid the family good night and walked to their rooms, hand in hand as if it were the most normal thing in the world (although that didn’t stop a tingle in Beca’s hand every time she felt Chloe’s hand pressed against it), stopping only as they reached their doors.

“I’m really glad I came Chloe.” Beca said as she turned to her with a smile, “I know that I’m a little awkward with all the posh stuff, but I’m having a great time.” They were stood usually close, even for them, but neither of them seemed to notice.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Chloe grinned, “Like really glad. Even if it were just to pretend I was dating someone, I’m glad the person I picked was you.” Chloe had imbibed three glasses of mulled wine, and Beca was starting to have flashbacks to the hood night party of her freshman year as the redhead pulled her close, “I’d always pick you Beca.”

“Thanks Chlo…” Beca whispered, a little tipsy herself but having drunk less to make sure that she made a good impression on Chloe’s parents (which seemed ridiculous considering they weren’t actually dating, but nonetheless she preserved with making a good impression).

“G’night Beca. I think Santa’s gonna leave you some really cool presents tonight.” Chloe winked, her face mere inches from Beca as the brunette giggled softly. In a daring move that caught Beca completely off guard, Chloe closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to the brunette’s.

Beca forgot how to breath, how to move, how to do anything but stand there as Chloe kissed her. She knew that Chloe was a little drunk, that this probably didn’t mean anything other than to steer her clear of the mulled wine tomorrow, but god this was Chloe Beale kissing her and it was all she had ever wanted since she’d started college.

Chloe pulled away, smiling warmly as she waved her fingers at Beca and disappeared into her room, sighing happily as she flopped down onto her bed. That was the best Christmas Eve ever. Having Beca here only made everything better, Aubrey had been wrong. Stupid Aubrey, how could anything that had happened hurt her friendship with Beca?

It was 5am when Chloe’s eyes snapped open, her chest clenching as she sat bolt upright with the answer to the question that had been on her mind as she fell asleep rang around her head. She kissed Beca. She kissed Beca. She kissed Beca. Oh god. Scrambling out from the sheets and blankets that she’d tangled herself in, she immediately went to Beca’s room. Sure it was 5am and the brunette would almost definitely be asleep, but everyone else would be up at 7am and this conversation couldn’t wait.

Opening the door to the guest room, a small smile crossed Chloe’s lips as she saw the brunette splayed out across her bed, starfishing, her mouth hanging open a little. Tiptoeing, Chloe walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, gently shaking Beca’s shoulder.

“Beca? Beca I need to talk to you.” Chloe whispered, her tone soft but urgent.

“Huh, wha… what time is it?” Beca grumbled as she stirred, frowning a little as she rubbed at her eyes.

“Five am. I’m sorry.” Chloe winced a little as Beca groaned, flopping backwards into her pillows dramatically, “It’s just we need to talk about what happened last night.”

Beca’s eyes snapped open, heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to hear Chloe call it a mistake. But here they were, and this was a conversation they had to have.

“I uh, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. It was the mulled wine, I guess I just got caught in the moment.” Chloe blushed as she rambled a bit. She wanted more than anything to tell Beca that, yes she hadn’t meant to kiss her, but god was it the best thing she’d ever done.

“It’s fine.” Beca forced a smile onto her face as she sat up, “Really. You’ve always been a little handsy when you’re drunk.”

Chloe couldn’t help but giggle a little as Beca teased her even as she felt her heart break inside as Beca blew it off so off handedly. Part of her wanted Beca to tell her it wasn’t nothing, that it was something she had wanted all along, but here was the definitive answer: Beca didn’t feel the same.

Beca thought she saw a flash of disappointment in Chloe’s eyes and took a deep breath. She’d been thinking about this all night, she’d been thinking about how Chloe’s lips felt against hers, how it felt like electric coursing through her every nerve, how she hadn’t kissed her back. Seeing the look of resignation on Chloe’s face made her wonder if the redhead felt the same way. All too quickly the moment was gone, as Chloe got off the edge of the bed.

“Right, I’ll leave you to get some more sleep then.” Chloe smiled breezily, trying to hide her heavy heart as she left Beca alone again.

Beca could’ve cried as she laid back in her bed, hands on her forehead. Why was this so complicated? God, the look on Chloe’s face… it was playing in her mind over and over. Right. That’s it. Beca sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail before quietly tiptoeing down the hall. She frowned as she entered the kitchen, trying to figure out where things were so she could do this properly. A big gesture. That’s what she needed.

“Can I help you Miss Mitchell?” Arthur’s voice made Beca leap three foot in the air, spinning around as she spun round to see him stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Jeez dude!” She exclaimed, getting control of her breathing again as she shook her head.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Arthur had a bemused smile on his face.

“It’s fine. I really could use some help though, I- I’m trying to do a big gesture, but I suck at this sort of thing.” Beca smiled sheepishly.

“For Miss Beale I assume?” Arthur entered the kitchen, taking a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, “To show her you don’t want to play pretend anymore?”

“How did you?” Beca gasped, mortified at the idea that they hadn’t be as convincing as she thought they had.

“The barrier between the passengers and I in the car is not soundproof… it’s a very common mistake.” Arthur smiled again as Beca blushed.

“Ah. Yeah that makes sense…” Beca grinned sheepishly, “Alright, so big gesture, how do I do this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Arthur started, “There are mini marshmallows in the pantry and whipped cream in the fridge.”

Beca quickly rushed to get them as Arthur heated the milk, ready to melt the chocolate into at as she returned. There was a quite pause before Beca asked him the question that was on her mind:

“Why are you helping me?” Beca didn’t look up from her hands as she asked the question, “I know you work for Chloe’s family, but you have no reason to help me…”

“I have known Miss Beale since the day she was born.” Arthur was dedicated to his task as he gave Beca the answer, “She is like a daughter to me. And I have never seen her look at anyone like she looks at you, or anyone look at her in the way you do. I want her to be happy, and I believe you would make her happy.”

Beca sniffed slightly as she grinned at him, “I’m really going to try…” She promised.

-----

Chloe lay back on her bed, frustrated and sad at the way that this had panned out. God she should have listened to Aubrey, because this really hurt. She was sad, and her heart felt heavy, and Beca hadn’t kissed her back. And now? Now she was stuck spending Christmas pretending to be in a relationship with someone who wasn’t in love with her, which would’ve been fine if she wasn’t so desperately, pathetically in love with them.

A light knock at the door paused Chloe’s spiral as the redhead got up, a soft frown on her face before she opened the door. Stood in a Santa hat that she had purloined from god only knew where, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand and a soft smile on her lips stood Beca. Chloe stood there for a moment in shock, not understanding what was happening.

“Here. Take these.” Beca grinned broadly, waiting patiently as the redhead took the mugs from her and set them down on a table, “It’s the proper stuff, hot milk, melted chocolate, cream and marshmallows. Y’know the kind you drink when you’re sad because it reminds you of being a kid at Christmas.”

“How did you-” Chloe started, trying to figure out what had happened in the half an hour since she had left Beca’s room that had got them to this point.

“You told me once. You were drunk, you’d failed your Russian Lit midterm in our senior year, and I asked what I could do to cheer you up, and you said proper hot chocolate with all the trimmings, because it reminded you of the happiest times in your life.” Beca grinned broadly as Chloe just opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

“Beca, what’s-” Chloe was struggling to find her words as she looked at the big grin on Beca’s face, her heart pounding as her brain worked overtime.

“Look up.” Beca said softly, biting her bottom lip a little, nerves making her heart pound right out of her chest.

Chloe looked up, gasping softly as she what was fixed (a little haphazardly admittedly) above her head. A tear slipped down her cheek as she lowered her head again, a soft smile of disbelief on her lips, “Mistletoe…” She whispered.

Beca nodded, saying nothing more as she leaned in, closing the gap between them as she pulled her close, pressing her lips to Chloe’s, one hand on her hip the other on the back of her neck. Chloe closed her eyes as their lips connected and lost herself in the feeling on Beca kissing her like this as the short woman’s tongue slid across her bottom lip, the kiss deepening far quicker than either of them could’ve imagined it would. The redhead wrapped her arms around Beca’s waist and lifted her upwards, the brunette’s feet not touching the floor as she just grinned against Chloe’s lips, taking advantage of the new angle to press her tongue against Chloe’s in a way that made her let out a soft groan.

Eventually, the need to breathe broke them apart, a little breathless as Beca stood in Chloe’s arms both of her arms now draped around Chloe’s neck.

“That’s what I should have done last night.” Beca whispered, forehead resting against Chloe’s as she grinned.

“Yeah, you really should’ve.” Chloe teased gently.

“Merry Christmas Chloe.” Beca grinned as she kissed her again, chaste and soft.

“Merry Christmas Becs.” Chloe mumbled, grinning from ear to ear.

This really was the best Christmas ever.

#merry pitchmas 2020 #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitchmas #pitch perfect fanfiction #fake dating au #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #pp #pitch perfect

[kwanisms]

⤑ genre: supernatural au, incubus!Sungjin, smut ⤑ pairing: incubus!Sungjin x occultist!Reader ⤑ warning: smut, supernatural elements, satanic and occult themes, sexual content, praise kink, slight cumplay at the end, choking kink, facefucking ⤑ summary: Sungjin is an incubus that hasn't seen any action in years. So when Y/N summons him, not thinking the ritual would work, Sungjin is more than willing to play her little game. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, Sungjin doesn't make deals; but that doesn't mean summoning him will be a complete waste of time, right? ⤑ word count: 7.4k

a/n:  there’s a lot of praise and dirty talk in this and Sungjin says kitten a lot but i felt it was fitting for an incubus lmao but anyway, please enjoy this dirty little oneshot!

➭ collab masterlist

When it came to the occult, no one was curious or knowledgeable as you. Well, except maybe the experts but you wouldn't admit that. No, when it came to the occult, you were more than fascinated. You were obsessed.

You had read every book you could get your hands on. Everything from witchcraft to demons to the stars in the sky and how their position affected the human psyche and physical being. You had studied it all.

The one thing you hadn't gotten a hold of was a Grimoire. A witch's black book. What fascinated you the most about this book were the rumors that it was full of spells and rituals of everything to do with healing to human sacrifice and summoning demons.

Most accounts claimed these books didn't exist. Others claimed they did but were not as dark as legends led one to believe. Regardless of its contents, you were determined to get your hands on this book, one way or another.

Lucky for you, your wish came true one night; Hallow's Eve of all nights.

Your day started like any other, getting ready for work, heading out the door as usually, stopping for your usual coffee and getting to the bookshop right on time. Once inside, you grabbed your apron and tied it on, greeting your co-worker, Ayumi. 

Ayumi couldn't have been more opposite from you, dressing in light colors, mainly pastels and white, lots of floral patterns but nothing that screamed grandma's bedding.

You on the other hand wore exclusively ten shades of black.

You were greeted right back by Ayumi's bright smile and bubbly personality as she said good morning. She was in the midst of preparing a cup of coffee as the bookshops only barista. How she did it, you had no idea.

You took your place behind the cash register, starting your day by counting your till and making sure the starting amount was where it needed to be. You shut the till with a slight bang and winced, mouthing an apology to a nearby customer. Once you were open, customers started flocking over to purchase their books.

It was easy work but annoying when customers asked questions that could have been answered simply by using their eyes to look around the shop.

A couple hours passed by before Ayumi's station had calmed down enough that she could strike up a conversation with you.

"Wow," she said as she wiped down the counter with a towel. "I think that's the busiest I've been on a Thursday in a while," she said, a smile on her face.

It was hard not to smile around Ayumi. She just had one of those personalities. "Yeah, you looked like a drowning kitten," you joked. Ayumi giggled and waved her hand.

Anyone else would have been horrified and disturbed to hear your joke but not Ayumi. She knew you and she knew you were joking. Working together for 3 years would do that.

The next couple hours passed without incident, the occasional customer here and there but most of them came in for the coffee and, let's be real, they came in for Ayumi.

It was close to the end of your shift, you were wiping down your computer when Ayumi spoke up. 

"Hey, you work at the museum, right?" she asked. You perked up and turned to her. "Uh, yeah?" you said cautiously, wondering if she was going to ask for free or discounted tickets or something.

Ayumi tucked her towel in the pocket of her apron before resting her elbows on the counter, arms crossed as she gave you a cheeky grin. "You ever see anything… interesting?" she asked. You fixed her with a blank stare.

"Define interesting?" you asked and Ayumi rolled her eyes. "Come on, Y/N," she said, with a slight chuckle. "You know what I mean!" You shrugged your shoulders, looking down.

"I don't know," you replied honestly. "I mean, I guess so?" Ayumi snorted and bounced in place. "Come on, Y/N! Tell me!" she pleaded, using her sugar sweet voice that annoyed you and she knew it annoyed you.

"Oh shush, Ayumi," you retorted, stifling a laugh as she started to whine like a child. "Y/NNNNNN," she begged, drawing out the end of your name. You rolled your eyes and gave in. "Alright, fine!" you groaned and Ayumi immediately squealed with glee and ran around from behind the coffee counter to rush over into your station to listen to your story.

"It's not that weird," you admitted. "But it is weird." Ayumi nodded quickly and fixed her big doe like eyes on you as you started to tell her about the time you worked the closing shift at the museum and swore you were being watched. 

When you finished, Ayumi shivered and smiled, eyes wide with intrigue and glee. "That's so weird!" she whispered. You shook your head and glanced at the clock. "Ok, it's time to go," you said, nodding at the clock.

Ayumi huffed. "I wish you didn't have to leave," she said as she headed back to her station. "I wanna hear more spooky stories." You rolled your eyes again as you untied your apron. “I’ll see you on Monday,” you said as you folded your apron, set up the closed sign on the counter and headed to clock out in the back.

When you came back out the back, Ayumi handed you a cup. “For your walk to the museum,” she added with a sweet smile. You thanked her, taking a sip of the hot beverage before heading out into the cool, crisp night and making your way across town towards the museum.

The walk to the museum was mainly uneventful. You passed people on the streets, everyone of them buzzing with excitement over the holiday. For you, however, Hallow’s Eve wasn’t too exciting. You had long grown out of the dressing up and asking for candy phase so at this point, Halloween was just another day, one you usually had to work including this year.

Upon entering the museum, you checked your phone to make sure you had plenty of time. You did.

You headed through the employees only door to deposit your bag and change into your uniform. It wasn’t much of a uniform. You basically wore a jacket with the word ‘security’ on the back and your name printed in the upper left part of your chest. You grabbed your phone from your coat and slipped it into your pocket before shutting your locker and heading back out to the hallway.

Once out there, you ran into the janitor who smiled politely and nodded as he went about his business. Your boss looked over as you walked toward him and he looked over your appearance. “Well,” he said stiffly. “At least you remembered to wear your jacket this time,” he said. “I also wore tennis shoes,” you added in a deadpan tone. Your boss glanced down at your knee high converse, saying nothing.

“Right,” he said, choosing to ignore what you said in favor of handing over a folder. “Your list of nightly duties has changed,” he said as you opened the folder and flipped through it. “We’ve given you a new set of keys after the last ring… disappeared,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

Glancing up at him, you gave him a grimace before going back to the papers. Your boss continued to ramble on as he explained what had changed since your last shift but you couldn’t focus on him. Instead, your attention was drawn toward the loading dock.

Two men were carrying a medium sized wooden crate. Stamped on the side in red ink were the words ‘DANGER’ and ‘DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT SUPERVISION.’ Your eyes widened as you peered around your boss at the curiosity. “Y/N? Are you listening to me?” he asked.

Your attention snapped back to him. “Sorry, sir. Got distracted,” you said, nodding towards the crate. Your boss turned to see the delivery men waving him down. “Oh, you’re here already?” he asked, making his way over. You followed quickly and investigated the crate while your boss signed for it.

“What’s in there?” you asked one of the delivery drivers.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just deliver the products,” he admitted with a shrug. With the necessary documents signed, the two men left, leaving the box on a table in the backroom. You turned back towards your boss. “What’s in there?” you asked.

Your boss looked at the crate and then back at you. “Some kind of occult nonsense. The owners were very keen on displaying it for Halloween but it’s late,” he added. You tried to hide your interest, your curiosity was now peaked and you wouldn’t be able to think about anything else for the rest of the night.

Once your boss left, you set about securing the building, checking the unlocked and locked rooms, making sure no one had stayed inside the building. Once your walkthrough had been done, you went to the security room to check the cameras. You saw nothing so you settled down in your chair and pulled out your phone. You had a few notifications from tumblr but you ignored them. That hellsite was dead anyway.

Your phone notification went off, the notification bar showing you had a text from Ayumi. You opened the message to check it. She asked if anything spooky had happened and you rolled your eyes. You replied quickly but jumped when a bang caught you off guard. You looked up to see the janitor giving you a smirk. “Did I scare ya?” he asked. You let out a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah,” you admitted.

The janitor laughed and announced he was heading out and would lock the door behind him. You waved goodbye and turned back to the cameras to watch him leave the building. You were now alone.

The first hour of your shift passed quickly. Nothing to report, so you played a few games on your phone, mostly Among Us and then a coloring app. Another hour into your shift, you ordered pizza for delivery. It took no time to arrive and when your phone buzzed, the screen flashing with a call, you ran for the front door, unlocked it and handed the driver some notes. “Keep the change!” you said you handed it to him.

He thanked you and headed back to his car as lightning flashed overhead. You locked the doors and ran back to the security room to chow down on your pizza and watch videos on your phone. You were really getting into watching a new upload from Markiplier on YouTube when something on one of the cameras caught your eye.

Pausing the video, you glanced up at the screen in question. It was a camera outside the backroom where the wooden crate had been put. You watched a few seconds more before something dark flew past the camera lens, causing you to sit upright in your seat. You set your half eaten slice of pizza down, grabbed your flashlight and phone and headed out into the corridor.

You walked quickly but not too quickly as you shined your flashlight around, the beam falling over the shiny surface of the marble floors and bronze fixtures. You reached the hallway where you had seen the blur and found it empty before heading over to the locked door to the back room and peered in through the glass. The crate sat exactly where it was left. You tried the handle and confirmed the room was indeed locked.

You decided to forego entering the room, chalking it up to your imagination and turned to start the walk back to the security office before your pizza got cold. You had only walked a few steps when a loud crash from behind the door caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. You spun around and gasped when you saw a dark shadow looking at you from inside the room.

Shining your light in the window, the shadow disappeared. Your heart raced as you slowly inched forward. You peered into the room once more and decided you had to check inside now. Pulling the keys from your pocket, you identified the correct key and unlocked the door, turning the knob slowly and pushed open the door.

Inside the room appeared to be empty but you took your time, examining the whole room thoroughly and cautiously. You were certain you had seen someone but now you could see that the room was completely empty and the door you had come in was the only way in and out of the room.

You sighed and shook your head, chalking it up to your imagination as lightning flashed out in the hallway. You headed for the door only to step on something that made a slight clunking sound against the concrete. You lifted your foot and shined the light down to see a crowbar had been somehow thrown from its hanging spot on the wall several feet to where it lay now.

“What the fuck?” you whispered. You bent down and grabbed it, the smooth steel cold against your fingers as you clenched your fist around it. “How did you get all the way over here?” you asked the crowbar, as if it would explain its acrobatics to you just like that.

Shaking your head once more, you turned to hang it back up but stopped when you heard your name being whispered. Not out loud but more like… inside your head. You froze, eyes widening before you slowly turned to check the empty room. Your eyes darted around, looking for some logical explanation, the crowbar still in your hand when your eyes landed on the crate.

You looked at the crowbar in your hand and then back at the crate. ‘What if?’ you asked yourself before shaking your head. “No way,” you whispered, turning to hang up the crowbar. “I would so get fired for that.” You turned from the crowbar now hanging on its hook and moved for the door but stopped again when you heard your name being called from inside your own head. You turned to look at the crate.

Your eyes flitted to the crowbar and back to the wooden crate, the words 'DANGER' staring back at you before you made up your mind. ‘What is one little peek gonna hurt?’ you told yourself walking over to the wall and grabbing the crowbar once again. You walked over to the table, removing your jacket and setting it aside. You inspected the crate closely, running your finger over the wood.

Half expecting a splintered piece to become lodged in your skin, you were surprised by not only the smoothness of the wood but by how new it looked. It looked like a freshly constructed box. Not taking a moment longer to dwell on it, you found a place to shimmy the pry end of the crowbar into and started to loosen the top of the crate. It came up surprisingly easy.

Once the top was removed, you set the crowbar aside and grabbed your flashlight, using it to peer inside the crate to see what oddities lay inside. You were met with a surprising and annoying amount of packing. Pushing this aside, you reached further into the box until your fingers met the edge of something hard. You set the flashlight aside and reached your other hand inside to grab the object and lift it up out of the crate.

It looked to be a book of sorts. You set it on the table and grabbed your flashlight once more, shining the beam over the book. It read ‘Ars Goetia.’ Your eyes widened as you realized just exactly what you were looking at. In all the years of research, you had heard of this book but most accounts believed it to be either lost to the ages or have never existed at all. And yet here it was, in your hands.

You took a step back, breathing heavily. From what you understood, this book was filled with different rituals to summon demons and make pacts with them. You didn’t really believe that one could summon demons or spirits but the idea fascinated you immensely. You stared at the book for a few more seconds before approaching it and opening the cover.

The inside was written in Latin and you thanked yourself mentally for taking courses in Latin when you were in college. You flipped through the pages, eyes scanning over the texts and images before stopping on a page where an image depicted a young woman summoning a demon to make a pact.

You slammed the book shut, grabbed your jacket and put it back on before grabbing the Ars Goetia and tucking it inside your jacket. You headed out of the room, shutting the door and locking it before walking back to the security room. Once inside, you downed the rest of the slice of your pizza, washing it down with some water before logging into the security system.

Outside, thunder crashed and lighting struck while rain pelted the roof and glass windows of the museum. You disabled cameras 5 and 6 which led to an old store room. Once you finished, you grabbed the book and headed back to the back of the museum, using your keys to let yourself into the store room. You set the book on a blank space on the floor and headed over to rummage through the various cabinets and were relieved to find several old candles and surprisingly a set of sidewalk chalk.

You threw off your jacket and opened the book to the page you had seen earlier, you worked quickly and diligently, drawing the same ritual circle the woman in the book was using. Once you were satisfied with your handiwork, you set the candles around the circle and searched for some matches, luckily you found some in a drawer and struck it to light the candles.

Once they were all lit, you blew the match out before setting it aside. You read the footnotes of the page and set the book in the center of the circle. You read the incantation several times to yourself to make sure you had it correctly before you started speaking.

You weren’t sure exactly why you were trying this. Maybe the mood of the day as well as the storm setting in around the city might be fueling your curiosity. You started the chant, sitting at the side of the circle, facing the book as you held your hands out to the sides, palms up.

You felt a gust of wind hit you, the flames on the candles dancing quickly. Your words faltered you as you looked around. There was no way a breeze could be in the room. The windows were shut as was the door. You decided to ignore it and continued the ritual.

“Demon, I summon you,” you said loudly when you finished the incantation. Another gust of wind hit you, extinguishing the candles. You scrambled for the flashlight, turning it on and starting to look around the room, your heart racing. You tried to hold the light steady as you examined the room but saw nothing. You let out a sigh, starting to calm down when there was a loud boom outside and an electrical buzz. You let out a shriek, quickly getting to your feet and making your way to the door to try the light switch.

Nothing.

The power was out. You grabbed your jacket and opened the door to the hall. It was pouring outside, lightning flashing every few seconds, accompanied by loud claps of thunder. You stepped out into the hall, pulling your jacket on as you headed for the security room.

Peering in, you were relieved to see that the cameras were on backups. You were about to sit down when you remembered you had left the book in the store room. You hurried back to the room and opened the door, shining your flashlight in. You walked over to the circle but found that the book was not in the center anymore. “What the-?” you whispered as you looked around. You searched between stacks of boxes and on shelves, wondering where the book was when you finally found it.

It was in the back corner, through the maze of boxes and supplies. You sighed and reached down to pick it up. “How did you get all the way over here?” you wondered aloud. You were dusting off the tome when you were aware of another presence in the room. You turned slowly to look behind you where you saw a shadow standing in the corner opposite you.

You gasped, dropping the book to the floor and backed against the wall as the shadow took a step forward. “W-what do you want?” you whimpered. The shadow didn’t move. Suddenly, glowing red eyes appeared and you felt your blood run cold. ‘No,’ you thought. ‘It can’t be.’

“Don’t make me call the cops, buddy,” you warned, pulling your phone out of your pocket. The shadow took another step forward. “I’ll do it!” you yelled, unlocking your phone and getting ready to call the police when a voice spoke. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said.

You looked up from your phone at the shadow. With the tiny amount of light from your phone screen you could see more features to the shadow. It was tall. Impossibly tall, almost 6 and half feet. It had what seemed to be massive horns protruding from its skull and curling backwards against its head. You watched as it shifted and heard the sound of hooves against the concrete.

‘This can’t be real,’ you told yourself. The shadow figure tilted its head, looking at you quizzically. "Oh but it is real,” it replied. You gasped. “You can read my thoughts?” you whispered. The shadow figure nodded. “I can do so much more than that, Y/N,” it replied. Your eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the rain outside.

“I know a great many things, little one,” the figure replied. “I know everything about you; your thoughts, your fears, your… desires,” it added. You stared at the figure, unable to move. “W-what do you want?” you stammered. The shadow figure chuckled in response. “I think a more accurate question is, what do you want?” he asked. You shook your head. “What do you mean?” you asked.

The shadow figure advanced another step. “Let’s not play this game, girl,” it said in a gruff voice. “You summoned me.” You looked down at the book and back up at the figure. “You’re a demon?” you asked incredulously. “Bingo,” the figure replied. 

It all made sense to you now. The shadowy presence, the glowing red eyes, the horns, and the hooves. It really was a demon. A demon you had managed to summon. You looked down at the book. What did you want? All you really were doing was playing around with the book. You never thought in a million years that you would actually succeed in summoning a demon.

“I-” you choked out. The demon seemed to know what you were going to say. “You didn’t actually believe you could summon me, did you?” he asked. You nodded. “I didn’t think it was real,” you admitted. The demon chortled. “That explains it,” he said. “You don’t even know what kind of demon I am,” he stated. You shook your head. “No, what kind of demon are you?” you asked.

The figure moved forward and as it stepped into the light coming in through the window, it morphed, changing from a shadowy figure to a man. He was a tall man, nicely filled out with average shoulders. His body was neither too thick nor too thin. He sported a buzz cut and notched eyebrows that on the surface make him seem rough and sort of edgy but his eyes were something else.

While flashing glowing red for a moment, they shifted into a dark brown and they were surprisingly kind. Perhaps deceivingly kind but kind nonetheless. “I’m an incubus,” the demon replied, stopping a few feet from where you stood. You took a moment to look over him further and saw he was wearing a tailored blue suit with a black turtleneck underneath and a simple silver chain.

“W-what’s an incubus?” you asked, your voice shaking. The demon noticed this and his smile widened. “You really don’t know?” he asked, his head tilting to the side. “Did you not read the page you used to summon me?” he added, raising an eyebrow. You shook your head. “Not really,” you admitted.

The demon stared at you, his eyes now wide with concern. “So you just decided to pick a random page and read what was on it?” You shook your head. “No, I didn’t think-” you began but he interrupted you. “You didn’t think it would work, right.” The demon took a step forward.

“Well, shall I tell you what an incubus is?” he inquired, taking another step forward and stopping just before you. Cowering against the wall, you could feel his breath on your face as he looked at you, studying your eyes and expression. “Or,” he added, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“I could just show you?” he suggested. Your heart was hammering in your chest again. “S-show me? How would you show me?” you wondered aloud. The demon’s smirk grew as he leaned in close, his nose inches from yours. “Well first,” he stated. “Let’s set some ground rules.”

He backed away and started pacing slowly in front of you, fixing you with a stare that indicated that he was a predator and you were the prey. “I’m not like other demons,” he started. “I don’t make deals,” he added. “Wait,” you said, stopping him. You bent down to pick up the grimoire and flipped to the page you had been reading from and held it out to show him.

“Is she not making a deal?” you asked. The demon looked down at the paper and snorted. “No,” he remarked. “She’s begging,” he added before continuing. “Begging,” you whispered, looking down at the page. “For what?” you added in an undertone. “May I finish?” the demon requested. You nodded, shutting the book and standing still to listen.

“As I said, I don’t make deals. I don’t have some grand scheme. I don’t want your soul or the blood of your firstborn and I certainly don’t want your firstborn either. Children are nasty and I would rather have a thousand years of punishment in Hell than 18 years of looking after a child. You don’t have children, right?” the demon asked, stopping to look at you to which you shook your head.

“Excellent,” he answered, continuing to pace. “So,” you started before he could speak again. “If you don’t want my soul, what exactly do you want?” you asked, almost dreading the answer. The demon smiled at you and shrugged. “A good time,” he responded. You stared at him, confusion written on your face. “A good time?” you repeated. He nodded. “A good time,” he confirmed.

“And what does that entail?” you inquired. The demon advanced once more on you, reaching up to place his hands against the wall, caging you in between his arms. “You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “M-me?” you stammered. He nodded. “Just you.”

“And what do you want with me?” you asked, eyelids fluttering as you raised your gaze to meet his. The demon smiled at you, leaning in just a little closer. “I think you know,” he said, his lips grazing your cheekbone. Your heart was beating incredibly fast and your breathing was coming out in pants. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you mumbled, stumbling over your words.

“Oh, kitten,” the demon breathed. “Don’t play coy with me.” You felt his hand moved, his fingers skimming down your arm and tucking underneath the jacket to grab your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved along your jawline. “W-what are you… I-I…” your words failed you as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “What was that, kitty?” the demon asked, his voice filled with amusement.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you whimpered, trying to ignore the way the demon’s knee nudged your thighs apart and how his thigh was now pressed against you. “If you can’t,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. “Then I won’t force you,” he added. “But, I won’t be able to go away until you do.”

You moaned as his thigh pressed harder against you. “What’s your name?” you blurted out. The demon chuckled before giving you an answer. “Sungjin.”

“Sungjin?” you repeated, only to be answered by a hum against your neck. “You better make this worth my while,” you warned as his lips moved up your neck to your jaw before he pulled back. “Oh trust me, kitten,” he purred. “I’ll make you beg for more. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t want me to leave.”

A squeal left your lips as Sungjin reached down and lifted you, moving to the closest flat surface before catching your lips in a hurried kiss. You weren’t sure where to move your hands so you settled for gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as he pushed your jacket off you. You slid your arms free of the jacket without breaking the kiss and Sungjin tossed the garment away.

You moaned against his lips as his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling your core against him. “I haven’t even started,” he teased before pushing your skirt up to reveal the short black shorts you wore underneath. “Making me work for it, huh kitten?” he asked. You giggled as he tugged at and pulled the shorts down, tossing them on the ground.

You watched as he eyed you, hunger in his eyes before he looked up, licking his lips. “Lie back,” he ordered. You did as he said, lying back on the old desk he had set you on. Your cheeks flushed as Sungjin pulled you panties down your thighs slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time before he pulled them past your shoes and tucked them into his pocket.

With your lower half now exposed to him, he wasted no time in leaning over, spreading your thighs and giving you one final look before he buried his face between your legs. You gasped as his tongue flashed out to taste you, one lick before giving you another and another. You tried to contain your moans as the demon licked and sucked at your clit, groaning at the way you tasted.

The sounds were so lewd and felt like something straight out of a porn video but at the same time, it turned you on more to know he was enjoying this as much as you were. You weren’t sure where to put your hands so you settled for gripping the edge of the desk to hold yourself in place as Sungjin continued to taste you, his tongue dipping past your folds and finding your entrance only for a moment before he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and propped yourself up to watch as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

He fixed you with a dazed stare as his hands moved to undo his belt and the zipper of his pants. He didn’t have to say anything, you knew what he wanted. You sat up slowly and slid from the desk, kneeling in front of him as he freed his length from the confines of his pants.

To say you were shocked at the size would be an understatement. You weren’t prepared for just how big his cock was as it stood before you. Not wanting to be rude, you cautiously took it in your hand, marveling at the weight it had. It would be a task taking all of this inside you but you were determined. If he wanted to have a good time, you would show him that.

Glancing up at him quickly, you opened your mouth and gave the head a short kitten lick, tasting the precum that was gathering at the tip. It was surprisingly sweet, perhaps that was a demon thing? You licked again, this time swirling your tongue around the tip. With your lips parted, you took the head of his cock in your mouth, feeling the fullness immediately as your lips stretched around him.

The demon said, nothing, only watched as you slowly bobbed your head, taking as much of him as your mouth would allow you. Using your saliva as lubricant, you started stroking the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth, meeting your hand with your lips as you tried to take more of him in your mouth. You looked up at Sungjin, expecting some sort of reaction from him but noticing nothing.

Trying not to get discouraged, you pulled his cock out of your mouth, stroking the entire length before taking him in your mouth again. This time, he reacted. His hands moved, fingers locking in your hair as he held your head still. “Relax your jaw,” he ordered. You did so, relaxing your jaw as much as possible. 

“Stay just like that,” he breathed and slowly pulled back to thrust into your mouth. You gagged as the head of his dick hit the back of your throat. He pulled you off him, allowing you to cough and regain your composure. Again, he held your head in place as he guided himself in your mouth, thrusting a little slower and gentler than before. A soft moan escaped his throat.

“Good girl,” he panted, slowly speeding up, attempting to push further into your mouth. You tried to hold back your gags but couldn’t when he hit the back of your throat again. This time, he didn’t pull you off, instead, he continued, thrusting into your mouth. You put your hands on his thighs, bracing yourself as saliva spilled down your chin and onto the floor.

“Just like that,” the demon said softly, his grip in your hair tightening as he forced more of his cock past your lips. You gagged again but he ignored it, pushing further still with each thrust until the tip of his cock pushed past your uvula and into your throat, effectively cutting off your air supply. Your lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen and you started to tap his thigh to get his attention. Sungjin gave a few more thrusts into your throat before pulling you off him and letting go of your hair.

You gasped and coughed, trying to breath normally. “You’re going to kill me,” you accused, looking up to see the demon was removing layers of his clothing. You gulped, ignoring the pain in your throat and watched as he tossed his coat aside before removing his shirt, allowing you to see his toned chest and arms. Something you weren’t expecting.

The demon walked over and held out a hand. You took it cautiously and were surprised when he helped you to your feet. “What are you doing?” you asked as he turned you around to face the desk and reached for the zipper on your dress. He pushed the material down past your hips, letting it fall to the floor before pushing his own pants down and discarding them.

Before you could say anything, he pushed you over, pressing your chest to the cold top of the desk and kept his hand on your back as he took himself in his hand and rubbed the head of his cock between your folds. “You might want to hold onto something,” he warned. Your hands fumbled, grabbing onto the desk as the demon pushed past your folds and into your core.

The stretch stung and burned with you letting out a slew of curses to which Sungjin chuckled as he slowly inched his way in bit by bit. He gave you a few moments in between to adjust before moving again. After a few minutes, he was in as far as he could go. “How does it feel?” he asked, leaning over your back. “Fucking huge,” you whimpered, almost in tears as you waited for the pain and burning to subside. Sungjin laughed lowly, taking that as a compliment.

“Now you know how big a demon cock is,” he added, his hand smoothing over your backside before he delivered a sharp slap to your ass cheek. You let out a whine, fingers clenching the edge of the desk. Your core clenched when he gave you another spank. “Someone’s enjoying this,” he said darkly.

He continued, giving each cheek a total of five slaps, smoothing his hand over the reddening skin in between each spanking. “Please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. He had been sheathed inside you for nearly ten minutes now without moving and your body needed release. “Please what?” Sungjin asked, leaning over your back. “Please move,” you replied.

“That’s not good enough, kitten,” he murmured. “Maybe I should give you a few more spanks until you know how to use your words,” he suggested, his hand returning to your sore backside. “No, no please!” you begged. “Please, no more!” Sungjin squeezed a handful of your ass, giving it a shake before he released it. 

“Then what do you want, kitten?” he asked, politely as if his dick wasn’t six inches deep in your cunt. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you found it hard to say the words that would give you want you wanted. “Ten more spanks it is,” Sungjin said, raising his hand over his head. “No, please!” you whimpered, moving your hand to block his. Sungjin reached down and grabbed your hand then grabbed the other and held your wrists together while he raised his hand.

“I gave you plenty of opportunity to speak, to ask for what you wanted. Until you learn to use your words, we’re going to sit here and I’m going to punish you,” he said. His hand made contact with your ass and you let out a scream, sobbing as he rubbed his hand soothingly over the spot. Leaning over he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Just nine more, kitten, I know you can take it. Tell me you can take it,” he whispered. You nodded, tears streaming from your eyes and drool falling onto the desktop.

“I c-can take it,” you whimpered. “I p-promise.” Sungjin smiled, standing up to give you the rest of your punishment. “That’s my good girl,” he said. Nine more strikes were given, your ass was more than just red now it was extremely sore and your walls were tight around Sungjin’s cock.

“Now,” he said, rubbing both hands over your swollen backside. “What do you want, kitty cat? Tell me,” he added. “Please,” you breathed, nose running from crying. “Please what?” Sungjin asked. “Please fuck me,” you replied, hoping it would be exactly what he needed to hear to give you what you wanted.

“Of course,” Sungjin said, his hands moving to grip your hips. “What my kitten wants, my kitten gets,” he added. You let out a sigh of relief when you felt him pull back before thrusting back into you sharply. You gasped as he repeated this, controlling his movements very well and giving precise thrusts, just enough to give you friction but not enough to bring you closer to orgasm.

“Please, Sungjin,” you moaned as he slid into you with ease. “Yes?” he asked. “Harder,” you murmured. “As you wish, baby,” he said, thrusting harder into you, the lewd sounds of his movements filling the store room along with the sound of skin hitting skin.

Small grunts left his lips as mewls and soft cries of pleasure left yours with each thrust of his hips. “Oh, you feel so good,” Sungjin panted, one of his hands moving to press down on your lower back. His thrust took a sharper turn as he pounded into you repeatedly. You let out a shrill cry with each thrust and Sungjin leaned over, reaching around you to grab your throat.

“You sound so good like that,” he whispered in your ear. “So subservient and submissive for me.” You let out a choked sob as the pleasure overwhelmed you. “Are you gonna come for me, good girl?” he asked. You nodded, unable to speak. “Of course you are,” he said, his breath fanning over your cheek. “You’re gonna come for me and then I’m gonna come. Where would you like me to come?” he asked.

You shook your head, still unable to speak. “Tell me where you want me to come, pretty girl,” he said, his hand releasing your throat. “I d-don’t,” you squeaked. “You don’t care?” he finished your sentence. You nodded. “So I get to pick?” he asked. You nodded again, a deep moan leaving your lips as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm. “So many choices,” the demon said.

“I could paint a picture all over your back,” he stated standing up straight to run his hands over your back. “Or I could turn you around and come all over that pretty face of yours, maybe force my cum down your throat,” he murmured. A particularly hard snap of his hips was all it took for you to come undone, screaming his name as your body shook, your orgasm taking hold of you.

“But I think I just want to fill you up,” he admitted. “Want to stain your cunt with white,” he grunted as he took your hips and thrust harder into you, chasing his own high. “Do you want that, baby?” he asked. “Want me to fill you up until it spills out of you and leaves a mess all over the floor?” You nodded quickly as your second orgasm approached rapidly.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Sungjin said, ramming into you from behind, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your cries as a second high hit you. Not long after, a third orgasm took over your body, your walls convulsing and spasming. The tightening around his cock is what drove Sungjin to explode, coming inside you with a loud groan as he filled you up.

You were surprised by the amount of cum that managed to fill you. A dull ache in your lower abdomen as the demon continued to pump his load inside you. “It’s too much,” you whimpered, unable to take the feeling anymore. “It’s okay,” Sungjin said, smoothing his hands over your backside. “You can take it,” he added. “You’re such a good girl. Only good girls take the whole load. Bad girls back out,” you let out a moan as Sungjin used his still hard cock to fuck his cum into you.

“You want to be a good girl, right?” he asked sweetly. You nodded. “Yes,” you whimpered. “Then you have to take all of it,” he replied. “You understand, kitten?” he asked. You nodded. “I understand,” you answered. “I have to take all of it.” Sungjin leaned over, his hand stroking your head. “That’s my good girl,” he added as your eyelids started to grow heavy.

You found it harder and harder to keep them open and before you could say anything, you were out.

You woke with a start, sitting up in your bed and looked around the room. ‘What the?’ you wondered. Grabbing your phone, you checked the time. It was 5 30 in the morning, November 1st. ‘It was all just a dream,’ you told yourself. ‘None of that happened.’ You laughed to yourself and pulled back your sheets, getting out of bed and going into your bathroom to relieve yourself.

As you exited the bathroom and headed into the living room, something caught your eye. A large black book sitting on the coffee table. You inched closed and realized with wide eyes what it was.

Sitting on your coffee table was the Ars Goetia with a little note that said ‘thanks for the fuck, kitten. Hit me up again if you want another go! XO SJ.’

‘It wasn’t a dream at all!’

#day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 reactions #day6 x reader #day6 angst #day6 fluff #day6 smut #park sungjin #day6 sungjin #sungjin imagines #sungjin x reader #sungjin angst #sungjin fluff #sungjin smut #kwanisms #creature feature collab #the summoning - sungjin

[blazingopus]

Diamonds and Pearls - Diamond is Unbreakable

I wrote this story for my sister, because she is really into Josuke. She read it and said that nothing much happens. It seems that I have much to learn when it comes to writing romance. Please enjoy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2IFeTVorFps8gukz51x3CU?si=zntwgGbeRq-E6JpuBQeH9g

Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Doing that thing with your face when you are happy. It's making me nauseous."

The little town of Morioh. If you looked at it on a map, you would think that it was just a normal rural town in Japan. It's only when you step foot inside that you find out about its true nature. A town with secrets and strange occurrences around every corner. Not all of them bad, not all of them good. After a little while, you get a used to it. Morioh is my home, and the home of many other stand users.

One of these stand users is a friend of mine. His name is Higashikata Josuke. His mother and my mother were close friends for years. We knew each other before we were old enough to remember. We went to school together, we spent our summers together, our families celebrated holidays together. Many of the people who see us walking down the street together think we are brother and sister, or boyfriend and girlfriend. I don't know if we are either of those, but Josuke is very important to me. That's all I know.

Things got a little more strange than usual a couple weeks ago. It all started with this Kujo Jotaro wanting to talk to Josuke one day before school. He had some important information from Josuke's long lost father, who is also Jotaro's grandfather. Apparently, Josuke is Jotaro's uncle, even though Jotaro is at least ten years older. He also had warnings of a serial killer loose in Morioh. A very strange message, indeed.

And that is how our adventure began. Along the way, we picked up some new friends. Hirose Koichi can be a little timid and worrisome, but he has a good heart and will always try to do what's right. Nijimura Okuyasu may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he will stick with you through thick and thin.

Koichi has some strange people that like to follow him around. He has a girlfriend named Yukako. She's crazy, but I can't tell if it is a good crazy or a bad crazy. Still, she seems very devoted to him and wants to see him happy. He also has a famous mangaka friend. You might have heard of Kishibe Rohan. He is the writer and author of one of the most popular mangas in all of Japan, Pink Dark Boy. He's also an asshole. Well, an asshole to everyone but Koichi. He seems to actually enjoy his company and is respectful towards him. Everyone else can go screw themselves, me included.

All this to say, we are a strange bunch. If this whole adventure with the stand bow and arrow hadn't happened, I don't think I would know all these people, and all the other people I have met around Morioh. Seriously, you need to go to Tonio's restaurant. He makes amazing food.

It was a Saturday, and I was heading to Josuke's house. He had bought a new videogame, and was really excited to show me how it played. I'm not very interested in video games, but I did it to make him happy. Just watching him get excited was enough for me. And I like being over at his house, his mom makes some good cookies.

I live a few doors down from him, so I walked over to his house and knocked on the door. A few seconds went by before he opened the door.

"Hey, how's it goin', (Y/N)?" he asked me with a smile. He was wearing his usual attire, hair neat as always.

I laughed a little. "Josuke, you just asked me that over the phone."

His eyes went wide for a moment, before giving a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I did, didn't I? Sorry about that, my mind has been all over the place."

"It's fine, Josuke. It doesn't hurt anyone. Now, didn't you say you had a new game to show me?" I dramatically held my chin and looked off into the distance.

"Yeah, come on in." He stepped out of the door with a grin on his face. I walked in and followed Josuke into the living room. In front of the tv, his console was hooked up and ready to play. Controllers snaking across the carpet.  A few of his games were scattered around the floor, like he had been looking through them. Josuke sat down and patted the spot next to him.

After I sat down, he held out a controller. I stared at it before looking up at him.

He blinked. "It has a two player mode. Do you want to try it?"

I hesitantly took it from him. "Okay, but I don't think I will be very good. You know I don't really play video games."

He shrugged. "That's fine. I don't care how good you play, I just want to play with you." A slight blush came across his face.

Josuke turned on the console and the logo came up on screen. After a few seconds, it faded away and the start screen popped up. He went through the menu, selecting the game mode he wanted.

It was a spaceship shooter game. You moved your ship up and down the screen and shot at things as they floated in from the right side of the screen. Other ships came in and you had to avoid their laser missile things and stay alive. Josuke did his best to explain the controls, but I kept dying despite trying my hardest. He did most of the work getting through the levels. He was having a lot of fun with it, really getting competitive. He was taking out other ships, trying to get the best score.

It was when we got to the boss level, even he started to die. He concentrated more, getting really invested in the game. The only thing he could see was the collection of pixels on the screen. After a few rounds and a lot of hard work, we were able to finally defeat the boss.

"Yes!" Josuke pumped his fist in the air. "We did it, (Y/N)! We kicked that boss's butt!" He beamed at me.

I smiled back at him. "Yeah. You did great." I don't know how we did it, but I guess beating the first boss is a good thing.

He reached over and turned off the console. "You did pretty good too. Hey, I have an idea. Do you want to get ice cream to celebrate?"

'Uh, yeah." I didn't understand why we were celebrating playing a video game, but I will use any excuse to get ice cream.

Josuke stood up before reaching out a hand to help me off the floor. We walked out the front door and stepped onto the street. We began to find our way to downtown where our favorite ice cream shop is.

"Hey, um, (Y/N)?" He managed to say. "I want to talk to you about... Something important."

"What is it?" I asked looking up at him.

"Well, it's..."

"Hey, Josuke!" A familiar voice called out to us.

Across the street, Okuyasu and Koichi were on a walk of their own. Koichi was smiling at us, while Okuyasu was waving crazily at us. They crossed the street and came over to us.

"Hey guys. Koichi trotted over. "What are you doing today?"

Josuke shrugged. "Nothing much. Just heading to get some ice cream."

Okuyasu's eyes got really wide. "Whaaaaat? Ice cream? I love ice cream! Can we come along?"

"Yeah, that sounds great!" Koichi said with a smile.

Josuke didn't look so happy. "I would love to guys, but I was hoping I could spend the day with (Y/N). It's been a while since it's been the two us"

Okuyasu's smile turned into a sly grin. "Oh, I see. Are you and (Y/N) on a date or something?"

Josuke started to blush. "It's nothing like that. We just haven't spent as much time together as we used to."

Okuyasu nodded. "Uh huh. Whatever you say, Josuke."

Josuke clenched his fists. "What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

I grabbed Josuke's arm. "It's fine, Josuke. They can come with us to get ice cream if they want."

He sighed and relaxed a bit. "Fine, if you say so, (Y/N)."

"YES! WOO HOO!" Okuyasu yelled out.

Koichi looked up at me. "Thanks a lot, (Y/N). I appreciate it."

I smiled and nodded. "It's no problem. I like hanging out with you guys."

Together we set off to the ice cream parlor. Okuyasu was thinking out loud, trying to figure out what kind of ice cream he was going to get, and what kind of toppings he was going to put on it. Koichi was politely adding to the conversion. Josuke was oddly quiet. We seem sad and a little disheartened. I found it odd, because he usually likes going on adventures with these guys. What was so different about today?

We finally made our way to the ice cream parlor. There were many people outside, sitting on the metal furniture. One of those people was Kishibe Rohan. He was busy scribbling away with a notebook and pencil, taking quick glances at the shops across the street.

Koichi waved to him. "Hello Rohan-sensei. It's a nice day today, isn't it?"

He stopped sketching and looked up at us over his notebook. "Yes, I do believe it is." He glared at Josuke. "What are you doing here, Koichi?"

"We're getting ice cream," he replied excitedly. "What about you? What are you doing here Rohan-sensei?

He put his notebook and pencil down with a sigh." I was sketching some of the architecture around Morioh. While I am indeed one of the best artists in Japan, I like to keep my skills sharp. Drawing from life is important for an artist at any skill level."

"Wow, that's impressive." Koichi walked over to see Rohan's work.

"Yeah, real impressive," Josuke said with venom in his voice. "Let's get some ice cream already."

Koichi looked up from the notebook. "Oh, right. Sorry guys."

We walked in together. I ordered something I liked, while Koichi got vanilla ice cream with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles. Okuyasu ordered a little bit of everything at the bar, and put every kind of topping on his ice cream. Josuke ordered, strangely, a chocolate malt milkshake. I don't think I have ever seen him order a malt. He likes banana splits. Was he really having an off day?

When we walked out to the patio, there was only one table available that would fit all four of us. It was next to Rohan, of course. Josuke sighed as we sat down.

"Please try to keep quiet," Rohan said without looking up from his drawing. "I'm working."

Okuyasu huffed. "We are not the only ones here, you know."

"I know," he said unfazed. "I told the other patrons the same thing. They are much more accommodating than you lot are."

Okuyasu growled and began to stand up. I glared at him. "Sit down and eat your ice cream. It will cool you down."

He reluctantly did what I said. "Ugh, he just gets on my nerves sometimes!"

"Believe me, I know." Josuke took a straw out of the dispenser in the middle of the table. He took the wrapper off and plunged into his malt.

Koichi took a bite of sprinkles and fudge. "C'mon, guys. He's not that bad."

"To you, maybe," I said with my mouth full. "But everyone else is a lower life form compared to his majesty and grace."

Rohan tilted his head over towards me. "I would appreciate it if you didn't talk about me if I wasn't here."

I glared right back at him. "Don't pretend you don't do the same thing to us all the time."

He sneered at me, but turned back to his work without another word.

I smirked. I got him that time.

Josuke gave me a small smile before taking a sip from his straw. I looked between him and his malt. "Josuke," I quietly asked, "I thought you liked banana splits. Why did you get a milkshake?"

He glanced up at me. "That's true, I do like those." He looked thoughtful. "But I do like a chocolate malt sometimes. But it's not just a normal milkshake. The malt makes the whole thing better."

"Huh," I thought out loud. "Can I try some?"

He blinked at me with wide eyes. "Yeah, sure." He grabbed another straw and put in the milkshake. He slid it over to me.

I caught it and I grabbed hold of my straw. I took a drink. The malt added a little something to the chocolate ice cream and milk blend. "Hm, not bad." I slid it back to him. "I see what you mean."

Josuke grabbed hold of the glass. "Right? I mean, I don't like to have it all the time. But it's good every so often."

Okuyasu looked at us with a sneaky glare. "So, are you guys going to drink at the same time all romantic and stuff?"

Josuke locked on to Okuyasu. "Would you just butt out, Okuyasu? You're not helping!"

He just shrugged. "I was just asking."

"Helping with what?" Koichi asked innocently.

Josuke whipped around. "It's... Just... It's nothing, Koichi. Don't worry about it."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "If you really want to, Josuke, I don't mind."

He looked at me and blushed a little. He seemed to be doing that a lot. "Don't feel like you have to, (Y/N)! It wasn't even my idea." He waved his hands in front of his face like he was trying to dismiss it.

I leaned over the table and took hold of the glass. I moved it to the center of the table. "I will if you do." I put my straw in my mouth, inviting him to do the same.

Okuyasu gave Josuke a little nudge with his elbow. After he gave him a nasky look, Josuke leaned over the table with me and grabbed hold of his straw. I giggle a little bit. This was so ridiculous, like this was in some cheesy romcom.

We both began to drink the milkshake. His face was so close to mine, I could look directly into his eyes. Our eyes met, and I started to giggle again. Josuke blushed some more. The glass was quickly emptying.

I pulled away and started laughing. Josuke also dropped his straw and sat in his seat again, a smile on his face.

"Yeah! Go Josuke!" Okuyasu announced and pulled him in for a side hug. Koichi gave a slow applause.

"Sorry Josuke," I said, feeling how warm my face was. "It just seemed so silly, I just couldn't stop myself. It was fun, though." A large smile was plastered on my face.

Josuke also broke out in a huge grin. "Yeah, kinda was." He gave out a chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Stop that." Rohan ordered from the other table, his eyes boring into Josuke.

Josuke leaned over so he could get a better look at him. "Stop what?"

Rohan narrowed his eyes and looked condescendingly at him "Doing that thing with your face when you are happy. It's making me nauseous."

Josuke pushed the chair out from under him. "That's it. I'm tired of this. CRAZY DIAMOND!"

"Heaven's Door!"

Both Josuke and Rohan were ready to attack, poised to beat the crap out of each other.

"Both of you, stop!" I ran out in between them, arms raised out to block them. Koichi quickly ran to my side, calling upon Echoes. "Now is not the time or the place to be doing this!" I yelled, looking back and forth between them. "Now settle down. You're already causing a scene."

Josuke looked around him, huffed, and then dismissed Crazy Diamond. "Alight, (Y/N), I'll do this for you." He turned and pointed at Rohan. "But next time, I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of you, Rohan"

Rohan smirked and grabbed his supplies. "You can certainly try, Josuke. I look forward to our next meeting." He walked away, leaving us to watch his stupid, sassy strides.

"Son of a bitch," Josuke muttered under his breath, his fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"Don't let him get to you, Josuke," I gave him a sympathetic look. "He's just trying to get you worked up."

He looked down at his feet. "Yeah, you're probably right." He looked back up at me and gave me a half-hearted smile. "Thanks."

I returned the smile. "Let's finish up our ice cream, okay?"

It was later in the afternoon. After a fun time with Okuyasu and Koichi, both went to their respective homes. They had responsibilities they had to attend to. It was just me and Josuke walking home together. It was bringing back old memories of all the time we had walked home together after school. We walked silently, letting the sounds of Morioh fill the space between us.

"Hey, um," Josuke said quietly. "I'm sorry about what happened today. I didn't mean for any of that Rohan stuff to happen." He paused for a moment and rubbed his neck. "I hope I didn't ruin it for you."

I shook my head. "No, not really. Rohan was the one causing trouble, not you. And nothing was ruined for me." I smiled at him "It's just another day in this crazy, noisy, bizarre town of ours."

He watched my face, looking for some sort of hidden emotion or answer. When he couldn't, he smiled back. "Well, I'm happy about that, at least."

We walked for a little bit longer, letting the silence get comfortable around us. A thought crept into my head as we traveled down the sidewalk.

"Josuke?"

"Yeah?"

"Didn't you say you had something important to ask me?"

"Um," He almost stopped walking. He was avoiding my gaze "Yeah, but it's not that important. Don't worry about it"

"If it wasn't important, you wouldn't need to ask me. Besides, you said yourself that it was important." I tried to get a good look at him. "What is it Josuke? You can ask me anything."

He stopped walking. "Well, I..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes again, and looked me dead in the eyes. He was going to get it out even if it killed him, I could tell.

"(Y/N), I like you a lot. I like like you a lot." He paused. "I've wanted to ask this for a long time. Would you be my girlfriend? Don't feel like you have to say yes, or anything, just because we're friends. But if you really want to..."

I took his hand in mine. "Yes, Josuke. I will be your girlfriend." I giggled a little, my cheeks getting warm. "I like like you too. And not just because we're friends."

He stood there stunned for a few moments. Then a huge smile spread across his face. "Really?"

I nodded, feeling really giddy inside.

He leaned in and scooped me into a hug. He lifted me off the ground, my feet dangling under me. I let myself melt into him, enjoying the love and warmth.  We had given each other hugs before in the past, but this one was different. This one was special. I think we both could feel it.

When we finally pulled away, all we could do was look at each other and laugh to ourselves. "You know," Josuke mumbles a bit, "I kind of had this whole day planned out and everything." He chuckles a bit. " Guess I didn't need to go through all that, did I?"

I give him a smile. "No. I would have said yes, no matter how you asked me. Besides, you can't plan for anything in Morioh. At least one thing will throw off. your entire day."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I reached out and took his hand. He slid his fingers in between mine, and gave my hand a small squeeze. We walked the rest of the way like this, both blushing a bit. It felt a little like a dream, like this was never supposed to happen. But it did, and I couldn't be happier.

We walked until we were standing in front of his house. His was the first stop, while mine was a few more houses down. Josuke sighed and looked down at me. "Well, this is it."

"Yeah," I sighed back. I didn't want this to end. Like if I let go of Josuke's hand, the spell would break, and everything would be undone. The dream would end, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Josuke looked at me for a moment, looking unsure of himself. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage.  He leaned in, and slowly kissed my cheek. When he pulled away, I could feel my face flare up and turn red. I looked at Josuke. His face was just as red as mine felt.

"Well," I managed to stutter out. "I'll see you later, Josuke."

"Yeah, you too (Y/N)."

Then we both turned away. All things considered, it was a pretty awesome day. And I couldn't wait to spend another one with my boyfriend, Higashikata Josuke.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure diamond is unbreakable #diamond is unbreakable #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #jjba #jjba oneshot #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert #jjba fanfiction

[sxfterhearts]

20. [9:40 am]

28A… 29A… Ah, 30A! You thought to yourself as your eyes glanced over the seat numbers slightly above your line of sight, your feet finally coming to a stop beside your reserved seat.

Much to your dismay, it was a window seat, facing in the opposite direction of the train’s movements. It was also one of the few face-to-face seats on the entire KTX train, with a table between the two pairs of seats which were facing each other.

You groaned internally. As much as you liked having a proper surface for writing or doodling in your journal, you didn’t like sharing. You much preferred having your own privacy while glancing out the windows, watching the greenery and the countryside pass by in a colourful blur, with soft tunes to accompany you on your journey. It’s fine, you reminded yourself, trying to stay positive, it’s only two hours, no big deal…

You hauled your backpack over your head and into the overhead compartment with practiced movements. Pulling out your travel necessities, which included your fully-charged phone, a pair of wireless earphones, a large, ice-cold Americano and your trusty journal, you settled into your seat for the rest of the morning. A part of you wished that the seat in front of you wouldn’t be occupied, while another part of you contemplated whether it was better to just try and fall asleep for the remainder of the train ride to Gangneung.

You quickly dismissed the latter thought, as the scenery throughout the train ride was too good to miss. You could deal with a couple of awkward silences and accidental glances with the unlucky stranger who reserved the seat opposite yours. Besides, it was your first time visiting your parents in two months – you weren’t going to let anything sour your mood.

The last-minute trip to Gangneung, your hometown, was planned just two days ago, as you were graciously granted two days of paid leave by your manager. After finally submitting the last tax return for your clients, your manager had treated the entire team to a congratulatory dinner and gave everyone a few days of leave to make up for the never-ending client meetings and late nights spent slaving away at the office desk during the tax busy season. You were overwhelmed with joy once your manager announced the news, pulling her usually stoic self into a tight embrace under the yellow glow of  the pojangmacha, a tent bar selling alcohol and street food, due to the heightened levels of alcohol within your system.

Giggling to yourself at the memory, you reached out for your phone and typed a message to your mother to inform her that you were about to depart Seoul. It was a message that she read and replied immediately with her usual “Be careful, dear, and have a safe journey.”, which you missed dearly during the busy season. On off-periods, you would make the effort to visit your parents once a fortnight. You moved to Seoul for university a few years back and found a job in the bustling city, leaving your parents and the family’s bicycle store behind in the coastal neighbourhood. Sometime in your early twenties, your father experienced a mild health scare and had to close the store during his month-long recovery. This made you realise that as the years went by, your parents were not getting any younger. With that in mind, you tried to clear your hectic schedule to spend as much time with your parents as possible.

“This is the 10:01am number 811 KTX train bound for Gangneung. The train will be departing shortly.”

The familiar female voice flooded the carriages of the train and distracted you from your thoughts. The seat in front of you was still unoccupied. You held on to the tiny glimmer of hope that it would remain that way for the rest of the journey, despite knowing very well that the summer holidays were approaching, turning Gangneung into an ideal weekend getaway for tourists and locals alike. The prospect of spending the next few days basking in the summer sunshine, helping out at the bicycle store and frolicking in the sea excited you to no end. After long hours cooped up in the office, you were looking forward to spending your break in the great outdoors.

“28… 29… 30, 31! Here it is, Mark, 31A and 31B. Dibs the window seat!” A cheerful voice spoke in English, pulling you out of your delightful daydream. Before you could turn your head to face its owner, a bright streak of reflected rainbow dancing across the table caught your eye.

“Okay, Bella,” A deep chuckle originated from the man standing beside your seat. “Wait a sec, pass me your bag, honey.”

Your eyes traced the source of the deep timbre notes of the American-sounding voice. What you found was a man, dressed in an oversized white shirt and black ripped jeans, who was placing the girl’s pink Barbie bag into the overhead compartment. Even though he was wearing a cap, you could make out his cherubic features and the gentle smile he directed towards the girl.

The thought that he was a bit too young to have a daughter crossed your mind for a split second, but you quickly shook it off to return the little girl’s excited smile with a polite wave. She was wearing a cute pink dress and looked to be about six or seven years old. The pair got comfortable in their seats, just as the announcement informed the passengers the doors were closing.

The man sitting diagonally opposite of you took off his cap to reveal a head of blonde hair. He met your gaze, and you watched as a surprised look flashed across his face. As the two of you exchanged polite greetings, you couldn’t shake off the thought that you had seen him somewhere before.

A phone chirped, signalling an incoming call. It was a call for him. He answered it, and you looked out the window to give him some privacy and not seem too nosy. You wracked your brain for answers. Did he work at the café I frequented? Or was it the Chinese restaurant that I ordered takeaways from? No… You mused silently. Maybe he’s the cashier at the convenience store near the apartment… But that doesn’t seem right either. Wait, is he-?

“Bell, your Mummy wants to speak to you.”

“Yes, Mummy! Mark said…”

You drowned out the rest of the conversation to refocus your thinking. You sneaked another glance at the man in question, only to find half of his face covered by his laptop screen as he tapped away furiously. It seems like it’s him… You adjusted your position several times to get a better look at his face without seeming too suspicious. Blonde hair and shiny helix piercing, it must be him.

The person you were referring to was someone you’ve only ever seen from afar. There was usually a safe distance between you two on your morning subway ride to the office, with him leaning casually against a pole and you standing steadily in the middle of the crowd. The closest you’ve been to him was when you were running late, and you happened to share the elevator with a blonde-haired man from the eighth floor of your apartment. He always had the top button of his crisp button-up undone, a tie hanging haphazardly over one shoulder and his headphones sitting snugly atop his blonde head, while munching on a piece of burnt toast. You had never encountered this strange gentleman until mid-May, so you assumed that he had recently moved into the floor below you. The two of you never exchanged words either, as he was always busy shoving down his breakfast, but you would always bow politely to each other. Unbeknownst to him, you were intrigued. Not many office workers were brave enough to sport such a striking hair colour, and you had to admit, it suited him perfectly.

You just never expected him to have a child.

“Mark!” The girl, Bella, whined while grabbing his hand. Your ears were still getting accustomed to hearing English after so long. The last time you were surrounded by native speakers was during your six-month-long secondment to the New York branch of your company. “Do my hair, pretty please! I want two braids.”

The man, Mark, sighed in fake annoyance, playfully poking her cheeks. “Yes, Your Highness. Hand over your other hair tie.” A part of you wasn’t used to how the girl didn’t address him with honorifics, but you busied yourself with your phone, pretending that you weren’t eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I thought you took them for me when we left your house.” She huffed, clearly unsatisfied.

“Nope, I only have one with me.”

Your fingers reached for the simple, black hair tie around your wrist. “Here, you can borrow mine.” Smiling, you handed it over to Bella, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

Mark leaned down to whisper in her ear, unable to hide the surprised smile on his face. “Thank the pretty eonnie in Korean.”

“Thank you, eonnie!” Bella chirped, so excited that she was practically bouncing in her seat.

“You’re most welcome.” You said in perfect English, intrigued at Mark’s earlier interaction with the girl.

He proceeded to divide her hair into two even halves, combing her dark locks with long, thin fingers. Expertly, Mark separated the first half into three parts and began to braid. He stuck out his tongue cutely in concentration, trying his best to not mess up.

“Don’t move so much, Bell.” He scolded lightly when the girl pulled out her colouring book and painted the sky a light shade of blue with large strokes of her coloured pencil.

“You’re pretty good at this. Mark, right?” You commented.

“Yeah, guess it comes with practice. I’m Mark, by the way. We never got to introduce each other properly. Your name is…?”

“Y/N.”

“Ah yes, Y/N. It suits you well. Always so prim and proper in your blazer and kitten heels. I must seem like a fool to you, with my tie undone and all.”

You laughed at his self-deprecating humour. This man is funny, and he can braid hair. His wife sure is a lucky woman, you thought. “No, not at all. Where do you work?”

Light conversation regarding your respective careers ensued. You found out that he was also working at a company close to yours, which explained the frequent encounters on the train. He moved in about a month ago from another side of the city because of his new job. When the conversation about work dwindled, you shifted the topic to the girl.

“How old is she?”

Mark secured the first braid with your hair tie, smiling to himself, satisfied. “Bella, how old are you?”

“I’m six, Mark! How could you forget?” The girl sat up from her position to shoot daggers with her eyes at him.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Come, turn to the other side so I can finish this up.” He moved her to sit facing the window instead and starting on the second braid. “She’s six,” Mark turned to you and answered with a sheepish expression. Before you started to wonder what kind of father would forget his daughter’s age, he continued, “Bella doesn’t visit very often.”

Your eyebrows quirked upwards in response. Does that mean he was… divorced?

Mark saw your confused expression and hastened to add, “She’s my niece.” You let out a breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. “My sister and her family came over from LA to visit me.”

It all made sense to you now. “Right…”

“Her parents wanted some alone time so I’m taking her to Gangneung for a day trip cos she wants to visit Jumunjin beach and take some pictures.” He paused, and went on to mouth, “She loves BTS.”

“The bus stop near the beach? The one on their album cover?” You wondered, knowing exactly which photo spot he was referring to. “It’s about a bit of a drive from my parent’s bicycle shop. I took a couple of days off to visit them.”

“You’ve seen the bus stop? That’s so cool!” Bella’s ears perked up.

“Sit still, honey.” Mark reminded sternly as he got closer to the end of the braid.

You nodded eagerly. “Yup! They’ve got a map of a BTS bus route with their album names as the bus stops.”

“Don’t encourage her, Y/N…” Mark groaned as he tied the second braid. He inspected his handiwork and seemed very proud of himself.

“Well, I have a suggestion,” You started carefully. “How about this? I can be your local tour guide for Gangneung today. I can show you the best photo spots, the most popular places to get your daily coffee fix and even get you a discount for bike rentals so you can cycle around the beach and the lake!”

The two of them nodded eagerly at your proposition.

//

It was a long, eventful day. The three of you had visited a hanok café, took way too many pictures at the Jumunjin bus stop and breakwater where they filmed Goblin, dipped your toes in Gyeongpo Beach and cycled around Gyeongpo lake. Your parents had immediately taken a liking to your new friend Mark and his cute niece, even insisting on packing them a container full of kimbap and banana milk for their journey back to Seoul.

“Thank you so, so much for today, Y/N.” Mark whispered as the three of you sat at the train station, waiting for their train. Bella had already dozed off with her head on Mark’s lap. It was an adorable sight. “We both had a lot of fun.”

“Not a problem at all. I enjoyed showing you around and visiting touristy places. I got to see my hometown in a different light.” You faced him, giving him a sincere smile.

He returned you with an equally bright smile that showed off his cute, pointy canines. “Let me take you out for dinner or something. You know, to make it up to you.” Mark’s ears began to heat up and were painted in a faint tinge of red. “Let’s exchange numbers.”

“Sure!” You replied. Was he asking me out on a date? You wondered. “I’ve been craving sticky barbecue ribs since I left the States.”

“I know a good place. How about next Saturday night?”

“I’m free.”

“Great, it’s a date.”

#got7 #mark tuan #mark fluff #got7 fluff #mark imagines #got7 imagines #mark fanfic #got7 fanfic #mark scenarios #got7 scenarios #mark drabbles #got7 drabbles #mark timestamp #got7 timestamps #mark soft #got7 soft #got7 mark tuan #got7 mark #mark #mark tuan fluff #mark tuan fanfic

[mildkatfics]

small talk  rating: m  word count: 6316 summary: Simon and Baz come to the family estate for Christmas, for the first time as an official couple. read on ao3

I did it with an email. Not even with my personal account. My fucking LSE address:  [email protected]. 

Dear All, 

Hope you’re well. I’m sending this message this way because it would be too crude to do it on my mobile, and I didn’t want to wait to be back at Hampshire to tell you. I hope you don’t mind. 

I’m gay. Simon Snow and I have been in a romantic relationship this whole time, and we are happy. 

I suspect none of you are surprised, but it was getting ridiculous to pretend like none of us knew the situation. I am, however, happy to carry on as always. I just figured it’s time for us to get through this bit. 

Regards, 

Basil 

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch 

MA Candidate, Teaching Assistant 

Department of Political Science | London School of Economics 

“Merlin, don’t use your email signature.” Snow peers next to me on the sofa. “Using this account is bad enough.” 

“I kind of like it,” I admit. “It reminds them to be proud of me.” 

“Remove it. And shut up, they’re proud of you.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. I can smell the coffee on him, though he’s showered after work. I wonder if he’ll ever stop smelling of Starbucks. He glares up at me through his eyelashes. “Say it.” 

I narrow my eyes. “No.” 

“Baz. Say it.” He rolls his eyes and shoves his body against mine, slightly toppling me over. He hasn’t gotten any gentler over the years. I love it. “Say that your family is proud of you.” 

I sigh, but give in. “My family is proud of me.” 

“So is your boyfriend.” 

I indulge in a sneer, and he throws it right back at me. I say it. “So is my boyfriend.” 

He grins, and sits back up. “Right. Now remove the email signature and send it. And remove my last name. You’re talking to your family, not applying for a mortgage.” 

I snort. “I’m pretty sure my father doesn’t know what a mortgage is.” 

“Here,” Snow takes my laptop from me and removes the signature and his last name from the email. I watch his brow furrow and his lips move slightly as he focuses on re-reading the text. He starts to tug on his hair, and I almost laugh. I didn’t bother spending too much time on the message, but here he is, reading and re-reading every word because he cares. I press my lips against his cheek. I let myself linger, inhaling his scent. Dark Roast. Probably the Christmas Blend. “Don’t give yourself a hemorrhage,” I murmur. 

He ignores me for a while before speaking again. “I’m gonna hit send, yeah?” 

I don’t take my eyes off him, not even bothering to read it over. “Yeah.” 

I watch his finger hesitate for a second on the trackpad, then clicks it. He blinks and takes a deep breath, and I laugh. “Are you going to be alright?” I joke. 

His eyes slide over to me. “You just came out to your family. I can’t tell if I’m overreacting, or if you’re...underreacting.” He cards his fingers through my hair. “I also can’t tell if you’re hiding your feelings from me, or if you’re a complete fucking sociopath.” 

I laugh again, and I consider his question seriously. “I’m happy,” I think out loud. I make sure to look in his eyes when I finish my sentence. “But that’s par for the course nowadays, isn’t it?” 

Snow tries to trap his grin into a smirk. “Sap.” He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. I lean hard and deepen the kiss, and I feel him grin for real and bite my bottom lip. I give an indignant grunt, but don’t bother pretending how much that gets me on. He pushes back until he braces himself against the arm of the sofa, trapping me. I grip his shirt in my fist, only because I would never let him do that to me. And I do it to him, because I get off on that kind of thing. And so does he. 

My laptop pings from the coffee table, and Snow breaks away. “What are you doing?” I hiss, and capture his mouth back in mine. 

“That’s probably your family.” He crawls back and opens my laptop. 

I slump back, keeping my eyes closed. “Is it my father?” 

I can feel him roll his eyes at me. “Baz. You read it.” I feel the sleek metal on my chest. I sigh, and I open it. 

Dear Basil, 

Thank you for your email, and for your candor. We look forward to seeing you both this Christmas. We’ve actually just invited loads of your aunts and uncles for this year. Wonderful timing, isn’t it? All my love to you and Simon. 

Also, please remember to bring my mixing bowl. 

Sincerely, 

Daphne 

Snow is peering over my shoulder. “I’ve always liked Daphne.” 

I have, too. 

— 

“I’m not asking you to memorize a family tree here, love.” I’m leaning against the condiment stand, now plastered with plastic snowflakes, a few feet from where Snow is working. The fairy lights around the place sparkle against his skin, complimenting his freckles. I watch the way his arms flex as he pulls chairs back, handles cups and saucers, and carries our conversation with a kind of effortless rhythm that I find really hot. “And you’ve done this before. You’ve spent, what, four other Christmasses with my family?”

“Oh, don’t even try pretending this is the same. This is the first Christmas since your email, not to mention all these people.” He replies without looking at me. He looks up and smiles towards the door when a patron enters, and turns his head back to an empty table. “You have, like, five uncles with loads of kids a piece, who all speak Latin—” 

“They speak English too.” 

“Not the French ones.” 

I purse my lips. “So you have been listening. Don’t worry about them. They stick amongst themselves, anyway.” 

“I’ll be right with you, mate.” Simon calls out to the guy. He throws his cloth onto his shoulder and starts walking backwards towards the bar. He redirects his attention to me. “Busy now, I need you to go away. We’ll talk about this at home.” 

I give him a pout. I’m six foot two, wearing a Tom Ford coat, and pouting at my boyfriend at a Starbucks. I’m shameless. 

His eyes, still locked on mine, sparkle for a second before he turns all his attention on his customer. “Sorry about that. What can I get started for you?” 

I let the smile stay on my face even as I exit the shop and head to class. 

— 

I lay my suitcase and my folded clothes on the bed. I almost ruined a white cashmere on my last trip by putting my toiletries on the same side, so I place it at the very top this time. Then I decide it’s actually better to put it at the bottom of the stack, to keep it safe. So I pull everything out to rearrange. I place my socks in between the empty spaces. “You should focus on your own packing instead of watching me do mine.” I turn to raise an eyebrow at Snow, watching me from the door. 

Snow mirrors the gesture, opens his dresser, and dumps a bunch of clothes into a black backpack that he picked up from the floor. “Done.” 

I wrinkle my nose. “Will you please let me pack for you next time?” 

Amusement lights up his face. “I think I should pack for you.” He sits on our bed, looks at my full suitcase, and looks up at me. “It’s two days, darling. Or is this one of your anxiety-packings?” 

“Aren’t you the one nervous to meet my family?” 

He groans and flops down on his back. “I’m trying not to panic, but the closer we get, the more I think about it.” He lifts his head to look at me. “Please tell me I’m not the only one. There has to be another cousin’s weird boyfriend or someone who flunked out of uni or whatever your family gossips about.” 

I consider it. “Elvira voted Labour in the last election and told everyone.” 

“Rookie mistake.” 

“I know. Don’t even utter anything remotely political in that house.” 

“Great. So don’t mention your school, career, or passions, and we should be good to go.” He sighs before muttering, so low that I can barely hear it, “Bloody hell.”

A beat of silence passes, and I can hear his brain spinning into overdrive. “Snow,” I start. 

“They’re gonna eat me alive.” 

“They won’t.” 

“They will.” 

“They won’t.” I look him in the eyes when I say it. “Do you trust me?” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes at my low blow. He looks at me for a moment, hesitates, then nods. 

“Good,” I say. “Just stay close to me and look pretty.” 

He shoves me, hard, and laughs. 

— 

The drive up to the country is still one of my favourites. Fiona would usually drive me each year in December for the holidays, and I loved watching London slowly disappear. The buildings and adverts fade away. The last minute Christmas Eve shoppers nowhere in sight. The snow on the roads thicker, whiter. Trees replacing lamp posts. The thrill is multiplied now that I’m behind the wheel, with Snow on the passenger seat, his fingers massaging my nape and pulling slightly on my hair. The road is deserted, and I accelerate. The engine purrs with the effort underneath us, and I can’t help but grin. I feel electric. 

Snow looks at me. “Are you smiling because you’re endangering my life?” 

I raise my eyebrow at him. I can make this drive with my eyes closed. I go faster, and his eyes light up. His finger travels up my nape, and starts scratching my scalp. Gooseflesh erupts across my arms. “You keep this up, and this car will spin off the path.”

“Anything to delay getting there, right?” 

My eyes slide towards him. Just as I try to gauge how serious he’s being, he retracts his hand to run it down his face. 

“Simon,” I start to say. 

“No, s’alright. S’alright, I promise. I think I just need to get through the first bit, then I’ll get in the zone.” I can hear his heartbeat pick up. I slow the car to a halt. 

He keeps his eyes closed when he mutters, “I may seem like I’m mental, but I’m fine. I’m great.” 

“I’m sure.” I keep my hands on the wheel when I turn to him. “We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

“‘Course we do.” 

“I’ll turn the car around right now if you’d like. I’m serious.” 

“And I’m serious when I say I can do this. I can. Besides,” he drops his hands and looks at me. “I want the roast beef.” 

I laugh, but my face settles into a frown. “Are you sure?” 

His lip quirks upward. “Start the car, Baz.” As we accelerate, he adds, “Though if Daphne decides to suddenly go vegetarian or something, I swear to Merlin and Morgana we are leaving.” 

I smile, and I let my right hand drop down to loosely lock with his left. The rest of the drive is as beautiful as I remember it. 

— 

When we pull in and step out, there are already cars lined along the path. Snow stretches his arms above his head, his green jumper riding slightly above his waist. I pop open the boot and grab my suitcase, but Snow touches my wrist. “Let me,” he says. I stare at him as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, take my suitcase and the paper bag in his right hand, and shuts the boot with his left. 

He takes my hand and starts walking. I roll my eyes. “Are you doing this to impress my father?” 

“I’m trying to impress my boyfriend.” 

He’s a git, and I love him. “At least let me carry the bloody mixing bowl,” I say, grabbing the bag. I think about how inappropriate it would be to snog him ten feet from my family home. We never did when we’d come for the holidays, but would we start, now that everyone knows we’re a couple? I spot a lamborghini parked near ours, and the possibility dissolves. Fat chance Snow would feel at ease enough to do anything like that.  

We approach the door, and I feel the heat and energy radiating off of him. His feet shuffle in place, and he rubs the back of his head. My finger hesitates before ringing the bell. I should say something. Some final words of affirmation, to make sure he’s feeling better— 

My eyes widen when Simon shoves me into the wall, and they flutter shut when he kisses me. Deeply. He looks sheepish when he breaks away, stil inches away from my face. “Sorry. Don’t know when I’ll get to do this again.” 

I kiss him another time before letting him go. “Idiot.” I let my smile stretch wide across my face as I ring the doorbell. 

— 

The parlour is already half-full of people, but the staircase is blessedly tucked away when we enter the house. I can see a few of my relatives from where we stand. Most I recognize, and others I don’t. Cousins whose faces ring a bell but have changed since they’ve grown. New wives and husbands. Little toddlers using their magic like firecrackers, sending sparkles and clouds of smoke in the air as they chase each other up and down the stairs. 

Daphne shoos them away as she leads us to my room—our room. “How was the drive, darling?” 

“Lovely, thank you. The snow’s being kind to us this year, isn’t it?” I can already feel my tongue change inside my mouth. My years with Simon has morphed my vocabulary and made my words looser. More relaxed. Simon’s chuffed, of course; my slurring speech and clipped words are entirely his fault. Here at home, though, it’s like my whole body automatically straightens. 

“Oh, yes.” Daphne replies. She swiftly spells the stray toys and wrinkled carpets tidy. The mixing bowl has long floated to the kitchen. “Nothing can be as ghastly as last year. Your Uncle Edgar’s tires had a tough time, remember? He’s got a new car now.” 

Ah, yes. The lamborghini. 

“Have you got new flowers, Daphne?” Snow asks. This catches me by surprise. 

That makes her smile. “Yes, actually. I thought orchids might brighten the place up for the children. You’ll see the poinsettias in the kitchen.” She clasps her hands when we reach our room. “Right. I’ll let you two get settled. Don’t wait too long to come down, everyone’s excited to meet you.” She squeezes Simon’s hand and walks back to the party. 

Simon opens the door, drops the bags, and walks back out. “Right, let’s do this.” I look at him. I was planning on showering, at the very least changing clothes. He speaks again before I can ask. “If I go in there, I’m not gonna want to come back out. Let’s get on with it, yeah?” 

I hesitate, then I nod. I rub his back while we go down the stairs, as the party sounds get louder. Well, calling it ‘party sounds’ would be misleading. It’s murmurs, conversation, and the occasional clinking of dishware. 

Snow grips my elbow before we step into the parlour. “Stay close to me,” he whispers. 

There was a time when I wouldn’t say my reply out loud. That was a long time ago. “Always.” I say, firmly. 

— 

It’s fine. It’s only been two hours, but it’s been fine. 

Snow and I entered the parlour, and I don’t know what dark curse is after us, but my cousin Emille approaches us first. Of the French Pitches. 

“Basil! Bonsoir, comment ça va?" She had smiled warmly. We always got on well during these events. 

“Bien, bien. Et tu?”  

We kept up this back and forth for a few minutes, and it became clear that she had no intention of speaking to Simon. “Sorry, I don’t believe you’ve met Simon. My partner,” I say in English. I place my hand at the small of his back and smile at him. 

He smiles at her and holds out his hand, right when she goes in for a kiss on the cheek. 

The conversation didn't last very long. 

As I was steering us away from Emille, I caught my father’s eye from across the room. His smile almost reached his eyes when he called us over. Almost. 

“Basil,” He said, gripping my shoulder. “Welcome home.” I nod, and he turned to Simon. “All right, Simon?” 

Simon holds out his hand. “Good evening, sir.” He smiles, but I can see his jaw pulled taut. I can feel his pulse picking up. He’s called my father that every year. 

I waited for him to correct Simon, to call him literally anything else, but he shook Simon’s hand and replied, “Did the snow give you any trouble on the drive?” 

“Not at all. Made it in record time,” Simon replied, while I grit my teeth in annoyance. 

“Very good. Your aunts and uncles are thrilled to see you...” 

Thankfully, since then, we’ve stayed off to the side as each uncle and aunt exchanged pleasantries and tried their best to casually mention their child being brilliant or athletic or powerful. Each is playing their own game, and they’re all losing. I see Simon intently listening, his eyes darting back and forth to keep up with this pathetic six-person tennis match. I want to rub his back again. To tell him not to waste so much energy for this. That he’s too good for any of them. 

Instead, I sip my wine and look around the house. Fiona hasn’t arrived yet—typical. She’d probably bust in at half-nine, after dinner and when the children are about to sleep. I watch Mordelia sit in the far corner near the dining room, her nose in a book, with one of the toddlers curl up next to her. Softie. She’s gotten so tall since I last saw her... 

My attention whips back when I hear my Aunt Ariadne says my name. “Are you at uni, then, Basil?” 

I uncross my legs and straighten my spine. “Yes, doing my Master’s at LSE.” 

I pray she’ll let me leave it at that, and she replies with, “Oh, lovely. Your cousin Rainn is thinking of pursuing one as well. She’s almost done her undergrad. Over at Cambridge.” Good old Aunt Ariadne. 

I nod and smile, about to prompt her about her precious Rainn and Cambridge, when my father speaks up. “Have you decided on your dissertation, Basil?” 

I try not to sigh when I say my practiced reply. “I have. I’m doing it on democratic theory and fiscal austerity in the EU.” I leave it as vague as possible, and hope the conversation simmers away. 

I see Edgar sit up, and I brace for impact. “Good lad. More people your age ought to learn about personal responsibility and the free market.” 

I think about my work, the research I’ve poured over, that argues just the opposite. How the time for austerity has long gone. How democratic theory must be at the forefront of economic policy. But nothing can be worse than a roundtable discussion with my dear Uncle Edgar and half the Pitch extended family, so I swerve. “Yes, the school work can be a pain, but I’m grateful for the opportunity.” 

“Public discourse has thrown what really matters out the window,” he presses, and I can see his face begin to liven up. “It has corrupted our society. Having Labour in power now, of course, is a bloody nightmare. Giveaways here and there. Iced lollies, penny sweets, thousands of pounds a month?  What difference does that make? Throw it all to the wind! There’s a ‘public program’ for anything nowadays.” He makes air quotes with his hand. 

“Edgar,” Daphne starts. 

He ignores her and starts to speak with his hands. Clearly, he’s enjoying being a world-class twat. “And what will that do with my taxes, hm? Wasting and throwing it to bums and lunatics.”

Edgar’s points are so dogmatic, so cartoonishly cookie-cutter, that I almost laugh, but I feel Simon tense beside me. I gently nudge my thigh against his. Steady, love, I want to tell him. 

“Well, dinner’s just about ready. Let’s all wash up and get the children, shall we?” Daphne suggests. Bless her heart. The others heave off the sofa, chairs, and loveseats handsomely positioned all around the parlour, and disperses to different corners of the house. 

I start to get up, relieved to eat, when I see Snow stay put. His jaw is set, and his eyes are fixed on a spot at the wall. The parlour has cleared, so I take my hand loosely in his. “All right?” I ask. 

His fingers absently toy with mine, but it takes a minute for him to look at me. I’m an expert in reading Snow’s transparent face, but right now, I’m at a loss. He nods, stands up, and drops my hand. 

— 

Dinner, so far, is hardly better. At least Daphne didn’t go vegetarian. 

The table is spelled longer to accommodate all the guests, and it stretches from the dining table, past the archway, and into the parlour. 

Next to me, Snow is quiet. He’s aced the table manners over the years, and I smile at the lumps of food on his plate. Underneath the table, I tap his foot with mine, and he taps me back. 

This is good. We can do this. 

Aunt Willow—A Danish Pitch—takes a sip from her wine and turns to us. “So what do you study, Simon?” 

I feel Simon straighten up. “Oh, I don’t, actually. I’m working right now.” 

“Like for a gap year?”

“Er, I’m not sure yet.” He chuckles, and he hides his discomfort well. But not to me. “Just reckon I’d spend my time saving up if I’m not sure what I’d like to study.” 

“Of course, I think that’s wonderful.” I take another bite, and try my best to look nonchalant. But I already start to dread my family’s behaviour. My body feels like I’m about to enter a duel. “Where do you work, darling?” 

Simon hesitates before he replies, “Central London.” I watch his fork swirl around the mash. Willow smiles and nods, and just when I can see her about to turn to someone else, he abruptly adds, “I work at a Starbucks. In Central London. Just by LSE, actually.”

“Lovely,” she says, and I can tell she’s at a loss with what to say next, but that won’t stop her from carrying a conversation. “I tried a scone from there one morning when I was running late to a conference. It was quite good.” 

Simon laughs, and I can feel an edge to it. I decide to jump in. “I’ve had all their scones, Aunt Willow. Almost comparable to Watford, if you ask me.”

Daphne smiles. “Maybe someone can give Cook Pritchard a run for her money.” 

“Baz, you interned at the Home Secretary’s office, didn’t you? When you finished your undergrad?” I hear my father suddenly add.

“Yes, father.” I reply without a beat, though my brow raises slightly at the question. What is he on about? 

“Well, maybe you can connect Simon. He ought to have a better gap year than a cafe, eh?” He’s smiling, but when we make eye contact, I can feel a bucket of cold water splash through me. I clench my fist and I feel a loud clunk on the floor. Simon ducks down to fish his knife from beneath the table. I’m so taken aback from my father’s words that I’ve stopped keeping tabs on him. 

I stare at him from across the table. It’s completely quiet now. 

“Mummy, will you pass the gravy, please?” An even voice says from three seats down. I look over at Mordelia, with her plate almost empty. 

Daphne clears her throat. “Sure, darling.” When Mordelia gets the boat, she sets it down and doesn’t pour it on her plate. 

I clear my throat. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t think they’d even remember me.”

He nods once, and goes back to his roast beef. 

— 

Thankfully, the rest of dinner is quieter. Snow is quieter. 

He barely finishes dessert before he excuses himself and steps away from the table. I smile, excuse myself, and follow him through the parlour. 

I can tell Snow is trying not to stomp and barrel up the stairs. I can tell his jaw is clenched, so tightly that I can hear his teeth scrape together. He opens the door, and we go inside. 

My walls have been permanently spelled sound-proof since I was fifteen. I can still feel the magic I left behind, permeating the wallpaper and the tapestries. A part of my brain appreciates the irony of that; I spell them on the summer I tried to wank my feelings away, and now the spell still stands, concealing the clenching jaw and heavy footsteps of Simon Snow himself. I think I would have been thrilled, had I knew. 

Now, though, I feel my stomach constrict, like cold water sizzling against my heated insides. I sit down on the trunk at the foot of my bed. I want to ask him to sit with me, but I know better. I  watch him five feet away from me, running a hand through his hair. “You’re angry,” I say. 

“‘Yeah. I am.” He’s not saying anything else, but he’s anything but quiet. He takes a deep breath and exhales out his nose. His heart is thumping, and I can hear his blood rush across his veins. He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. Like I have countless times before. 

When he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “I wanted this visit to work. So badly. But those things he was saying. And you listening and taking it, and...and...” He huffs in frustration. It’s demeaning, Baz.” 

“Is it Edgar? My father?” I ask. “They’re old dickheads, Simon. They humiliate themselves. Can’t even go through small talk without—” 

“That’s the thing,” he interrupts me. His eyes flit to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but me. “It’s not just </i>small talk.</i> That rubbish he spouts? You think it’s jest?”

“Why do you care what he thinks?” Seeing him so upset is sending a ripple of panic fluttering from my chest. I scramble, and I grasp, and apparently, I break. 

“It’s not just Edgar, isn’t it? It’s that whole lot. What would they say when they find out their darling Basil is dating a bloody chav from a foster home? Leeching away his money ‘cause I serve coffee eight hours a day.” He laughs a bitter, joyles sound. He’s still not looking at me. “This is real life, Baz. It’s not small talk. It’s not a chat during a fucking garden promenade at your family’s club. I guess I’d know if I picked up a few shifts there, wouldn’t I?” 

Irritation swells in my throat. I think about the Easters, Christmases, summers at the club where I kept my mouth shut when my family makes gay jokes about lads and queers and faeries. He has never thrown my privilege in my face. “You know I don’t mean it like that.” 

“Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea what you do mean. Not when you sit there and say nothing.” He breathes again. “It’s not just everyone else.” He repeats. “It’s...it’s you.” 

Fights aren’t the same from when we were twenty. Now, at twenty-three, they don’t feel like we’re one shout from breaking up. They don’t feel like Simon will slip from my fingertips unless I hold on so tightly that my knuckles are white with the effort. They don’t feel like the love I had for him was an overflowing static, buzzing through the air and hurting anyone who dares come close. Now, they’re just fights. 

But they still fucking hurt. 

“Simon, love—” 

“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. He stares at a far wall when he talks to me. “Don’t call me that when I’m upset with you. Please.” 

I stand there, at a complete loss. He turns around, unzips his backpack, and starts shoving his clothes out on the bed. I can see his hands trembling. His heart is still thumping, blood still rushing. I shut my eyes and start to feel the tears well up. Long before I learned to retract my fangs, I’ve mastered retracting my tears first. But I don’t want to hold them back. Not here. Not with him. 

He keeps his back to me, and I stare at it—at the thick ridge, strained and tense. I know he can feel me looking. I want him to keep talking. I want him to yell at me, tell me what to do. Because I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. 

I turn around and open the door. 

“Your toothbrush is in mine,” I mutter. “You almost forgot it this morning.” I close the door shut, and I go down the stairs. 

I blink, but the tears don’t come. Like I said; my body knows when I’m home. 

— 

When you hang a left by the garage, there’s a brick wall on the side of the house. It’s completely dark at night, and dead quiet. At half-eleven, it would be tricky for any visitor to end up there, and I easily make my way down there without being spotted.  It was my favourite spot to sneak a fag. Not that I have one on me. I’d kill for one now. 

I stop when I see Mordelia standing near the bins, one leg folded to prop herself up. I see her blow smoke up to the sky, with the soft ember at her fingertips the only light between us. I had no idea she smoked. 

I walk up to her and join her against the wall. She looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. “Have you got a spare?” I ask her. I can’t remember the last time we spoke. Surely, not last Christmas? 

She flicks open her pack and holds it out to me. I put one between my lips, light it with my wand, take a deep drag, and exhale. I close my eyes and relish the way my head starts to spin. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me off?” Standing next to her, I realize that she’s almost past my shoulder. 

I shrug. “I was about your age when I started.” 

She narrows her eyes and bites her lip, and I think about my life at sixteen. Fifth year. I hope to Merlin and Morgana that she’s not going through even a portion of what I did. I think about saying something to her, or asking about Watford, when she says something that throws me off. “Is Simon never coming back here? After spending a night with the family?” 

I laugh, almost bitterly. I never give her enough credit. “That Edgar is a real wanker, isn’t he?” I deflect. She chuckles, and I take another drag. I follow her line of sight and look at the stars. They’re so much prettier here, away from London. I continue talking. “He’ll be alright; he’s always been stronger than me. It’s me who can’t stand it.” I look back at her and give a half-smile. “Do you want him to? Come back?” 

I was meaning to take the piss, but she slowly nods. “When he spent that first Christmas with us, I didn’t like it. Not cause he was the Chosen One, or whatever. Crowley, that seems like a lifetime ago.” She takes a drag and exhales. I wonder if our father would blame her smoking on me. “I didn’t like it because you were different with him. Where he goes, you go. And neither of you have any clue. It’s like someone cast ‘Shall we dance?’ on you. And it freaked me out to see you so different. It never changed with every December, you see. Didn’t waver or dampen. And Simon never stopped looking bloody terrified every year.” She pauses when I laugh, and then looks at me when she speaks again. “I can barely remember what you were like before him now. I’ve never seen you so happy.” 

I look at her with wide eyes. In the moonlight, I can see how her eyelashes flutter. How her cheeks redden in the cold. I wonder how much she’s absorbed, how much she’s grown up, right under my nose. She puts out her cigarette and stomps on it. Without another word, she turns to head back inside. 

“Mordelia,” I call after her. She turns back to me and raises her eyebrow. “Happy Christmas.” 

She rolls her eyes, but I can see a smile start to form. “Go back inside. Don’t cock it up.” 

— 

I don’t know what to expect when I carefully open our door. Part of me hopes he’d be asleep; he tossed and turned all night last night. 

Instead, I find him sitting on the floor cross-legged, facing the fireplace. He doesn’t say anything when I shut the door behind me. 

I pad across the room and join him, leaving a few feet of space when when I sit. I watch him for a moment in my periphery. He’s hunched over his knees, resting his chin at the top of his knees. I indulge in inhaling his scent. “I’m sorry,” I say. 

He’s silent for a long time. In the quiet, if I concentrate, I can still hear the party below us, louder now that they’ve brought out the brandy. I remember the drill, and I hate it. 

Instead, I listen to the crackling of the flames. Simon’s even heartbeat. 

“I’m not angry anymore,” Snow mutters. He keeps his gaze on the fire. 

“I fucked up tonight,” I say. 

Simon shakes his head, and I spot a small smile on his lips. “You don’t fuck up, darling. You’re too perfect for that. You miscalculated, maybe.” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood, because he knows how. He’s bloody brilliant with that. With me. But I won’t take it. “Simon...”

“We save that phrase for actual fuck-ups, like me.” 

“Simon. No.” I shift to properly face him. He keeps his eyes forward, but that’s alright. “You’re right. Those things are important, and they matter, and they were unacceptable. And I didn’t understand that. And I hurt you.” 

He hesitates before replying. “Don’t you think they have a point?” 

Anger rises in my chest. “No,” I almost growl. “They don’t.” My hands ball into fists, and I force them to open again. I breathe. “Please look at me, love.” 

He does. I scoot forward and lean in, pushing his curls back. “You are not a fuck-up, SiImon Snow. I will make a spreadsheet, I’ll write you a speech. I’ll do a dissertation, and I’ll pass with distinction. Because I’ll prove it. Crowley, I will prove it.” Nothing would be easier to do. Would make me happier to accomplish. 

He looks down and smiles. He takes my hand from his face, kisses my palm, and laces our fingers together. 

“Will you forgive me?” I whisper. 

He leans forward and kisses me. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he answers against my lips. He moves to my ear. “I know I’ll never be a fuck-up as long as I’m your boyfriend.” 

“Because Basil Pitch doesn’t date losers,” I answer breathlessly. 

“Indeed,” he whispers. He moves to my neck, kissing me there. “Merlin, I’ll live up to it. I could be buried with that title, and I’ll be the happiest ghost around.” 

I close my eyes and breathe him in. His pulse is so loud, so close to me, that it rings in my ears. I pretend that it’s mine, that we’re sharing a heartbeat. If I had to stay this close to keep my heart pumping for the rest of my life, I’ll accept it. Gladly. Gratefully. 

“Do you want to go home?” I murmur against his hair. 

He pulls back and looks at me. “Really?”

I can see in his eyes that he wants to. I nod. 

“What about your family?” 

My lip quirks upward. “I think they’ll manage.” 

He keeps looking at me, searching my eyes for hesitation. When he finds nothing, he smiles slowly. “Will you let me drive?” 

I purse my lips. “Then we’ll be even?” 

His eyes sparkle, lips twisting in wicked amusement. “Deal.” 

It’s almost one o’clock in the morning when we step out of the house with our luggage, so I wasn’t expecting anyone to notice. We almost make it past the gate when I hear a voice behind us. “Leaving so soon?” 

I turn around. Fiona. 

I look at her, unsure of what to say. Of whether or not she’d stop us. She drops her cigarette on the ground and stomps it out with her boot. She rolls her eyes and says, “Just give me a hug before you go.” 

I walk forward and wrap my arms around her. When we pull away, she nods at Simon behind me. “Drive safely, yeah?” She jerks her head towards me. “He’d cry if you wreck that Jag.”

I hear Simon chuckle. “I will.” 

She nods. “Go on, then. Before anyone sees you.” 

I kiss her cheek. “I’ll ring you when we get home.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Go.” 

— 

Turns out, the drive is even better in total darkness. 

— 

We woke up on Christmas morning at eleven o’clock. 

I can’t remember the last Christmas where I slept in so late.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #Tyrannus Basilton Pitch

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 01

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut 

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking. 

Warnings: Mild swearing, hysterical fan behaviour 

Word Count: 7.1k (Chapter 1 is longer than usual)

A/N: Okay, so in my next phase of finally crossposting my works to tumblr, I’m adding this massive multi-chapter fic. 

I began this slow-burner (emphasis on slow-burn) a couple of years ago, so it’s easy to see how my writing has changed and evolved throughout.

Basically, I wanted to imagine what it would be like to have one of those ‘chance encounters’ every fan has thought of at least once. Thus, this fic was born, and though it is full of coincidences and wishful thinking, I always try to work realistically to make it enjoyable (and not as foolish as the premise makes it sound).

I hope you enjoy the ride, and feel free to check out the rest on my Ao3 in the meantime while I try my best to transfer everything in an orderly fashion! <3

»»————- << masterpost | next >>　————-««  

      Reader 1st person POV

Imagine being asked to remember the most boring day of your whole existence. If you're anything like me, then it's a bit hard to recall...but for once I was certain.

Today was that day.

Or it was, until something outrageous happened. Something so unprecedented and so unbelievable that I struggle to recall it at all.

I suppose I'll give it my best shot anyway. 

A clear and uneventful morning leading straight into the annoyingly peaceful afternoon, and I had still only picked up and dropped off a measly number of people. Yes, being an Uber driver had its ups and downs, and I had been one for about a year and a half already. It paid decently enough most of the time, and the job just worked hand-in-hand with the flashy new car leaving a gaping hole in my bank account.

Despite all these alleged perks, today had been an obviously gruelling exception.

The lack of activity could be blamed on a number of scenarios, for instance a public holiday or event stirring attention somewhere else. Whatever it was, it was decreasing the number of customers in this usually bustling city of Seoul much to my dismay. I needed good cash, and I’d been working my ass off lately in order to get exactly that. Even closing myself off to social media and other forms of communication with friends helped me focus solely on working nowadays.

I need a real job… 

Then suddenly, even as cliché as it sounds, God decided to answer all of my prayers. A loud ding emitted from my phone and I almost veered off the road in sheer astonishment.

“Thank the Lord!” I pulled up quickly onto the curb and examined the Uber request, almost questioning if I had imagined the whole thing out of desperation.

The name read ‘J’. Literally just the letter, boldly sitting in the middle of my screen. I raised an eyebrow, and normally would have considered declining the request if it seemed too prank-worthy, but I needed this job. I didn’t think the person had even registered or used the service before, as there wasn’t a clear rating to be seen anywhere. Once again...I needed this job.

The pinpoint appeared nearby, and luckily it was only about a five-minute drive to reach the destination. It was located just outside a large shopping mall in central Seoul, and even though this was a seemingly quiet day, it shouldn’t have been this empty. There were of course a few groups of people and individual shoppers wandering about, in and out of the entrance looking for easy buys. Even so, I knew this place to be quite popular and to say I was astounded would be an understatement.

There must be something going on in the city somewhere. 

Making a grab for my phone about three minutes after looking around for ‘J’, I considered sending him or her a text to ask where they were. The place was basically empty, so spotting someone on the lookout for their ride shouldn’t have been too difficult.

“They mustn’t be out yet.” I clucked quietly to myself, typing out a message to indicate I had arrived.

The gentle hum of my engine was the only sound accompanying me as I waited. After another thirty seconds, I received a short reply of “there soon”. I glanced at the simple words a second time before lightly scoffing.

“Okay ‘J’, I’m in no rush.”

Still amused over the less than eloquent reply, I leant back into my comfortable leather seat and hummed to myself to pass some time. I would’ve usually had the radio going, but for now I wasn’t really in the mood for any background distractions. I liked silence when it was comfortable, and especially in a place such as this shopping mall, it was rare to come by.

The reverie was soon shattered when faint sounds of various screams erupted from somewhere in the distance, and I instantly jerked my head up with squinted eyes to observe the area. Tinted car windows revealed just enough of the area to discern an overall lack of movement.

The paved courtyard outside the mall wasn’t occupied by a single human being, which was even stranger than before. The only moving things I could eventually see where a couple of dirtied napkins being thrown around in the slight breeze, and a ripped paper cup from a popular juice bar rolling around caught in the same fate.

The frantic screaming continued. Should I be worried? The shouting wasn’t in terror or anger, that much I was sure of. I usually would pin it on some brawl breaking out nearby, but these sounds where mostly female when I listened closer. In any sense, it definitely sounded extreme.

I wondered briefly if there was some massive sale happening at a famous clothes brand down the street, causing a flurry of panic within female shoppers. The anticipation from the sounds caused me to tap my fingers on the steering wheel in curiosity.

Then it happened. An enormous group of Korean women and probably a few men, some looking fairly young, flocked around the corner of a building in an intense hurry.

Was the sale here or something??

My eyes widened in shock, as the group only seemed to be growing in numbers. Many were holding their phones out, as if recording something, and I scanned the rapidly moving crowd with anxious eyes to spot the source of the commotion.

Two well-dressed men seemed to be caught in the centre of it all. The pair that stemmed this chaotic crowd were clad from head to toe in designer clothes, including darkly coloured masks and sunglasses, not to mention the hoods covering their heads. The shorter of the two donned a lighter colour palette through a milky white button-up, while the other was dressed in a charcoal black hoodie and black ripped jeans.

They appeared to be trying to escape the bundling mass of people, as they moved quickly and swiftly ahead of the horde in their haste. I gripped the wheel in surprise. The screams where deafening and I could feel them grating my nerves. I hoped my client would not be caught in this mess. I wanted out, and I wanted out as soon as possible.

Maybe they’re famous, maybe idols?

A small excitement sparked at that thought, but I was still daunted by the scene playing out in front of me. If they were idols, I felt incredibly sorry for them. This was a clear breach of privacy and personal space, and they didn’t deserve it at all. This was the reason for hatred against K-pop fandoms all around the world.

“Who do they think they are?” I found myself muttering, eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

Suddenly, the more brightly dressed man glanced around and pointed directly at my car, turning to his well-built friend to shout something following a flurry of gestures. I stiffened and my breath hitched when both started sprinting towards me, their fans following desperately to try and at least touch them.

Oh no.

My breathing sped up and the situation finally dawned on me. The empty mall, the shady name and blunt text response. The timing…

I unlocked all my doors and gripped the wheel harder, if that was even possible. The mass of people followed the two guys as they drew closer to my car, and I prayed to God that they didn’t leave any scratches or dents by the time I was gone. The one that acknowledged me first reached the car, and I jumped slightly when he opened the passenger door and clambered in swiftly. The other darkly dressed one threw himself in the backseat next and I jumped again when both doors slammed shut simultaneously.

“Hello!” The first guy cleared his throat from where he sat next to me and I could see he was bouncing his knee in apprehension, obviously wanting to scoot the fuck out of there, but still trying to be polite towards me. His breathing was shallow, and I could see large beads of sweat rolling down the side of his half-hidden face. I was in no mood to sit around and ponder about him.

“To hell with this!” I exclaimed with a squeak, and the second after the passenger door closed I shifted the gearstick and floored the pedal. Making sure that no people were in my way before skidding slightly around the pick-up bend. Only the sound of one singular hand slapping the boot of my car made me wince, but I was glad there was no other physical contact on my precious red Hyundai.

Only the sound of laboured breathing could be heard amongst sighs of relief as we pulled away from the mall. I looked into the rear-view mirror to see some people giving a hearty chase down the road, but most of the fans had broken away and were just waving towards my car as we rolled down the street.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and I could feel a small smile resting on my face at the thought of escaping something like that. What a turn of events for this tedious day! A muffled gasp caught my attention and I looked into my mirror again to see the darkly dressed guy’s eyes screwed shut as he laughed breathlessly, one hand slapping his knee. His friend was just leaning his head back against the headrest as he gulped in large breaths of oxygen through his plump lips. They had both pulled down their masks and lifted their shaded glasses to catch their breaths, but the sight caused my own eyes to widen dangerously.

Holy shit on a stick, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook are sitting in my car. What in the ever-loving…

My breathing hitched at the realisation, but I continued to drive steadily. The thing I needed to focus on most of all was getting away from the crazy population of the city. I knew internally I was freaking out a little at the thought of members of my favourite boyband sitting in my own car, but I kept it under wraps knowing they would definitely not appreciate another bout of whatever that shemozzle was before.

I guess nothing goes unnoticed when you’re that famous. Why the hell were they alone?

Jungkook stopped laughing as he looked at my wide-eyed and slightly terrified expression. He suddenly grew apologetic due to his unexplained laughing.

“Sorry, uh, just how you drove off… sorry.” His voice died down as he gradually started to regain his composure, and I watched a shy demeanour suddenly take over his form, as if he had been hit with a realisation of overstepping his bounds. Jimin just turned and glanced pointedly at him, and then back at me to search wearily for a response.

“No it’s fine, I’m just a tad shaken,” I huffed out an exasperated breath, amusement showing on my features at the maknae’s sudden behaviour change. The idol next to me cleared his throat as I turned another corner, luckily no traffic barred my way and I was easily able to fly down the main road.

“We’re very sorry for what happened back there, that was probably quite troublesome for you. We apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Seriously don’t worry. You guys definitely needed an escape from…that. I’m glad to help, honestly.” I smiled to ease any worry radiating from the two flustered boys. “J, right?”

I glanced upwards into the mirror to lock eyes with Jungkook, not missing the way Jimin tried to conceal a smirk from the younger member. “Ah, he’s not that creative with names it seems.”

The older boy’s melodic speaking voice caused my lips to part in an involuntary breath of awe. I had always loved Park Jimin’s voice, whether it be singing or speaking or doing literally anything. Jungkook’s amused exhale and gentle chuckle also made me quite soft.

“Ah, sorry about my rude message too.” He looked downwards and bowed slightly. I noticed how politely he spoke and my insides turned to jelly once again. I felt warm and fluffy from their pleasant mannerisms.

“Don’t worry guys, how could I expect an essay when you were running for your lives?”

The two boys couldn’t contain their amused smiles as they exchanged another glance, seemingly conflicted. I could tell they didn’t know quite what to do with themselves in this situation, as they surely seldom had to get rides from anyone else other than their own personal drivers. I saw Jimin’s brows crease in concentration next to me, as if he was trying to figure out how to maintain his sense of professionalism. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

“You guys may want to start with an explanation, if that’s alright?” I decided to help them out a small bit. If I could establish a comfortable atmosphere here, it would be much easier to converse and work out what to do.

“I notice that you put the next street over as your destination, but I’m fairly sure you’d both want to go further than that.” I made my point with a raised eyebrow and gestured to my phone sitting on the dashboard, destination showing clearly across the bottom of the screen.

Jimin clicked his tongue and leant in to read my phone more clearly. My skin tingles at his closer proximity.

“Seriously Jungkookie, any other place would’ve been better,” he eventually spoke, and although his tone was whiny with complaint, I could see the traces of a smile dancing across his features. He was obviously trying his best to remain stern.

“Ah, sorry hyung. I didn’t have all that much time in this case, did you forget?”

The cheek of this boy.

Jimin turned around and pointed at the younger boy while failing to hold back a giggle.

“Oi, show some respect you brat.”

Jungkook was snickering to himself, and I couldn’t help the smirk from tugging at my lips involuntarily. The group these guys came from always had this certain dynamic of playful teasing that won over so many fans. I included myself in that list honestly, as I always managed to have a good laugh watching their energetic interactions. It made me feel so youthful, as though an inner child would come out to play even though I was still adolescent at the age of 22.

They were fine joking around with themselves for a bit, but I could tell they were still very conscious of me and my presence in the car. They stopped chuckling and Jungkook cleared his throat noticeably in the back, silently handing over the responsibility of the situation to his elder.

“Um, sorry about that as well,” Jimin began to launch into a heartfelt apology, his bouncy blonde hair lowering with his head in a meaningful bow. I stopped him softly with a smile and made steady eye contact for a couple of seconds. His oak-brown eyes were confused, and I knew he was trying his best to deal with the situation properly. Just as his leader would.

“It’s fine, no more apologies please,” I requested warmly, easing the tension as he leant backwards in his seat to relax.

“I just want to know how you both ended up there, if you don’t mind sharing that is. Also feel free to give me somewhere to drop you both off.”

Jimin glanced over at me once more as if calculating my chances of being a threat. I made sure to keep my expression calm and clear while focusing on the empty road in front of me.

“Do you know us?” the sudden question from behind caused Jimin’s head to snap backwards, and my heartbeat to speed up incredibly. It wasn’t an accusing tone Jungkook used, but more on the curious side. Jimin still showed slight disapproval before turning his gaze back to me, a newfound curiosity also flashing across his features. It seemed he became a little shy after the topic of their fame rolled around, but I could tell he still wanted to know pretty badly.

“I’d consider myself a pretty big fan, not insane but you get what I mean,” I managed to force out, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of explaining my admiration for them.

They were literally sitting in my car and I never thought I would be shy, but here I was with an embarrassed blush alighting across my face. Jimin widened his eyes next to me, his mouth parting slightly in his shock. Jungkook inhaled a sharp breath before letting out another hearty chuckle.

“Wow! I never would have known.”

“Neither, I guess you must not be as emotional as many ARMY are when they see us,” Jimin smiled at the thought, and it was easy to say he didn’t mean anything bad by the comment.

“I’m just here to do my job. I’m not usually one to express my emotions that intensely, but I’ll let you both know that you’ve made my entire day.”

I saw Jimin turn his radiant smile towards me with an abashed sound falling from his lips. “Thank you, you’ve done so much for us already. Thank you for rescuing us.”

I saw him throw a questioning glance at Jungkook, who in turn squinted his doe-like eyes in confusion.

“It’s (Y/n). You can use honorifics if you want, but I don’t care much for them,” I explained softly, easing his sudden bout of guilt for not even knowing my name.

“Ah, thanks once again (Y/n)-ssi.”

Both of the boys were nervous, as they had just learned that I was a fan and were probably expecting me to flip out on them at any given moment. I knew Jungkook was shy around girls especially, but even he was kind of uncharacteristically silent in the back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out on you,” I assured them, keeping my eyes fixated on the road with a mostly amused expression. “I’m curious as to why you guys were alone with no protection out there. That usually doesn’t seem to happen.”

“No, definitely not,” Jimin sighed and I heard Jungkook hum in agreement.

“We didn’t mean to get separated from the others, we were all meant to just be shopping,” Jungkook huffed, and I could tell the young man was still shaken from his escapade from the mall. His large dark eyes were still slightly widened from the adrenaline spike.

“Yeah, everyone was together, and then we weren’t. Then the fans appeared and all we could do was run. Jungkook had to download Uber and make an account and everything on the spot. Lucky you were there because our drivers weren’t going to be around until a few more hours,” Jimin provided, his voice rough and raspy with weariness and relief. I could tell the shorter member was finally beginning to relax in the presence of the vehicle.

“Shit, I gotta call the Boss!” Jimin whipped out his phone and groaned when he discovered a couple of missed calls from his manager already.

I gave him a nod to let him know he could make the call safely. I wouldn’t record it or anything shady like that, I respected them too much and it wasn’t in my nature at all. Jimin gazed over a final time before finally deciding to place his full trust in me. I was already driving the car he was hitching a ride in, so trust honestly couldn't have mattered less when both of their lives were pretty much already cradled in my hands.

“I’d like to thank you as well (Y/n)-ssi, you really did save us back there,” Jungkook commented quietly as he leaned forward so I could hear. Neither of us wanted to interrupt Jimin as he fell into a heated discussion with his manager, or possibly Namjoon from the sounds of his replies over the phone.

“It’s okay Jungkookie, I know you guys deserve a much-needed break after all that. Sit back and enjoy the ride is all I'll say,” I said with a sigh, and finally decided to relax as well by releasing the tension in my muscles to sit more comfortably. I noticed Jungkook smirk cutely at the nickname accidently slipping out, and was just glad that he didn’t find it inappropriate.

“No, I swear she’s fine. She won’t do anything like that hyung,” Jimin’s suddenly louder response caused my smile to drop and my eyes to swivel around to the blonde boy. His temperament had grown agitated and I could see he was having difficulty trying to convince his managers and group leader. His round cheeks were blown out in exasperation, and I could clearly read the worry flitting across his expression.

“Jimin-ssi, if he wants to talk to me he can,” I offered softly so I didn’t spook him, raising my eyebrows in encouragement. We’d travelled a fair way, so pulling over was an option even though it was probably still too dangerous to linger in one place for long.

“No thanks it’s fine, I do trust you.” Jimin shook his head and I couldn’t help but smile at his kind, yet stubborn nature. These boys had no idea who I was, yet they put their faith in me and my driving ability for longer than they even needed to.

Jimin finished up with his call after another few minutes of stressed reassuring.

“Um, (Y/n)-ssi? I have an address I need to put in. If that’s okay.” He turned to me after letting out an explosive sigh, and I nodded towards the phone resting on the dashboard.

“Go ahead, distance isn't an issue.”

Jimin smiled at my response and shyly reached forward for my phone, still trying to be respectful.

“Hyung said it would be ideal if you dropped us off somewhere nearby the dorms so there’s no suspicion, but apparently all nearby areas are swarming with fans trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Shit,” I breathed, the full realisation dawning on me. If their fans found out who I was, I wouldn’t be left alone for a while. I could imagine receiving threats and loads of unwanted attention, possibly not even being able to leave my house for a few days at the very least.

“So, you’ll have to drop us at the actual dorms then.”

“What?” I questioned in an instant. That sounded like the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“Isn’t that the area where most of the fans would be?”

“Well, most likely, but there's security.” Jimin ran a hand down his face as if trying to rub away the sudden bout of stress brought on, and I could fathom just how tired he was from all the rambunctious disorder.

“Why not drive you somewhere far away and get your driver to pick you up or something?”

“I did suggest that, but they just want us back as soon as possible so they can calm everyone down. I don’t mean to be rude, but they can’t exactly know or predict what you’ll do.”

That definitely made sense. Watching another car pull out of the building might also cause the fans to suspect the worst. They could even believe that I kidnapped the two band members instead of saving them. Well, that and there was absolutely no reason for their company to trust me with two of their idols that much.

“Okay, but one of you lend me a mask or something. I’m not going in there with a death wish.”

Jungkook chuckles from the back seat, and I’m slightly startled due to not hearing from the younger boy for a while.

“You’re right though, here you can use mine. I have my hoodie anyway.” A hand appeared next to me holding a familiar black mask, the faint but fragrant smell of a rare cologne wafting around me at the action. Of course, anything he’s worn would smell this expensive. Seeing how normal they can act, it’s hard to remember just how rich they actually are.

“Thanks.” I slipped on the mask and the smell was now stronger. I almost swooned.

“It’s actually not as far as I thought,” I commented when the map displayed the route to take. I knew the traffic was most likely to be more congested in this area than the city mall was before, so I decided to take a couple of back routes.

“Good plan,” Jungkook piped in with a nod and I saw the excited grin plastered on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Jimin scoffed with a raised brow.

“I dunno, just this whole thing is so… exciting? Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Jungkook replied while trying to smother his grinning, but failing miserably.

“True, you guys would usually be living a careful life, right?” I decided to join in. Jimin and Jungkook didn’t seem to be shy or guarded around me as much as they were, but I knew they were still keeping face amongst all the drama.

“Of course, we don’t want our precious fans to worry about us,” Jimin went on in a level tone, his hand flying up to emphasise his point. I still couldn’t get over how captivating his voice sounded in person, and how it was this close to me...

“Speaking of fans, you’re an ARMY?” Jungkook’s cheeky lilt gained my attention and caused me to look up and lock eyes with him in the rear-view mirror.

“What of it?”

I try to suppress my sharp exhale of amusement, but fail miserably as well. Kookie’s adorable expression of playful confidence, bordering on egotistical even, made the laughter bubble up.

“Well, obviously you’d have a favourite, a bias.”

The question causes me to now laugh loudly, smacking the wheel once.

“Ah, I should’ve seen this coming honestly.”

Jimin clicked his tongue at his junior band member. “As if it matters.”

His voice is also playful, and I can tell he’s just as curious as the maknae by how he looks across at me with raised eyebrows and a small knowing smirk adorning his full lips. They were both taking this as a joke, and I was not going to be any different.

“Of course it matters Jimin, this is the question that decides my fate,” I feigned offense, and watched as his smile caused his eyes to disappear in the cutest, squishiest way imaginable.

Before I could say anything else, an embarrassed blush swarmed my cheeks as I spluttered, “Oh crap, I forgot the honorific.”

“Its fine,” Jimin assured. “You mentioned you don’t care for them before, so I can live without it.”

I smirked at him and shook my head slightly. “You’re actually too nice.”

His melodious chuckle was then interrupted by the mischievous maknae in the back.

“Hey, don’t change the subject hyung. Who’s your favourite member (Y/n)?” I noticed he took instant advantage of the honorific drop, and almost slipped an amused snort.

“Well it’s not either of you, that’s for sure.”

I knew they could tell there was a certain level of sarcasm in my tone, but they still let out varying noises of defeat.

“What, no way. It must be Jin-hyung then,” Jungkook groaned and I couldn't contain a giggle. His narcissistic nature was showing, and this time I wasn’t even sure if it was a joke or not. Jimin chose to pipe in as well, obviously enjoying the mystery that was my ‘supposed Bangtan bias’.

“Nah, I reckon it’s Tae. She’s weird enough to be a perfect match for him.”

Oh my, he really went there.

Both of the boy’s breath hitched, as if they thought I was going take offense and kick them out on the curb.

“Honestly, if you think Tae’s weird then I’m a whole other level. Although I guess I can never know who you guys are behind the screen.”

Jimin visibly relaxed after hearing me take the joke, but then grew serious again after my last comment.

“We’re fairly genuine to our fans, as much as we can be,” He defended, but wasn’t insulted. Jungkook nodded in agreement from the back, still smiling from the joking around that happened before.

“Of course, that’s why you’re one of my favourite groups, but you have to admit it is kind of impossible for someone like me to make a judgement on someone I’ve never met.”

“That is true, I guess. We really do try hard for you guys. I never thought super hard about that,” Jimin looked upwards as he pondered, and I felt proud that I’d gotten more than enough glimpses of both their true natures just from this simple car ride. Though, realistically they could be phenomenal actors and I wouldn’t know any different.

“We may be one of your favourite groups, but I’m still waiting for the member~,” Jungkook started lowly from the back, his sentence breaking off into his famous high pitched giggle when he saw my deadpan expression staring him down in the mirror. Jimin joined in and I sighed in defeat.

“Okay. I don’t have one.”

There’s a small silence, but both boys explosively let out sounds of understanding.

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

I was about to question what Jimin meant, but Jungkook cut me off.

“I was just about to pin her as a Yoongi stan.”

The sudden and serious statement made me cackle, although the sound was muffled by the black fabric of the mask over my mouth.

“Oh boy, you have absolutely no idea. My best friend…” I trailed off as laughter gripped me, almost causing me to veer off the road uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, watch out!” Jimin breathlessly squeaked as he made a grab for the wheel to steady the moving car. I gripped the wheel harder in fear, but amusement washed over me once again.

“Hyung did your voice just-”

“Shut up.”

I couldn’t stop the amused snort, but managed to regain control. My chuckles were now borderline wheezes, and I could hear Kookie in the back sharing the same demise.

“As I was saying,” I began, but erupt once more as the memory of Jimin’s voice crack surfaced back to the front of my mind. Jungkook is in shambles, but Jimin is just sitting with his head buried in his hands next to me, shoulders shaking as he tries to avoid his inevitable embarrassment.

“Stoooop.” He drawled it out and reached behind him to smack the chortling maknae on the knee somewhat harshly. I knew he hated the fact that he just got embarrassed in front of some stranger, who had also been established as a pretty avid fan. Poor Chim.

“You forget I’ve seen videos of your many embarrassments,” I offered in between chuckles, and caught the moment his face scrunched up in an adorable cringe. A sigh of defeat fell from his lips. “Yeah, I give up.”

He still chuckled and shook his head, the tinkling sounds causing me to bring a hand up to clutch my chest dramatically. Both boys laughed cutely once again at my reaction, Jimin’s eyes disappearing as he covered his face with one small hand.

“You sure you’re not a Jimin stan, noona?” Jungkook chimes in. I raised a brow and decided to skilfully avoid the question.

“Ah, so you picked up that I’m older than you?”

Jungkook stopped, his jaw going slack at the sudden question, and I found myself face to face with his widely memed blankness instead. I almost can’t contain myself.

“Oh, yeah maybe? It kind of actually just slipped out.”

I find myself giggling at the return of his shy persona, and he smiled bashfully at the floor in response. His tongue pushed out one of his cheeks in shame.

“Yah, don’t assume such a thing,” Jimin chuckled, obviously grateful that the heat was finally off of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m the same age as Jiminie I believe,” I decided to help the poor boy out, craning my neck forward to check the next turn off for oncoming cars.

We were actually almost to the destination, and the trip had flown by way too quickly. After Jungkook made a noise of comprehension, Jimin looked around suddenly and grunted in surprise.

“Crap, I was meant to call Namjoonie back a few minutes ago.”

“What are you doing hyung?” Jungkook chided in flippant scolding, to which Jimin responded with another angered slap. He brought out his phone and dialled a number quickly, obviously not concerned that I could very well easily read and memorise it in two seconds flat.

As If I would anyway.

I fell silent as Jimin waited for the phone call to connect.

 Jungkook 3rd person POV

 Jungkook also waited, breathless at the thought of how dire the situation was to their careers as a whole. This was such a strange occurrence to the famous band members, and he thought about how normal and relaxed the car ride had actually been when compared to how awkward they thought it was going to turn out.

When Jungkook had made the Uber request originally, he and Jimin were prepared to face the worst. Anyone who had the opportunity to drive a car unsupervised with two famous idols in tow could easily turn the tables and expose them more, or maybe even do worse things…

He shook his head at the thought and silently swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He glanced over to your form sitting in the driver’s seat, stiffened slightly due to the very important call being made.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding so far, not to mention hilariously easy going. Jungkook found himself respecting you immediately. You could have freaked out and demanded autographs or photos from them at any time. You could have decided to not drop them off where they wanted and just continued to drive for eternity. You could have even taken them anywhere you wanted to, but no, you listened to them, respected their privacy and even agreed to risk your reputation to drive them into their dorms where countless fangirls could eat you alive if they found out.

You were just amazing, and Jungkook knew his hyung felt similarly. Well, considering how he defended you without question before when Namjoon probably jumped to conclusions, it was evident that Jimin trusted you too.

Jungkook was completely numb from bewilderment. Everything could have gone wrong for them in their haste to escape the mob of their excited fans, but it didn’t, and it was all thanks to you.

These types of people drive our purpose, we’re so happy to have reached you.

Although if he was honest, he wouldn't mind at all if you got all flustered and cute while gushing over him. Just a little bit.

 Reader 1st person POV

 I watched as Jimin jerked the phone away from his ear suddenly, a loud voice booming loudly through the tiny speaker to reach even my ears. Jimin’s face winced as he brought the phone back to his ear hesitantly.

“We’re so sorry for the mess Sir, but it worked out.”

I knew that he was most likely talking to his manager or director with how his language changed. He ruffled his blonde hair anxiously and continued to listen to the voice on the line, eventually digging his teeth into his bottom lip in another bout of anxiety.

“Wait, we’re almost to the dorms, she’s got a mask on and everything-” Jimin was cut off and my eyes darted in between him and the road ahead to try and figure out what was happening. His breathing sped up and I could see his own eyes meeting mine a few times worriedly.

What is going on?

We were getting close to the dorms, and I had already noticed how the housing had become wealthier the more I drove through the city. The streets were becoming beautiful and cleaner. I knew that the boys lived in most likely the richest place in the city, and this place was by far the definition of that.

One thing I also noticed is that there were a few groups of girls dotted here and there that were walking or sitting around the footpaths. Some even saw my car and started pointing and taking photos while jumping up and down.

“Well, there goes my anonymity.” I sighed and slumped further in my seat, as if to hide my face better than it was already hidden. The only sound as I drove onwards was Jimin’s occasional reply into the phone next to me. His responses were becoming less worried, but still sounded unenthusiastic.

“Yes, I understand, okay I’ll tell her,” Jimin murmured and I held my breath at the sound of the call being hung up. My curiosity was nothing short of burning, and I instantly turned to the blonde boy when he looked at me pointedly.

“Um, our manager needs you to come in with us so you can speak with him and sign some stuff.”

I look forward again and nod once in understanding. “Yeah, I knew this would most likely happen. Confidentiality, right?”

I crack a smile at the thought of actually going in and meeting the famous Bang Sihyuk, CEO and founder of Bighit Entertainment.

“Wow,” I breathed after fully wrapping my head around what was happening.

“I guess you never thought this would happen.” Jungkook chuckled from the backseat, and I scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah it’s not every day you meet two members of Bangtan and their producer.”

The sarcasm was heavy, and the two boys grinned in amusement. Jimin leant forwards to rest his forehead on the dashboard in a weary manner. “Ah, I’m so sorry for forcing you into this mess (Y/n)-ssi.”

“What did I say about apologising? I love you guys and your music; this is the least I can do to repay you for all the happiness you have brought me.” My voice became emotional and quiet as I let out all my pent-up feelings. I didn’t know how exactly I could express my bundling thoughts into formed words, but I felt as though that might have been just enough to let them know how ecstatic I truly was that this miracle had happened to me.

“You must be an angel,” Jimin smiled at me so sweetly and genuinely that I had to rip my gaze away from him in order to prevent tearing up. I heard Jungkook sigh in awe at my words, and I looked up to see him smiling shyly at the ground before glancing forward.

“Devoted fans like you are the reason we have made it this far, (Y/n).”

Jimin turns his head and gives Jungkook a look that says 'Well that was fucking sappy' but I can’t help but smile wider and let out a tiny gleeful squeak unknowingly.

His words had caused my emotions to storm again, and I was so fortunate to hear them in person that I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I gripped the wheel tighter so I wouldn’t let go and do anything stupid. Since I had my mask on, they could only see my smile through how my eyes and cheeks bunched up, but unfortunately the mask wasn’t large enough to cover my entire face.

“Awe you’re so cute when you blush like that!” Jimin laughed loudly, reaching out to poke my reddening skin. I gasped and knocked his hand away softly with one of my own.

“Leave me alone, I can’t control it or anything.”

Jungkook was also sniggering in the back, his cheeky nature making a comeback as I shook my head to try and rid myself of the heat.

“Sorry for that noona.”  

Now he was using the word to tease me, and I fought the urge to slap him like Jimin did before. “Silly boy, I swear you’ll never make me blush again.”

“You sure about that? I’ll accept the challenge.”

“And we’re here!” I dragged out the first word to hopefully try and cut him off. I could still hear him giggling in the back, his knowing smile holding an impish quality.

The sight before me was spectacular, if that was even enough to sum it up. The area in which BTS lived was absolutely breathtaking, and I knew that this was in fact one of the, if not the richest place in all of Seoul.

The gardens were marvellously well grown and maintained, while the architecture seemed to gleam and glow in the sunlight, too perfectly constructed to be true. Modern was also an understatement, as this place seemed borderline futuristic. To describe it in one word, glorious.

“I don’t even know if someone like me should go in there,” I stammered, my voice cracking multiple times in sheer astonishment.

“Don’t be silly, how else are we gonna get in there?” Jimin joked and I snorted lightly at his change of demeanour.

“Walk, silly.” I shared a cheeky glance with the maknae behind me when Jimin gasped.

“Rude, and here I thought you were a fan?”

“I’m joking Jimin, alright how do we actually do this?” I looked around and saw a parking space out the front of the main building. Jimin gestured towards it and nodded, giving me the go to proceed.

There were no fans lurking around this place due to the security, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape any photographers if they were there. Luckily we had only a few brief, yet concerning encounters with the fans while driving in to the complex itself.

If Kookie hadn’t given me the mask I would be dead meat cooking on a spit. 

I parked the car carefully and fell back into my seat with a sigh. Jimin and Jungkook eyed me with concern clouding their features.

“We’re so-”

“Park Jimin, will you eventually heed my words?” I tilted my head and blinked rapidly at him with a smile on my face. He sees my playful, yet tired expression and shakes his head with an annoyed groan.

“I probably will never stop apologising for the trouble we’ve caused.”

I sighed again and exaggerated a pout, borderline mockery if you will. Jungkook let out a huff and a click of his tongue indicated the long-awaited comeback of his cocky attitude.

“Come on hyung, she already said it doesn’t matter.”

His tone caused Jimin to narrow his eyes towards the back accusingly, and I watched as the younger member sat back down, satisfied with the reaction.

“Thank you maknae,” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a chuckle at his scoff, catching Jimin’s amused and appreciative look. I observed around one more time before turning my gaze upwards to glance at the building next to us.

“Okay it’s now or never boys, run and don’t look back.”

            Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

#btsfanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts scenarios #ot7 #bts fluff #bts crack #bts smut #bts imagine #bts angst #reader insert #park jimin #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin #BTS v #call an uber? #call an uber #saladejin

[veridium]

fake happy

Well, whaddya know! The College AU is back, baby! Unfortunately June was pretty much hell in a handbasket, so writing took a backseat. But, we are far from done. Thank you to everyone for sighting tight, and to @bitchesofostwick for being a very patient co-author. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the holiday weekend from hell. On with the show! Title bought to you by a great Paramore song.

masterpost // last chapter

--

“Hey baby cakes!”

The moment she hears the shrill greeting whilst getting out of her car in the sandstone-colored driveway, Olivia knows she’s in a chapter of Dante’s Inferno. All the calmness she had with Ellinor earlier that day is gone; it is easier said than done enduring four days in the house of Paula Sinclair.

“Hey,” she rushes over her shoulder, pulling the side lever to release the trunk where her bags are kept. Just two, one of clothes and toiletries and the other books and supplies to do assignments. She’ll need the preoccupation as an excuse for the gauntlet of trials her Mom will invite her to.

As she’s filing her luggage out onto the driveway, she sees her Mom’s shadow approaching. She glances and sees her in all her glory: an olive green sundress with one of those straw pool hats. She was probably out basking in the sun all afternoon before this. Olivia is surprised she thought to put down whatever spiked beverage she must have had with her to come outside and greet her only child. 

“Did you have a safe drive? You certainly did not rush to get home safe,” Paula says, halting and crossing her arms. 

Olivia slams the trunk closed and huffs, slinging one bag’s strap over her shoulder and the other on her opposite forearm. “I woke up late, and had to help Ellinor pack.” Sorry, Ellinor. 

“Ellinor! I will miss her this year.” A lie said out of convenience. The whole time Ellinor stays with them, Paula shoots her peculiar questions about her personal life or her political views. Ellinor knows better now after these last couple of years how to play them off, but Paula can’t help but size people up. It’s how she cultivates all her complaints.

“I will, too,” Olivia lets out as she makes her way to the front door, past the splendorous potted plants and fake green grass turf. Her Mother saunters behind her through the open door. 

Once inside Olivia notices what’s missing, and sets her smaller bag down. 

“Wh--”

“No no, do not just leave that there! Take it to the mud room or your bedroom.”

Olivia bites back a groan and turns around to face Paula as she shuts and locks the large-ass, gaudy-ass front door. “Fine. Where is Nemo?”

“Nemo?”

“...the dog, Mother.”

“Nemo! Oh, psh,” she waves her acrylics. “He is off in the yard. I kept him outside because the carpet steamers came this morning. You know how his muddy little paws are! Now, do I not get a hug?”

Olivia tenses up from head to toe, seeing her Mother coming in for the hug she didn’t wait for permission for. At least Nemo isn’t mysteriously gone -- she’s read too many horror stories online of people’s parents being complete monsters about their old family pets dying, and not telling the children who live elsewhere -- but Paula keeps Nemo out in the yard for days at a time when she gets the carpets cleaned. He will need company, and not just the husband going out and practicing his golf swing adjacent to him. 

Oh, right, there’s a husband around here.

Paula hugs her with her arms draped over Olivia’s shoulders, rather than around her waist like a good bear hug. Something Dad would know how to do.

“I imagine Fred is off shooting, stuffing, or smoking something,” she mutters over her Mother’s shoulder, to which Paula gently swats at her shoulder and guffaws. 

“No, silly! He’s in the yard with Nemo, your fellow prisoner,” she teases, picking up on Olivia’s dread with her trademark passive aggression. Only three minutes in the door, a new record. 

“I didn’t say he couldn’t do those things out in the yard.” Lord knows he has before. 

“Where do you think our holiday meal comes from every year?” 

“COSTCO, like God and Uncle Sam intended, right?”

“Ugh, Olivia, your humor changes every year you’re at that College. Don’t be so morose.”

She takes a breath and picks up her eyesore of a bag so that it does not further desecrate the sanctity of the foyer, and makes for the curved staircase just across the pristine hardwood. “I’m just tired from the drive, Mom. I’m going to go upstairs and get settled.”

“Okay, and come downstairs soon! I wanna catch up, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

She glances behind her but her Mother is already vanished. Sure, catch up, but not too quick! Releasing her bated breath she lurches up the rest of the stairs. The place is heavily renovated from the home it originally was when her parents bought it. In the beginning they didn’t have much -- well, much compared to what Paula has now -- and so their first nest was a fixer upper. Year after year, corny wallpaper became fresh painted walls, and thick upholstered couches handed down from in-laws became brand new installations from the boutiques downtown. Two additions to the place upgraded it from a modest family home to a wannabe mansion. Olivia grew up in this ever-changing little kingdom of improvements, but only when she was a newly-minted adult did she realize she was one of its fixtures.

The one comfort had always been that her Father dwelled there with her. He brought heart and humanity to the kingdom of objects: his muddy shoes by the front door, not the “mud room.” His fishing rods hung up on the garage rack. His barbeque out in the yard. They weren’t all state-of-the-art, but they were his. But, by now, they, too, were all gone. ‘Improvements’ in every stead, including his.  

Olivia had one sacrosanct place left, and that was her childhood room. Walking down the hall decorated with big, framed portraits of the family -- none of her Father, though, to be sure -- she found her door, the second one to the right in the west hallway. “West” being the original upstairs hallway, the only hallway, before construction added the one referred to as the “East.” She pushed the ajar door open and slid in to see it as she remembered: the bright lavender purple walls strewn with posters, pictures, and a tapestry up behind her bed. The pearly purple carpet smelled of the carpet cleaner, but it did not mask the smell of vanilla she expected. On the opposite wall from the door, her princess bed complete with ivory white canopy was freshly made. Her bedspread was white, with pillows in alternating shades of green and lilac. Years ago she fought endlessly for her Mother to let her paint her room a darker color than the baby pink it was first. Thanks to her Dad, they “compromised” with purple. Sadly, Paula took that as “the lightest shades of purple” and so it was.

In the details, though, there was Olivia’s rebellion. The posters, Paramore, My Chemical Romance, and an old one from a Sheryl Crow concert she found on Amazon, contrasted the brightness with a grit. To the left by her small balcony doors, her vanity mirror and stool were covered with polaroid pictures, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, and bracelets. She had taken all of her incriminating, “immodest” makeup with her to college, so all that remained were an old bottle of sunscreen, some pastel eyeshadow palettes, and lip glosses. So many lip glosses. 

Olivia dropped her shit in the middle of the floor and made for the reading chair in the far corner, where she collapsed into a curled, reticent ball of conflicted emotions. She predicted this -- she dreaded this -- and now, here she is. The first day is always a test of anxiety, more so than enduring mistreatment. Paula is always good on the first day -- great, sometimes. She is generous, and outgoing, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The grueling part comes after the first night ends and she realizes she has to do something with her daughter who isn’t just in for dinner and giggling. That’s when she remembers how she actually feels, and who she actually is. And with no one like Ellinor to buffer and provide excuses for her not standing in one place for too long, it’ll be particularly concentrated. 

She slides limply against the plush chair and closes her eyes. It was a stressful drive full of hasty college kids getting home to their more harmonious families. Olivia was in no rush, though. Three trips through various drive thrus surely added time.

Her phone goes off, and she slips her phone out of her back jean pocket. 

Ellinor: You ready to walk the plank yet?

Smirking, Olivia replies: 

-- I am already keeling over the edge. How is your family?

Ellinor: I nearly did a drop and roll out of Lyssa’s car on the way here, but they’re bearable. They are who they usually are. No surprises, this holiday season! 

-- One of these years we’ll be successful enough to buy everyone therapy for Christmas. 

Ellinor: No shit, I’m making them pay for mine first. 

Olivia is replying when another notification comes up, an instagram like this time, from Maryden. Grinning she taps on it. Maryden finally saw the group pic they all took at the fair: her, Ellinor, Cullen, and then Olivia and Cass in the bottom corner. Olivia had made Cass hold the phone due to height advantage. Her grin expands before it sinks fast. 

Ah, fuck. 

She pulls up her messages again and sees the one Cassandra sent her while she was driving and unable to check. 

Cassandra: Text me when you arrive safe. ❤️

The heart emoji. Olivia’s cheeks turn hot, and she hastily types. 

-- Here in purgatory! 

The sound of a man shouting something, and then laughing, rings from the balcony windows. Fred must be huffing and puffing about something amusing, like meat or guns. She can’t wait for all his odd comments and attempts to “relate” that almost always devolve into him talking about whatever season of sport he’s onto and her nodding along. Poor man. He makes sea sponges seem like sophists. 

Soon after sending, Cassandra replies, an opportunity Olivia doesn’t predict: 

Cassandra: Awesome. my Uncle has stopped us for gas, still about 40 minutes out. 

-- That’s good. Hopefully you won’t get stuck in rush hour. 

Cassandra: My Uncle sucks at navigating traffic, so I wouldn’t bet on it. 

-- Lol

Cassandra: You alright? 

Olivia is sort of surprised by the question and its sensitivity, albeit direct. 

-- Just tired from the drive, that’s all 

Cassandra: You love driving. You would drive the entire stretch of the coast highway without blinking once.

Damn, Cassandra. A bold insight. A correct one, too. 

-- 🤷🏼‍♀️

Five seconds after she hits send, Cassandra calls her. She nearly drops the phone on the floor, and her slack posture goes full vertical. She checks that the door is closed, only to decide to leap, rush, and lock it just in case. Then she hurries to the farthest corner of the room and hits answer right on the last ring. 

“No, Detective, I will not submit to the polygraph.”

Cassandra’s voice rings almost playfully. “Very well, we have other ways of making you talk.”

There’s the hot blush again. “Uh, a-alright, who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” She hushes a bit, and hopes Cassandra doesn’t notice. 

“Nothing! My Uncle is in the gas station doing who-knows-what, so I’m stuck in here, boot and all.”

“I’m not kidding, I saw that Liam Neeson movie, I know how this goes. I have a special set of skills--”

“What do I have to do? Express my distaste for something? Quote Plato?”

“...It would be reassuring.”

Cassandra laughs coyly, and despite everything, it livens her spirit. She didn’t expect Cassandra to be in so playful a mood traveling back home. She was cool but unhappy about it that morning when they parted ways, entertained only by Olivia’s presence and a strong cup of coffee. Without the ability to drive due to her ankle, her illustrious but mysterious Uncle had to be the one to pick her up and take her back to her family. 

“I was just calling to check in on you.”

“I thought that was what the texting was for,” Olivia replies more curtly than she intends. She gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Sometimes it is worth the extra effort to call.”

“That is very un-millenial of you, you know. Horrifying.”

“Maybe so. Ugh, what is that man doing?” there’s sounds of Cassandra rustling against the leather seat, probably checking in through the window. “Probably searching for that expensive jerky he gets at Trader Joe’s like it will just magically turn up at an ARCO.”

“Who’s to say it won’t? People of all walks of life can enjoy finer things.”

“Yes, but not just the ‘finer’ things,” she then huffs. “Look, I don’t have much time, so if you aren’t in the mood to talk about what is bothering you, I can let you go and we can talk later.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to. My Mom wants to ‘catch up,’ which in her language means I get a hundred questions and the occasional asinine one from Fred.”

“Fred’s your stepfather, right?”

“He’s...my Mother’s husband.”

“I see.”

She mulls her teeth and looks around aimlessly. Cassandra goes ‘hm’ but nothing else. 

“How are you able to talk so much?” Olivia asks, diverting the subject. “Aren’t you worried your family will pry?”

“The good thing about holidays in my family is there are so many people around, you can get a great deal of private time if you are smart enough. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Ugh...he...oh, sorry. I thought my Uncle was coming back, but it was just another man.”

“Yeah, but you said they have superhuman abilities for nosiness.”

“They do. And I have superhuman talents of evasion. They’ll peck and prod about the ankle boot, though. Usually I can slip away to the gym or for a run to get away from them but...of course...can’t do that. Doctors don’t trust me to set foot in a weight room and it’s been weeks since my injury.”

“Cass, it’s been two weeks, almost precisely.”

“I said weeks, didn’t I? Look, overextending is not the same as knowing my limits. They’re the medical professionals, but they don’t live in this body 24/7.”

Olivia grimaces with sympathy, though she can’t say she agrees given how easy it is for Cassandra to throw herself into things without caution. “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, forgive me. I won’t be able to talk everyday, but I would like to try sometimes, okay? I promise it won’t all be about my messed up ankle.”

Olivia smirks. “You’re being very…”

“Very…what?”

Olivia stalls. Is it an asshole thing to do, saying your girlfriend is being more sensitive and caring than usual? Maybe not “more,” but in a different way. An unusual way. She could have really taken Olivia’s hurt feelings over how she acted about her injury. She could be really trying. But now, in the lion’s den, Olivia’s unsure about whether the timing of it is...well, ideal. 

“Nevermind, I lost my train of thought,” she excuses. “I appreciate you.”

“It’s no trouble. Now, I think my Uncle is coming back. Ugh, he got a whole bag of things...probably for me. Seeing me with my boot triggered his overprotective nerve extra hard.”

“Oh, no, sour patch kids! The torture!” Olivia teases. An ounce of her regular self bleeds through. 

“Very funny. I will text you later. Be safe, alright?”

“Alright. You, too.” She then remembers and slips it in before they hang up: “L-let me know when you get home, too, okay?”

“...O-okay.” There’s a pause, the kind of awkward pause when the thing you say -- the particular thing -- happens. But since they aren’t there yet, it’s full of pause and anxiety. 

“Okay,” Olivia takes her turn to smooth it over. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hanging up kills the feeling of safety. She looks into the big oval mirror at her dresser vanity and watches her grin crack, then disappear all-together. The scene in her reflected surroundings loses its luster. Even with all the impossibilities, she kind of wishes Cassandra was with her. It almost makes her laugh at herself: what, would she have driven up with her in the passenger’s seat, hear “hey baby cakes!” and smile, saying “hey Mom, here’s my girlfriend! You’re suddenly not biphobic, right? Oh and by the way she’s a Pentaghast, so, there’s that!” and they all retire to the sitting room for tea and introductions. Right. 

She turns and sees her unpacked bags, her only company. She rubs her forehead slowly with the back of her hand. She has experience being left to her own devices with her Mother. Hell, she has a lifetime of it with her. A long weekend won’t be anything particularly gruesome, and if it is, well, she’s survived them before.  

Fifteen minutes later she has everything organized and put away -- she won’t unpack much, anyway. A quick change into some leggings and a t-shirt, a toss of her hair into a ponytail, and she’s ready to face the music. She’s careful to shut her bedroom door before she descends down the hall and the stairs, betting that her Mother is out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs. She finds her there, indeed lounging, with that missing cocktail restored to her.

Unmoved but always observant, her Mother inquires: “Settled in?” 

Olivia puts on her best polite grin and sits down on the lounge chair five feet away. On the grass, Fred is dressed in pastel blue polo and cargo shorts like the overgrown fraternity pledge he is, throwing a frisbee for Nemo. Nemo, the 10 year old yellow lab, who can scarcely go up the stairs without being winded these days. Too bad for Fred the minute Olivia shows herself, the grey-faced dog bounds in his own way over to the long last playmate.

“Nemo! You little prince!” she smiles, crouching down to embrace him. His tail is wagging a million miles per hour, and he fills her face with old dog breath. His tickling gets her to finally laugh. 

“Good grief,” she hears her Mom say, “Olivia, don’t let him lick your mouth!”

“I’m fine!” she says through her giggles, rubbing his chest and back as she stands upright. “It won’t kill me.”

“Ugh.”

That joy was short lived. She returns to the chair she chose and does her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she sits and sprawls her legs out. Nemo follows circles around her, tail still going.

“Do we know what the plans are for Thanksgiving?” Olivia asks, expecting the same answer as always. Dinner at home with Fred’s relatives and those in Mom’s family who she isn’t on the outs with, all above the age of 35 for the most part, and vote like it. Another dinner she’ll have to dress way too modestly and matronly for her age in order to fit in for the group photo.

“Well, that is what I wanted to surprise you with,” Paula answers. 

Olivia side-eyes her Mom, and delays opening up her phone to scroll through Twitter. “What?”

“We will be having dinner with the family as always, but earlier this week we received a surprise invitation for us to attend a holiday party later on this weekend.”

“You aren’t going to spend the holiday campaigning, are you?” 

“‘Campaigning’ has a broad definition, Olivia, and it is never a bad idea to become more familiar with one’s community constituents.”

Olivia frowns and resumes scrolling. Great, likely another fundraiser or gala, not something substantially humble like volunteering time with those genuinely in need, who are also her “constituents.” She saved the label for those she could depend on to write a donation check -- the other 80% of society barely existed. 

“I assume then you are expecting me to go?”

There’s a sound of Paula’s magazine of choice turning a page. “What do you think the surprise was?”

“That as much as you would like me to come, that you respect my choice not to so that I can have a quiet, restful weekend at home before Finals are in full swing?”

No response for going out on that limb. The proverbial crickets chirp, and Olivia knows her point was deliberately missed. 

“Or,” she corrects herself, “that you want me to go.”

“Yes, silly girl. And for your information, even if I didn’t want you to come, the invitation specifically noted you.”

“P-pardon me?” She looks up.

Paula shakes her head and smiles. “When were you going to tell me you were making friends with the Pentaghast family?”

“I...I-I’m not!”

“You must be, there was a handwritten note in the card, your name and all.”

Olivia can feel a stroke coming on. The heat of the day now feels like a vise around her throat, a semi-truck on her chest. She jerks up and turns to look at her Mother dead on, who is still flipping through her latest issue of Vogue, sunglasses and sunhat and all. 

“So...so they wrote me in? Me, specifically?”

“Yes, that is what I said! Goodness, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heat stroke.” 

Too late. “Why? Aren’t they one of the big blue families? Why would they want to invite y--”

“Are you insinuating that I do not belong in a bipartisan space? Olivia, I work in one for a living. This whole business of networking is par for the course. In fact, it is a long time coming. The Pentaghasts should be taking the ‘other side’ more seriously. I have been in this town’s political realm for seven years, now. They cannot always hide behind their old money and liberal hypocrisy of “inclusion.””

There is that rhetorical savvy and venom. Quintessentially Paula. Olivia falls back on the lounge chair and stares out into the lawn, mouth open and words lost. Where to begin? Hey, Mom, don’t think so highly of yourself, they’re only inviting you to get to me! Because they want to sniff me out as one of their many daughters’ lovers! You’re full of shit!

“Do I have to go? I am serious about wanting rest. This semester has been a lot, an--”

“A semester that I paid for,” Paula cut in, turning yet another page. “It is restful to be with your family. You should consider yourself lucky, Olivia, that spending time with us is so comfortable. You have this nice home to come back to, and good people to spend time with, and beautiful parties to go to. A girl your age in a lesser position would claw someone’s eyes out for the chance to live the life you get to. Is it so really so demanding?”

The shots to the gut have started early. So much for the easy first day. She wishes even more she could pop her Mother’s balloon, but it would mean ultimate disaster for her in the end. Out in the open Fred is still trying to get Nemo to chase the damn frisbee, clearly aware that he should stay away from the two debating blondes. Olivia rolls her lips shut and tries her hardest to swallow the hunk of pride at the back of her throat, but there’s no room in her stomach. It’s completely filled to the top with anxiety about what it means to be going to this party. 

Then it hits her: Cassandra is going to shoot through the roof. 

“Fine, Mom. I’ll go.” The clock then starts ticking for her to find a covert way out of it beforehand. She’s dove deep into her head, and only catches half of her Mother’s pleased response. 

“--something classy, the party is black tie optional.”

“Okay.”

“I also have an appointment for us to get our nails done tomorrow at 11, so do not sleep in too much.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. She does another fake smile as she pulls up her messages on her phone in order to deploy the distress signal: 

-- Change of plan, I need you to call me as soon as you are able. Your family sent an invitation to mine for their big party this weekend. My Mom is insisting we go. Code red. 

#fic update #college au #modern thedas au #college!olivia #olivia sinclair #ellinor trevelyan #day & age #WE'RE BACK BABY

[ms-maj]

Fool’s Holiday

My Bughead Secret Santa present for the lovely @lanadeljones! 

In the three Christmases he’s spent in this apartment, Jughead’s been remiss to hang more than a stocking. It’s not as though he hates the holiday but decorating for himself seemed more a chore than a treat. Of course, he would completely forgo even the stocking if it hadn’t come from his neighbor, Betty. Two years ago she’d moved in and nothing in his life has been the same ever since.

Jughead has always felt very lucky to have found a nice two-bedroom townhouse while he was still in college and had decided against giving it up after he graduated. It was close enough to commute, the rent was reasonable, and his neighbor, well, having a raging crush on his neighbor had compelled him to resign his lease without much forethought.

It started simply enough, two like-minded albeit very different people sharing their time and experiences in exchange for companionship and food. (There was always, always something good to eat at Betty Cooper’s.) But unlike most every other experience in Jughead Jones’ short life, this simply got better with time. The more they spent together, the more he craved her presence. 

However, very much in the fashion of Jughead, he doesn’t press the issue. Happy to bask in the idea that maybe someday she could possibly feel what he does. Sometimes he thinks it could be. Real that is. When she invites herself over to watch cheesy horror movies on Halloween but ends up shrieking, tucked against his side. Or now that Christmas is knocking on the door, he’ll grab some cheap bourbon and they’ll laugh until they cry while Hallmark forces another sappy love story set against a snowy-white backdrop down the throats of the masses.

He knows she actually enjoys the movies, the cliched sappy romances with their happily ever afters, especially since they rarely finish them sober. She’s almost always misty-eyed, smiling from ear to ear, the kind of radiant glowing he’d only ever seen in prose and never in real life. 

The last movie they watched the previous Christmas ended with a kiss on the cheek and the promise of a very happy New Year. Of course, then life happened and neither of those things came up again. He’s waited the entire year for another chance, to recapture or perhaps rekindle...he just knows he wants that moment, that night again. And it is finally here.

Read here or on AO3

On December seventh, when he and Betty were a quarter of a bottle into some movie starring a washed-up nineties sit-com actress and a man old enough to be her father, his phone rings.

“Are you not going to answer that?” Betty questions from her end of the couch.

Soon, she’ll scoot down so her feet are in his lap, and cover the both of them with the fluffy green blanket she put on the couch for Christmas. At that point he’ll try, desperately, not to touch her but she’ll flex her toes or make a distressed sound and somehow—as if by magic—his hands will wrap around her blanketed feet and try to rub the aches away. They’ve danced this dance before. At least once a week from mid-October through right before Christmas. Betty usually leaves the twenty-third to spend the holiday with her family but comes back for New Year's Eve, which they’ve rung in together since she’s been in his life.

“Nah, if it’s that important they’ll leave a message,” he throws his now silent phone on the coffee table before he reclines back, hoping she’ll take it for the invitation that it is. After a few seconds, he notices her starting to inch her way toward him. She stops for the bottle, takes a swig and shakes off the burn. He’s trying not to make it obvious he’s watching her but he’s certain the smile tugging at his lips gives him away. 

“You’re ringing again,” she points at his glowing phone, pulling her legs up under her where she stopped in the middle of the couch. 

Only slightly dejected, he sighs, leaning forward to see the RESTRICTED that flashed before had changed into numbers, with a very important city’s name appearing underneath. “Shit. I’ll be right back,” Jughead snatches the phone from the table, grumbling “hello” into the receiver as he makes his way to Betty’s small half-bath.

“Forsythe Jones?”

He feels the pinch behind his eyes and subconsciously tries to smooth it by rubbing his fingers across his brow. “This is he.”

“Mr. Jones, this is Cynthia Montgomery with Lucas County Social Services...” Jughead’s knees buckle, the toilet luckily catches him. “Your sister is currently in my care.”

“Is she okay?” he manages to get out.

Ms. Montgomery pauses, then sighs. “JB is fine. It was brought to our attention by one of her teachers that she may be lacking in parental care and after a very brief investigation, we were able to prove as much. She was remanded to my custody as we tried to find your mother, but so far, we’ve found nothing.”

Jughead scoffs. “Not surprising. I can’t imagine this is the first time Gladys left Jellybean with my grandparents and absconded to God knows where.”

“Actually, Mr. Jones,” the voice on the other end softens. “Your mother and sister left your grandparents home after an altercation some months ago.”

“What?! Jelly never told me that, she told me that…” What had she told him? When was the last time they spoke? He could feel the already close walls pressing in, sweat beading on his brow as the voice droned on.

“Would it really come as such a surprise if she told you a half-truth? She’s quite adept I must say. In the short time I’ve known her—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Montgomery,” he interrupts in order to keep himself on track. “Is there something I needed to be privy to here? I assume you’ve contacted my grandparents and Jel-JB will be going back with them?”

“Oh, well, not exactly.”

Jughead listens, though he misses much of the conversation. She’s just filling the void with superfluous words until a few strike him like hammer blows. 

“We just need to you come to get her or make the proper travel arrangements, and we can deal with the paperwork and finite details after the holidays. Just call us as soon as you have it sorted. Talk to you soon, Mr. Jones.”

Jughead swallows heavily as he drops the phone from his ear. The knock on the door is faint, the questioning “Juggie” that accompanies it is equally quiet with the echo of his heartbeat in his ears. 

 He stands and opens the door, Betty’s concern is etched on her every feature, it’s in her eyes as they softly sweep his form, in her stance as she seems torn on touching him to reassure herself but manages to keep her distance before he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and wraps himself around her, letting everything out as her arms come to brace him around the middle. 

Betty manages, somehow, to get him home after he finishes the bottle of Wild Turkey they’d been working on. He doesn’t see her again until he’s picked Jellybean up from the airport two days later

“Betts, hey,” she jumps, startled by his voice as she strings lights around her kitchen window. 

“Jughead, hi, oh and you must be Jellybean!” Betty drops the lights in a heap at her feet and rushes over to meet the young girl.

“Please, it’s JB,” the fair-haired girl replies. They look alike, he thinks, minus the opposite hair colors. They are siblings after all.  Even if they’re thirteen years apart and their primary form of communication is meme-sharing and he hasn’t spent any significant time with her since she was four; she’ll now be living with him, indefinitely. 

“Sorry, JB, I’m Betty. Your brother’s neighbor,” she extends a hand and though, politely smiling, he can feel JB sizing her up. 

“Oh, you’re Betty! It’s so nice to meet you!” JB takes it, shaking with enthusiasm. “Jughead’s told me so much about you.”

Betty steps back after dropping JBs hand, turns and cocks her head to face him. “He has, has he? Well, I hope I’m not as boring in real life as I’m sure he’s made me seem.”

“Hah! The last thing Jughead sounds is bored when he’s talking about you,” Jughead can feel the flush rising up his neck, the layers of clothing that have served him so well for so long betray him.

Clearing his throat to try to break the concentration Betty is clearing placing on that statement, Jughead grabs JBs luggage and bumps his arm into hers. “Betty’s busy kid, we should probably let her get back to her lights before we all freeze out here.”

“Mock all you want, Jones, I like my lights. But I will let you get back to getting settled. It was nice to meet you, JB. Hopefully, we’ll see each other some more. Jug, I guess raincheck on tonight’s viewing?”

Shit. “Oh, yeah, um that’s probably not a bad idea.”

“Okay,” Betty nods, clenching her gloved hands. “Just get ahold of me, I guess.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, simply turns her back to them and takes off toward the half-adorned window. He stares at her retreating form for a beat longer then turns to his sister who can’t help but hide the amusement coloring her features. 

“What?” JB questions with a wry, half-smile. 

“Let’s just get in the house before you do something to embarrass me further.”

“Oh please. The two of you are so oblivious that even if you wrote out what was behind those ridiculous heart-eyes, in those bright twinkle lights, neither of you would get the message,” she mumbles following her brother into his apartment. 

The first couple of days are awkward. Two people trying to learn another’s routine, not get in each other’s way and find balance is not an easy feat. Especially since the school district has decided to wait until after winter break to allow her to enroll. It makes sense with the new semester’s start, but with his work schedule, it’s not ideal.

While the circumstances that brought JB so quickly and fully back into his life weren’t ideal, he can’t say he’s angry about it. They’ve spent all their time together re-learning, Jughead filling in some big blanks their mother never bothered with and JB keeping him apprised of their mother’s activities. By the end, he’s surprised it’s taken this long for social services to reach out to him. 

He is, as usual, fortunate to have Betty Cooper as a neighbor. Whatever he can’t get out of workwise, Betty is there, picking up the slack, treating JB as if she were family herself. They’ve made cookies (so many that Jughead actually requests she stop bringing them) and presents and that night Betty even sends home a stocking for JB. 

“She said, it’s so my first Christmas away is spent with the Grinch.” 

Jughead’s eyes narrow at his younger sister. “She said what?”

“Apparently it’s a well-known fact that Jughead Jones is a bit of a Grinch,” she shrugs and walks to the stairs. “I mean, is she wrong? It’s not exactly exuding holiday cheer in here big brother.”

“Hey!” he yells offended. “I am not a Grinch. I just never had a reason to decorate before now. I’ve spent the last couple of December’s at Casa Cooper so don’t think I haven’t picked up a thing or two about how to make this place a winter wonderland!”

JB rolls her eyes. “Oh, okay. We’ll believe it when we see it.”

“We?”

“Betty and I. She doesn’t think you have a singular, jolly cell in your body. Can’t say I disagree. Now I’ve got the B-Side of ‘Dark Side’ to sync up with ‘The Wizard of Oz’, later bro!”

Jughead is near seething by the time she reaches the top. “Jolly? I’ll show you jolly.” He shouts that he has to run to the store and drives off into the cold, winter’s night.

When he returns, the bags containing faux-Christmas cheer line the hallway. Cracking his knuckles, he sets his sights out front, hoping to match the precision of which Betty has hung her lights. An hour into his endeavor he’s not even close. The icicle lights hang haphazardly across the entryway, the wreath crooked on his door and the lights he intends for his own front-facing window lay tangled at his feet.

Another missed nail and yelled curse cause his neighbor’s front door to abruptly open. “Jug? What’s going on, why are you on a ladder?” 

Betty steps out, narrowly missing the cluster of glowing lights on the ground, and wraps her arms around her. “Jug are you...are you decorating?”

“Well apparently, compared to yours, my house doesn’t scream Christmas.” From the corner of his eye, he sees a smile appear on her face, soft and warm amidst the lights she expertly hung.

“No, no it doesn’t. If you want some help—” 

“No. I got it,” he tries to ignore the hurt he sees flash in her eyes as she nods and abruptly turns her back. “It’s just that I kind of want to do something for Jelly...that’s all me. If you help, she’ll know because everything will look perfect,” she winces but turns back around. 

She’s smiling because she’s Betty, but he knows he’s said something that struck a nerve. “I get it. I do, but, if you’re going to be trying your hand at decorating then you should be forewarned.”

This stops his misguided hammering as he turns to face her, eyebrow raised in confusion (and perhaps just a little fear.) “What about?”

“Oh, this?” she gesticulates to the decorations on her side then to the empty lawn. “I try to keep my true spirit under wraps, Jones, as not to overload your delicate sensibilities, but, since you’ve decided to undertake decorating on your own...I’m gonna have to go full Griswold.”

Jughead could feel his eyes bulging. “Excuse me? Did you just imply that there’s possibly more you could do inside there? Betts, it already looks like ‘Buddy the Elf’ visited, it cannot get more Christmas-y.”

“Huh,” she was back in her doorway. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

He caught her wink before the door closed between them. What the hell just happened?

Jughead finds out the next night when a strange whirring catches his attention. Checking the peephole on his front door he sees, well, not at all what he expects.

Slowly, he pulls the door back to reveal a veritable inflatable menagerie. Polar bears festooned in festive attire, penguins in Santa hats, what he thinks might be a moose.

“Jesus, Jug, what did you do?” JB is suddenly standing beside him, her eyes fixed on the display before them. 

“Me? I hung some lights! This is insane!” he knocks on Betty’s door. He would swear he hears laughter behind the wrapping paper ensconced door but it never opens. Softly, he laughs to himself. “Alright, Cooper, it’s on. If it’s war you want…” he sighs when he’s met with silence and runs a resigned hand through his messy hair. Turning back to JB, who looks all of her twelve years in the shadow of the newly minted light show, he tells her to grab their coats and his keys. 

“Betty said she was going full Griswold; what she doesn’t realize is that by doing so, she just woke the beast. Buckle up kid, it’s about to get a whole lot tackier.”

Tacky might just be an understatement for what transpired over the next few days. Mis-matched candy cane lights lined the sidewalk leading to an eclectic display of laser lights, projecting a tandem kaleidoscope of color on the facade of his apartment. He found tinsel encrusted, light up gift boxes and put them under the window, which is also now covered in garish sticky snowmen and reindeer. 

He even has a few things in reserve, just in case Betty breaks out the big guns and really tries to put him in his place. JB is loving every second of it too. As cool as she claims to be, and truly is, she’s still a kid at Christmas who was just dealt a very shitty hand. The least he can do is try to make this whole experience memorable. In a good way for once. 

Just then she texts him a picture of her and Betty outside the apartment, a large, nondescript bag between them, and genuinely mischievous smirks on both their faces.

“Shit,” he mutters, though not as under his breath as he intends. Before long he’s got company at his desk, and try as he might, he simply cannot escape.

 The Friday before Christmas finds the Jones siblings loaded down with good food, practically waddling back up the walk to their apartment. It’s uncomfortably bright, what with Betty’s additional herd of animatronic reindeer and his motorcycle-riding Santa blow-up, he nearly has to shield his eyes. 

“Just ask her, Jug. She’s not gonna say no.”

He sighs, squinting and trudges on. “I know she’s not, but I just...I don’t think I can. It’s no big deal.”

“What’s no big deal?”

“Betty!” JB pushes by her brother to stand between him and Betty. “Can I hang out at your place tomorrow night?”

Betty looks slightly taken aback but shakes it off. “Sure, JB. What time?” She looks to Jughead, a shy smile appearing at the corner of her mouth, “maybe we can finally finish that movie?” 

“Oh, no, not him. He’s got a date! Which he was going to cancel but I knew you wouldn’t mind another girls night, right?”

He’s pretty sure he can feel each of those words as they land like blows to his stomach. “A date,” Betty says so softly he could hardly hear her above the lawn inflatables. “What time?” Her tone feels colder, even just two words.

“Seven,” the word pushes through his lips tremulously, as if willing her to look at him. When she does he almost wishes she hadn’t. Something lingers between them, it’s weighted and heavy and he can feel himself being pulled under, but before he gets carried away Betty nods and repeats the time, walking into the night without another glance.

“This is getting sooooo good.” Jellybean is smiling from his doorway, exaggeratedly clasping her hands in front of her.

When he swallows it’s as if his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Air is thick and syrupy as it fills his lungs, the lead balloon having sunk completely through his stomach and forcing some cloying amalgamation of guilt and shame through his nose. The key turns in the lock as the ragged breath breaks free. “No, JB, there’s no good that can come from this.”

“You are so melodramatic, big brother. Take a couple of deep breaths and come inside. Everything will work itself out.”

Jughead would have liked to believe that was true, but the next night JB ran over to Betty’s before he’d been ready to go, leaving him, in his newly decorated house, all alone. It was the first time he’d felt lonely, albeit alone since JB arrived. The quiet solitude he’d grown accustomed to was suffocating. With one last look in the mirror, lit but undecorated tree glowing behind him, he groans. 

The plan had been to ask Betty over and have her help them put the ornaments on. Maybe ask her to stay when it was done, finish what they never got to. It was the longest they’d gone without spending any significant time together, just a few random texts and sentences exchanged when JB was coming or going. Now, he’s going on a date—one he’d distractedly agreed to—when the only place he wants to be is mere feet away.

Seven twenty-five finds him sat across from Ethel Muggs, bored, and three beers into a mediocre appetizer plate. It’s not like he doesn’t like Ethel, he does, as a friend...or colleague, she’s smart, nice, pretty, but he’s racing for his phone at every notification. JB keeps sending pictures of the food Betty made and the gingerbread houses they were making and a particularly focused Betty with a smidgen of icing on her nose that he just finds adorable.

“Any reason you’re staring so wistfully at your phone every time it dings?” Ethel asks from behind her glass of house red. 

He rolls the bottleneck between his long fingers before taking a swig. “Just pics from my sister. She seems to be having a good night.”

Ethel nods, sips her wine and sets the glass back on the table. It’s enough to convince her that he wants to be there as he forces a smile and motions for another bottle. By the time their dinner’s come and eaten, he’s far deeper into the drinks than he intended to be. Ethel tries and fails, to get him to come with her. He simply thanks her for her time and heads right back to the bar.   Another hour, a few candid shots of his favorite blonde and a couple of rounds of harder libations later, he texts JB that he’s headed home (via an Uber) and to come home when she’s ready.

It’s minutes that he’s back when he hears the front door. JB yells she’s tired into the void and stomps her way to her room. Jughead sighs mid teeth brushing when his phone dings. 

‘Hope you had a nice date’  

It’s simple and concise and not meant to be condescending at all but it trips Jughead Jones’ trigger like nothing else has for a very long time.

Mouth still foamy, he storms back out the door and finds himself in front of hers. He doesn’t remember knocking but he must because suddenly Betty is standing before him in a cream-colored cable knit sweater, messy top-knot, and her reading glasses.

“Jug, are you okay?”

“My date was fine, thank you!”

Betty shakes her head and smiles. “That’s good, I’m glad. You had to come over here and tell me that, though?”

“No,” he points emphatically. “I came over here to tell you that I have watched you go on dates with lots of different guys…’

“Excuse me?” She steps out of her apartment into the cold night. “What does my dating history have to do with this?”

“I’m simply stating the facts here,” Jughead, in all his drunken glory, is trying to prove a point that does not seem to exist. “There was Chad, Eric, Adam, I know I’m missing an asshole or two but I think you get the gist.”

Betty looks as though she’s been slapped as she reaches behind her for the door. “I didn’t realize you kept such a thorough tally of my failed relationships. Oh, and you definitely missed one asshole who I guess now gets added to that list. I really did hope you had a good time tonight but now, I hope it was shit. And I hope your morning is, too. By the sound...and the smell of you, I imagine it will be. Goodnight, Jughead, and goodbye.” 

She’s inside, the door slamming in his face before he can respond. He swears there were tears in her eyes, he knows his own are full of them, can feel them sliding down his cheeks as he’s left in sudden, silent darkness. Jughead whirls around and sees the wonderland deflate before his eyes, taking with it all the hopes he had for the new year. Leave it to him to fuck up two things in one night; no one destroys their own life quite like a Jones. 

“Dude. DUDE! Jughead! Wake up!!!” 

Jughead startles awake, sloshing a bit of the coffee JB was holding in front of him onto him. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, which, after what he’s done he totally deserves the crick in his neck awaiting him. 

“JB what time is it?” He takes the coffee from his sister and inhales its heavenly aroma. 

“Almost noon. What the hell happened last night?”

Jughead can feel the dull throb behind his eyes, the sandpaper scratchiness of his throat, the sheer discomfort of having slept on the raggedy sofa—in his clothes no less—, but most pressing is the gnawing ache that seems to have taken root in his chest. 

He doesn’t respond more than a groan then sinks against the cushions. The coffee is still steaming as he brings the mug, his favorite one, (the one with his name written in beautiful, silvery script amidst the stars) the one Betty gave him last Christmas, to his lips. The ache flares inside as the coffee attempts to burn the hangover away.

“Jug,” JB perches herself on the coffee table in front of him, elbows on knees, pigtail braids and too much familiarity in her young gaze. “You can talk to me.”

His head lolls back, neck stretching before he starts talking. “I told you I would fuck everything up.”

“You’re a Jones, self-fulfilling prophecy is our motto, our creed! Now, I don’t really need details...you weren’t exactly quiet and my window is right there…”

As much as he would love for the couch to swallow him whole at this revelation, he forces himself upright instead. “Great.”

“To be fair, the whole complex probably heard.”

He snaps his head toward his sister, locks of matted brown tumble across his brow. “Not helping, Jelly,” he takes another swig of his coffee and sets the cup next to his sister. “How do I fix this?”

“You can start by apologizing,” Jellybean says matter-of-factly. Jughead drops his head to his hands but manages a nod with his face buried in them. “Then you invite her over for Christmas Eve.”

“She won’t be here, fuck, she probably already left!” His head snaps back up, still cradled by his hands and he tries to ward off the building tension in his jaw.

JB cocks her head, there’s sympathy in her eyes, maybe some disappointment too, but she smiles. “I know for a fact that she has not. And is not. Betty told me last week she wasn’t going back home; said she had something she wanted to see through before the New Year.” She shrugs as she stands from the table. “Oh, but maybe clean yourself up before you do any of that, you look like shit.” (He doesn’t necessarily like it when his little sister swears, but, when she’s right, she’s right.)

A little over an hour later, freshly showered and back from retrieving his car, he knocks on Betty’s door. As it opens his heart starts doing weird flutters, it all but stops when he can only see a sliver of her face, the chain allowing mere inches to speak through.

“What?” 

What indeed? How does he tell her everything that’s been going through his head since LAST Christmas? That, even though she’s been right next door he’s never felt further from her? That, he’s waited an entire year only to have the fates drop his little sister in the mix and while maybe it isn’t fair it’s completely right? He says none of those things, sighs instead and goes with “I am so sorry, Betty. How I acted—what I said, it was completely out of line. I was drunk, and I know, that’s not an excuse, but I had had a lot going through my mind all night and I took it out on you. You did not, and do not ever, deserve that. I’ll probably be apologizing for it for the rest of my life…”

“Thank you,” her voice doesn’t sound as harsh, but it’s still off. “Was that all?”

He swallows. “JB tells me you’re not going home for Christmas…”

“Oh, um, no, I’m not.”

“Were you not going to tell me that?”

Her head swings, he can almost make out the swish of her ponytail behind the door. “Excuse me?”

“No, God, I really suck at this! I’m sorry, again, it’s just...JB and I would really love if you came and spent Christmas Eve with us.”

The eye he can see appraises him, he can feel it as the puffy orb looks him up and down. “Jug, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Just think about it, please? If there’s a chance that you could ever forgive me...just come.”

Betty nods. “I’ll think about it. Goodbye, Jug.” The door clicks shut and the hammering in his heart starts again. 

Betty hasn’t relit her display since she yanked the plug on Saturday. Jughead faithfully lights up, while the tree still sits unadorned as he hopes very shortly he and his sister get some much-needed assistance. It’s nearly six, the sun’s gone from the sky leaving only the twinkling of the neighborhood lights, which seemed to double after he and Betty started their friendly competition. 

He wonders if the Jughead from that night could have predicted where they’d end up when all he’d wanted was her head on his shoulder, their fingers laced together, a sweet kiss shared as the credits rolled. His mug, filled again with coffee, mocks him. It’s everything he could ever want and, quite literally from where he was sitting, just out of reach.

“She’s not coming is she?” JB asks walking into the room, arms crossed over her chest. 

Jughead shrugs. “I don’t know, kid. I don’t think so.”

“Jesus, Jug! How could you even fuck this up—”

“Hey!”

“No,” she wags a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to language lecture me right now. I have been pushed and pulled and tossed around like a fucking object for the last three years so, you’re just going to sit there for a minute. Got it?”

He nods.

“Good. Now, where was I...oh yeah, how? HOOOOWWWW? Jug, Betty was a sure thing. For some reason, she seemed to be equally into you, and yet you fly off the handle—at her—for having dated in the past when you were the one going on a date.”

“If you’ll recall, I didn’t want to go on the date, I tried to cancel said date and you were the one who insisted I go!”

“Yeah, because I thought it would force both of your stupid hands! Boy did that backfire. It forced stupid hands all right, but only yours, digging your own grave.”

“Betty and I are adults, we don’t need your meddling. We are perfectly capable of…” he pauses, not sure if the words he wants to use are even true anymore. “We were capable of doing these things on our own.”

JB laughs, loudly. “Are you serious? How long have you been pining over that girl?? You even decorated your place at the suggestion she thought you wouldn’t! That girl is everything to you, and you never once let her know that.” 

“What?”

JB continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “When you started naming the guys she dated did it ever occur to you that not one of them was from this last year? That she hasn’t gone on a single date since last…” 

“Okay! So we were both idiots but, JB, I’m so scared that I lost her.” And he was, and not even in just the romantic sense, but as a friend. “I know you’re young but, sometimes you just meet someone and everything in the world seems, I don’t even know. It sounds too cliched to say ‘right’ and I don’t even know if that’s the word I want.”

JB sits beside him on the couch. “Tell me what you do know, big brother.”

He stretches for his mug and holds it almost reverently between his palms. “I know she doesn’t like coffee but she keeps my favorite kind on hand. I know when she’s faked scared versus real scared, you can’t watch that many horror movies with a person and not pick up some tells. I know it takes a good week for her to decompress after a trip to her parents, even though she’s a successful adult they still make her feel like an incompetent child and it gets in her head. I know her favorite color is not pink, it’s the blue of the sky right before the moon claims it for night. She loves sugary cereal and cheap liquor and people watching,” he pauses to breathe in, the next part is a bit heavier and he needs the air to get through it. “She makes me feel seen like I’m a person worth investing time and energy in. She’s selfless in the way that most people truly aren’t, she’d do anything for the people she loves. And somehow I think we made out way onto that list. I’ll never forgive myself for jeopardizing that because what I know most intrinsically is, that the best part of my day is when I see her, even if it’s just a second on the sidewalk. That smile has gotten me through some dark days. What do I do if I can’t walk this back?” he looks at the half-empty cup and sighs. 

“Keep saying stuff like that and you won’t have wait long to find out.”

Jug’s head snaps up. “Betty? What...why...how long have you been standing there?” He manages to stammer. 

“Long enough, Jones,” she steps out of the hallway and into the living room with unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The harsh brightness of the LED laden Christmas tree does nothing to diminish how beautiful she looks standing before him. Gift bags on one arm, she uses the other to point to the tree. “Looks pretty naked. I think that makes me winner of our impromptu decorating challenge.”

He can’t stop staring, she’s really standing here and talking to him. “Um, I left it for you, for us…” he nods to himself and tries to shake off the feeling of all his nerve endings firing at once. “It had been my intention to invite you over tonight to help us decorate the tree. Unfortunately, for all of us, I am an idiot.”

“Right you are!” Jellybean stands and walks to Betty, wrapping her in a tight embrace before taking the bags and setting them by the tree.  Jughead slides out from behind the coffee table and gently grabs Betty by the elbow, leading her back to the hallway.

“Betts, you don’t have—” Her finger is soft but firm, pressed against his lips.

“We still have a lot to talk about, Jug, but it’s Christmas Eve and there’s nowhere else I wanted to be more than with you, and Jelly.”

Jughead can feel tears welling in his own eyes again. He wants to kiss her, needs to kiss her, but her finger holds him in place. 

“Let’s take this next week, get back to talking, and we’ll revisit this on New Year’s Eve, okay?”

He nods and the finger drops from his lips. The smile she flashes him before turning back into the living room should sustain him through then. Especially coupled with the laughter that’s erupted. He sees JB’s gotten all the ornaments he just bought laid out around the tree.

“Still think you won?” He bumps his shoulder playfully into Betty’s as she catalogs the random assortment of baubles he’s accumulated.

“Nope, Jones, I think this one’s all you,” she winks at him then goes for the ornament with the most glitter to hang on the tree. 

It takes about almost two hours to finish, every last inch of space covered by the most ridiculous assemblage of ornamentation ever seen. Quasi exhausted and slightly delirious, they finally indulge in some cookies and with JBs request for hot chocolate, both Betty and Jughead find themselves in the small galley kitchen.

He’s been touching her all night: a hand at the small of her back so she didn’t fall off the ladder, one wrapped around her waist as she stirred the milk on the stove, and she’s yet to shy away. He knows it’s playing with fire with her request to revisit next week but he can’t help it when his lips find the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

“You know what I find so odd?” Jughead jumps away from Betty’s blushing form as JB makes her way into the kitchen. “Neither of you, in all your crazy decorating, got any mistletoe.”

“Huh.” Betty looks back at him and follows his eyes to the ceiling. “Where did that come from then?”

“You’re welcome, idiots!” As quickly as she came, JB was gone again, skipping back down the hallway with a stolen snickerdoodle.

“We don’t have to...I know you want to…” Jughead’s hand nervously rubs at the base of his neck. 

“Fuck it,” he thinks he hears just moments before their lips meet. It starts slowly, unsure and tentative in this strange self-imposed limbo, but when Betty sighs against his lips all hesitations fly by the wayside. They break apart only when the milk boils over in an angry hiss. 

“Oops,” Betty giggles and he feels it, lips still pressed together. Quickly, she turns off the burner and cleans up the milk before it’s scorched onto his stovetop. She salvages enough to make three cups of cocoa that she and Jughead carry into the living room before settling on the couch. 

Jellybean stays on the floor, nestled between more blankets and pillows than Jughead even knew he owned. He takes one last, long look around the room, trying to commit every detail of the picturesque scene playing out before him to his memory. It’s been a wild month, and he knows that with JB starting school and probably staying with him permanently, it’s only going to get crazier.  Betty leans her head on his chest as the TV comes to life, “It’s a Wonderful Life” playing on the screen.  For the first time, surrounded by the people he loves, he thinks that it just may be. 

#bughead secret santa #riverdaleevents #bughead fanfiction #Bughead

[robinskey]

In My Mind (Steve x Hopper! Reader)

Request: Steve Harrington x hopper!reader where the reader has mind reading powers?

A/N: I was trying to find a way to connect the reader to the MKUltra experiments (like maybe her mom was an unknowingly pregnant test subject, like Terry Ives), but the timelines didn’t add up. So the reader is the daughter of Hopper and his ex-wife and older sister of the late Sara Hopper. I like the way it turned out, so hopefully you do, too! Thanks for requesting, anon. :)

Any text in italics are the thoughts of others.

Warnings: Some language (it’s all Stevie Babey’s fault, though, so you can’t be too mad about it)

“Are you excited for your first day of high school?”

The words are spoken by your father, who’s driving with the wheel in one hand a cigarette in the other. A thin haze of smoke clouds both the air and your esophagus. Usually, you’d chide him for his unhealthy vice. This time, however, you let it slide; he needed the nicotine to calm his nerves.

When your dad initially offered to drop you off on the first day of the new semester, you resisted. After all, you had your own car, and, considering you’d been able to navigate the big city for most of your life without incident, you were pretty sure you could find your way to Hawkins High. (Besides, as you’d told your father, “the new kid already starts at the bottom of the food chain, even without her daddy dropping her off.”) 

If you were any other moody teenager, you probably would have insisted on driving yourself. In fact, that’s what you were about to do when you felt an overwhelming wave of guilt and disappointment wash over you. The emotions weren’t your own; they belonged to your father. Yet, the feeling was strong enough for you to sense without even trying. Dad plastered a fake smile on his face, but his disheartened thoughts bounced around your head. 

God, you idiot, she’s a senior in high school. Of course she doesn’t want her old man around when she’s trying to make new friends. You’ve already missed your opportunity to be there for all her “firsts”.

“Actually, you know what? It might be nice to have a chauffeur,” you said. 

You’ll never forget how wide he beamed.

Thus, when he refers to the start of your eighth semester of high school as your “first day,” you happily play along.

“I’m excited for a fresh start,” you say, watching as the car passes by a frost-covered field. Despite the bitter cold, the sun shines down on the earth. Bright white patches of snow glitter in the light.

“Me, too, kid.”

Your father’s uncharacteristically quiet tone draws your attention to him. He stares back at you with glimmering irises. You don’t need to tap into this mind to know exactly what he’s thinking-or, more precisely, what he’s thinking about.

***

Once upon a time, you had been relatively close with your father. Your mother worked long hours at the office, trying to climb the corporate ladder, so you saw him a lot more often than you did her. He helped you and Sara with your homework and coached your softball team; the two of you were certified daddy’s girls.

Then, tragedy struck: Your sweet little sister was diagnosed with cancer. Despite their best efforts, the doctors couldn’t save her. Sara’s death wounded your mother deeply, but it destroyed your father. The deep depression into which he fell led to the dissolution of their marriage. 

Because your father was barely in a state of mind to take care of himself, let alone another human being, your mother received full custody in the divorce. You stayed in New York with your mother, and your father moved back to his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana. His decision to leave felt like abandonment when you needed him most.

The two of you spent five years without seeing each other in person. You rarely even spoke over the phone, unless he drunkenly dialed you or you called him-which, after he repeatedly answered with slurred speech, you eventually stopped doing. He missed holidays and birthdays, only occasionally sending a card in the mail, which often arrived several months late, and never invited you to visit.

All that changed in the fall of 1984, when your father invited you “home” for Thanksgiving break. He even offered to pay for your flight to Indiana. Hoping to mend your relationship, you agreed, headed to the airport after school, and arrived in Indiana that same day. Your father was waiting for you at the gate with a cheesy grin and a container of your favorite candy. After a tight embrace and a waterfall of shared tears, you spent the next few days catching up on five years of lost time. He introduced you to El, showed you around Hawkins, and took you to all his favorite places to get a bite to eat. You quickly understood why your dad had wanted to return to this little town; at the end of the trip, you didn’t want to leave it. 

“I want to move here,” you told your father on your last night in Hawkins.

“You can always stay with me.”

He didn’t realize you were seriously you took that offer until you called him a few weeks later.

“You actually want to come live with me?” he asked, shock evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Don’t you want to wait until graduation?”

It sounded like your father didn’t want you to move. But, as Dad later told you, he wanted you to come to Hawkins more than anything. He just wanted to make sure you were thinking things through-that this was actually what you wanted, not what you thought you should do. 

“I’ll stay here until the end of the semester,” you said, “but I don’t want to miss out on another six months of time I could spend with you. I can finish my senior year in Indiana.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It was what you wanted. 

***

At least, it’s what you thought you wanted. The way your stomach twists into a pretzel shape as you pull up to the school makes you doubt your conviction. You ramble about your fears of being accepted as you gather your belongings.

That’s when a firm hand lands on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re going to kill it today, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek, then hop out of the car. 

“And remember,” he says with a pointed finger, “if anyone treats you poorly, take note of their name. They may need to receive a visit from the Hawkins Chief of Police sometime down the road.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugs at your lips. 

“Bye, Sheriff!” you call over your shoulder.

As you walk into the school, you swear you can feel a hundred sets of eyes boring into your soul. Anyone else would have been be able to dismiss it as their own paranoia. However, you could hear the thoughts of your peers even louder than their whispers.

Who is that?

Was that the Sheriff’s car?

Where did she come from?

The rapid-fire unspoken questions continue for the rest of the day. When the bell rings for lunch, you start to panic. If there’s one thing more terrifying than starting in a new school where you know no one, it’s walking into a high school cafeteria when you have no one to sit with. 

Thankfully, a curly-haired girl from your homeroom spots you in the hallway. She invites you to her table with a friendly grin that makes you feel instantly at ease. You chat as you make your way through the lunch line. 

After you get your trays, Nancy leads you to a corner of the cafeteria where two guys are already sitting across from each other, making casual conversation. The one facing you has pale skin and terrible posture. He greets Nancy warmly and smiles at you politely. After his initial reaction of who the hell is this, his thoughts turn more positive: Another girl for Nancy to befriend. That could be good for her.

“Y/N, this is my boyfriend, Jonathan,” Nancy says, taking a seat next to him.

That’s when the second boy finally turns around.

Big, brown eyes lock onto yours. They’re framed by thick, dark lashes. Other than a few freckles, his rosy complexion is blemish-free. And that hair-his mane is composed of fluffy brunette curls that simply defy gravity. 

You’re really glad he can’t read your mind because you can’t stop thinking about how you’ve never seen a human so...pretty. 

Luckily for you, he’s thinking the same thing. 

Damn, she’s gorgeous. Why have I never seen her before? Oh, shit-I’m staring. Come on, Steve get it together. It’s just a girl, and you’re-you’re King Steve Harrington. 

“King Steve Harrington”? Does this guy really call himself that? You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. Steve licks his cotton-candy pink lips nervously.

God, how is she that beautiful?

“I’m Steve,” he says. “Steve Harrington.” 

“I know,” you blurt out. 

Steve tilts his head at a slight angle, confused as an untrained dog being told to sit.

“I, uh-I know your name’s Steve,” you say, which is true. “Nancy told me.”

Did I?

Before Nancy can ask her question out loud, you gesture to the empty spot next to Steve.

“Can I sit?” 

Steve nods, scooting over a bit to make room. Your arm brushes his as you slide onto the bench. Your skin burns, and you’re not sure if it’s due to your own flustered attitude or the heat radiating from Steve. There’s half a beat of silence; even the internal dialogue dies down for a moment. Then, Nancy and Jonathan launch into a discussion about the fourth-period pop quiz. You quickly tune out of their conversation and into the thoughts of the boy next to you.

How long do you have to know a girl before you ask her out?

While no bullies will be receiving a visit from your father, you have a sinking feeling that the sheriff will be having words with a particular student at Hawkins High in the near future.

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