#but no lets spend a whole year sucking Disneys toes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jjk♡#jeon jungkook #mine

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Smooth

Note - This is a birthday gift for my babie🥺🥺 Amber aka @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'm sorry Steve's as hairless as a seal😔 at least you have Ari Mike and Colin!

Summary - You're surprised to find just how smooth Steve is.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings - smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, name calling, captain kink, rip steves pubes lol.

Word count - 2.6k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t done it yet?!” You cringed pushing your palms on your ears to block out Ella’s screeching. Maybe it was a mistake to tell her that you still hadn’t hit that supersoilder-golden-boy-next-door.

“We’re just waiting for the right moment you know?” You murmured. You couldn’t tell her the real reason. That Steve had never been intimate with anyone. Even if she was your best friend that was Steve’s secret to tell, not yours.

“When will the right moment come” She shook her head “I’m disappointed in you. You get to date that hunk of a man, and how long has it been a year?”

“Six months!” You defended yourself.

“As if that makes a difference” She scoffed.

“We will do it soon when we’re both ready.” You said ironing out the wrinkles on your dress which you were showing her.

“Alright I just want you to be happy” She rolled her eyes finally giving in “but why're you dressed as a nun?” She looked you up and down confused.

“I’m not a nun! I’m supposed to be snow white. Steve will be my prince.” You couldn’t help the love-struck grin that appeared on your face. You really were living out your best fairy tale with him.

“Wouldn’t you rather wear something traditional” She suggested.

“Hm?” You asked looking at your reflection in your dressing table mirror. You were covered head to toe. Your hair done up like that of snow white with a red headband. “How is this not traditional?” You wondered. It seemed like an okay, albeit cheesy but you were a cheesy couple, costume for Halloween.

“I meant traditional for our generation.” She snickered. She would never say it in front of Steve, but she loved making fun of you for dating someone who was old enough to be your grandpa and how you liked older men. “like a slutty snow White” she continued.

“Nope” You said popping the p and going back into your closet to take off the uncomfortable and restricting dress. You had no idea how you will spend an entire night in that thing. “I don’t want to ruin Disney Princesses for him. He likes them a lot” you shouted so she could hear you. It was so cute how he liked to hum or even sing along with the musicals sometimes. He appreciated the art and the vibrant colors. The idealistic happy endings appealed to the romantic in him.

You came out of your closet taking in deep breathes of fresh air, your torso no longer restricted “That doesn’t mean you can’t still be slutty” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at you.

“What do you have in mind?” You were curious. You were excited to be Steve’s princess. But you would trade that if you what you truly wanted.

Steve groaned looking at himself all done up in his 'prince' costume. Yeah it was his idea to be Snow White and her prince but you were the one who suggested doing a costume together! He couldn’t say no when you looked at him so expectedly. When you gushed so much about this being your favorite holiday.

He looked... ridiculous. There was no other way to put it. From the neck up he was fine, his clean shaven face and golden yellow hair pushed back. He looked like his normal self. But then his pale blue shirt with the balloon sleeves, the dark vest over it and his huge black boots, all topped with a sword strapped to his hip. It reminded him of his army days, when he was nothing more than a monkey.

He contemplated all the teasing he would probably have to endure from his friends the whole night. It would be absolutely worth it to make you happy. With his mind made up he left his apartment and headed towards yours, just across the hallway, to pick you up for the party at the tower. He did lose the sword. That was just too over the top.

He knocked on your door, giddy with excitement to see you in your snow white dress. He made sure to treat you like a princess, how you deserve to be treated by everyone, but to actually see you dressed as one would be something else.

His jaw dropped on the floor as you opened the door and he got a good look at you. You were dressed in... lingerie? You were a white lacy bodysuit that hugged your curves in all the right places. Leaving your legs completely bare. If that wasn’t enough you were wearing a tiara attached to a veil.

He couldn’t stifle the damn near animalistic growl that escaped his throat. He averted his gaze from your pushed up titts to your face. Your make up all done up, from the neck up you almost looked like a bride. “What the hell are you wearing doll?” he grumbled.

“Oh you don’t like it?” you clucked your tongue and looked down at your sexy costume “What a shame. It only costs like 500 dollars” Yeah maybe you were an idiot to spend so much money on a costume but if it worked you’d be seeing stars tonight so it'd be worth it.

“What happened to being snow white? What are you even supposed to be?” You moved to the side so you could let him into your apartment. He ran his hand through his hair plopping down on your couch, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I’m a slutty bride” You twirled in front of him to give him a nice view of your, barley covered, ass.

“That’s lingerie doll. You can’t go out dressed like that” He raised his hand to touch your ass, maybe give it a little squeeze but you quickly turned around.

Your hands on your hips you asked “Why not?”

“Because” He paused pulling you into him by grabbing at your hips “only I get to see you like this” His hand reached at your backside and he groaned squeezing your ass before giving it a light swat. He chuckle as you yelped from the sudden slap.

“Well then what do you suggest I do with this?” You asked nonchalantly playing with your veil “Are you saying I don’t look pretty?” You gave him your best mock puppy eyes. You could clearly see just how much he liked that on you. But you needed him to say it and to do something about it.

“You know that’s not true” You yelped as he flipped you into the couch, trapping you under him.

“I don’t know Steve. You don’t seem to be a huge fan of it. I thought you’d like me being your slut.” You brought out the big guns, jutting your bottom lip out. You knew he’d melt on the spot.

“Fine. You can be my slut.” He couldn’t believe he actually said that word. His mother raised him in a certain way. To respect women and to never ever use those words to address a woman. And he did respect all women and you. But she also taught him to be passionate and give his all to everything he did. So it would only be fair that he fucked you, respectfully, with everything he has got and gave you everything you asked for.

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back. Biting and sucking on your neck and then trailing down your clavicle. Making sure to leave bruises so everyone could see who you belonged to. He kissed your throat and revelled in the vibrations caused by your moans. Your hands in clutching onto his head and completely messing up his well done hair. He finally let up and admired his work. The white and red marks that would soon turn a dark shade of violet.

He hauled you over his shoulder walking towards your bedroom. As you squirmed and then laughed in his hold.

He had to struggle a lot to off his clothes. They were so intricate, with the buttons and buckles, reminded him of his stealth suit. He pulled off his boots and crawled onto the bed, kneeling between your legs only in his tight black boxer briefs.

He looked at your face and frowned at the puzzled expression it held as you stared at his nude body. He suddenly felt self conscious. All the insecurities, from back when he was the little guy came back to him. He thought women liked him now. Even you were so entranced and attracted to his bulky figure. Which he couldn’t help but be proud of.

But right now, for some reason you didn’t look impressed. He sanked back to sit on his calves. He had completely given himself to you. What if you rejected him? He had no idea how he would deal with that blow.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you noticed Steve’s defeated state. In your ogling and processing you didn’t realise that you might’ve hurt his feelings. “Stevie?” You knelt before him caressing his cheek. “I’m just taken aback a bit okay?” you tried to reassure him.

“Why?” He finally met your gaze looking into your guys.

“I mean...” You trailed off running your hand down the smooth and vast expanse of his chest. “You’re so smooth? You don’t have any hair.” You struggled to get the sentence out. Suddenly realises just how ridiculous it sounded.

“I – yeah that’s how I’ve always been. I thought that’s what women wanted” He murmured cutely tilting his head “You don’t like it?” His voice wavering with nervousness.

“Steve. What kinda question is that?” And you cringed as he reminded you that you did the same thing just moments ago. “I was kidding! Steve there is nothing about you that’s not to like. Yeah I do like a bit of fuzz but I’d love you just as much even if you were bald.” You said and he looked as if he was processing your words. “You are my dream guy. My prince.” You beamed trailing kisses down his flushed torso. “How about I show you?” You didn’t wait for his answer, taking off your veil and your tiara with it. You rolled his briefs down his hips and he helped you take them off. You looked in shock at his beautiful rosy cock, which was almost hard, and his lack of hair....

You quickly whipped your head up knowing he would assume the worst “Steve! It’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen” You said stroking his length and licking the tip, which was oozing with precum, to prove it. “It’s just unexpected. That’s all.” You took him in your mouth. Just as you anticipated, he was too big, you could barely fit his tip in your mouth.

“Well you know the...” He bunched your hair in his fist, struggling to keep from pushing you down further.

“What?” You asked as he slipped out of you.

“I thought that’s what people did nowadays” He was turning redder every second “I didn’t... In the pornography...and I thought tonight you and me..”

You snorted and out a hand on your mouth to keep from laughing. “Steve! Porn isn’t real. You can do whatever you want with your body. But you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“What do you mean?” he asked trying his best to ignore his aching cock and your wet swollen lips.

“Just wait till it grows back” You grimaced “it’s gonna itch like crazy. That’s why I uh... never you know do it. Just warning you” You chuckled nervously.

“Enough talking” He groaned at the thought of your wet pussy and how much he had been fantasizing about it for the last several months. He pushed you on your back and quickly worked on removing your bodysuit. When you laid completely bare in front of him. He swore you were the more beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

He trailed down your body settling his broad shoulders between your legs. He groaned at the sight in front of him. You weren’t lying and he indeed preferred this. He dove right in licking and sucking to see what you like best. He had never ate a woman out before but he had been doing his research. Porn was too gratuitous and was clearly only made for the male gaze, reading women’s magazines and some more ‘sex for dummies' books he bought as discreetly as he could.

Which is where he got the stupid idea that everyone liked shaved dicks now. Which was only backed up by his friends and the locker room talk about ‘manscaping'. Tony and Clint were classic over sharers. He wouldn’t be surprised if they purposely misled him. He didn’t have much hair on his balls to begin with, but he expected to give himself to you tonight, so he carefully put the razor on his balls and shaved it all off. The things he would do for you and the lengths he would go for you.

From your moans and the way you were pushing his head harder into your core, he could tell that he was doing a good job. You thrashed and squirmed as he held you down by pushing down on your stomach. You came gushing all over his face and he made sure to drink it all up, not wasting a single drop.

He loomed over you, his cock nudging at your entrance. You both moaned in unison as he sinked into you, groaning into the crook of your neck as he bottomed out.

His hands greedily squeezed your hips, your breasts, your ass, whatever they could get a hold of as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. He knew if he went any faster he would blow his load right then and there.

“I’m gonna cum Steve.” You wailed and if he didn’t know any better he would think that you were in pain.

“You gonna cum? Go ahead” He harshly shaved his cock into you “Be a good slut. Cum all over your captains cock.” He felt his own release not far behind, not with your tight wet cunt milking him for all he’s got. He gasped when you raked your nails into his shoulders, crying loudly in his ear. He lost his rhythm. Lifting your hips up to fuck him like the animal you’ve turned him into. His hips stuttered as he came deep inside you.

He stayed inside you and on top of you for a minute. Catching his breathe he finally pulled out of you and laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m on the pill.” You mumbled into his chest. Not wanting him to worry about that. You smiled against his chest laying a kiss over his soft nipple. There were plenty of benefits to being so smooth and hairless. You could trace those hard abs of his with your tongue for hours. You changed your mind. You liked them smooth and silky now. Or maybe because he was so hairless. You didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

“I think I like seeing you as a bride.” He said his fingers idly playing with your hair, curling a strand of it.

You only muttered something as a response. Probably too far gone into slumber. He traced your smooth skin for a while before joining you in it. Completely forgetting about the party you were both supposed to be at.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask!

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account. Reblogs are most welcome though.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers fic #reader x steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #chris evans x reader

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h-a-d-i-t-h-i · 3 years

Note

Someone is babysitting a little girl. But the little girl is a 300 year old vampire and the hole thing has more of a visiting a sweet old lady vibe.

Title: You Make Ends Meet Word Count: 1300 TW: Blood, vampires, drugs Summary: Riley makes $2000 for a weekend of work.

I’m good at making ends meet. I’ve got an apartment in Brooklyn that I share with three other people, but even then rent’s not cheap. I’ve got friends in high places that make it manageable.

One of them owns a bar that I pick up shifts at whenever they’re short-staffed - under the table kind of payments. Around Christmas, there’s always someone who knows someone who needs retail work, so I pick that up too.

Emily is the real moneymaker though.

She works in fashion and spends way too much time around rich people. Not Bezos rich. They’re not the kind of people buying boats on a whim, just the kind of people who throw out their clothes every year and think spending a grand on boots is a reasonable expense.

People like that need housesitters and dogsitters and babysitters and Emily knows how to wink and imply that an agency isn’t worth their time and she can find them someone better. I’m the something better, and I’m pretty sure that I’m not better. Doesn’t really matter. Money is money.

Emily hooked me up with babysitting someone’s eight-year-old for the weekend. It was an easy live-in gig with all the food I wanted in the house, a credit card to order out, and the sweet sum of two thousand dollars at the end. Which was weird. Even for rich people.

A few Zoom calls with the exhausted parents explained that Mary was precocious - which is one of those words rich people use when their kid sucks. That made things line up. I expected a little shrieking brat who’d spend the whole weekend throwing tantrums, demanding some weird takeout from some fancy organic place, and a neverending loop of her favorite Disney movie.

I walked in and found myself face to face with a little weirdo. She was too short for eight and had this round face thick with baby fat that would’ve made me guess five at most. She was a real pretty kid though - monolid eyes and tanned skin and a button nose that made her look like a doll come to life.

“Hey, Mary.” I dropped my duffel bag and crouched, hands on my knees in that way you greet little kids. “I’m Riley. It’s nice to meet you! Did your parents already leave?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said, with an accent out of Downtown Abbey. Her voice was smooth, none of the odd stutters and breaks for air most kids had. “Very rude of them not to say hello, but I can show you where everything is, dear.”

Dear. That was precocious. I followed her around on a tour, wondering if I had somehow signed up to babysit Benjamin Button. The apartment felt creepily still. The massive four-bedroom place felt like a set - the walls were cluttered with design, but nothing was out of place. Though honestly, that’s not weird for rich people either. They love to clutter a place up with stuff and pay a maid to fix it up for them - but even maids could only do so much with a kid running around.

But Mary was precocious, I guess. And, you know, at the time, I didn’t even notice that in all that decor none of those rooms looked like they were for a kid.

By the time we were back in the kitchen, I was focused on the fridge, looking at the emergency numbers and credit cards that were all stuck to the fridge with a magnet. I didn’t see Mary get on her tiptoes to snag a muffin off a tray in the counter, but she was pushing it up towards my face sure enough.

“Would you like a muffin?” she asked. “You look like you’re wasting away.”

I raised an eyebrow as I took it from her hands. Wasting away, alright. Off came the wrapper and I shoved a bite in my mouth as I kept reading. I nearly spit it out.

There was sugar in it, sure, but there was also a strong, bitter, earthy taste that made me want to gag. That was how organic health nuts made their food. I’d had my fair share of skinny rich ladies insisting their carob avocado pudding tasted just like the real thing.

I choked down the swallow and set the muffin on the counter. “I’ll save that for later, Mary. I’m not hungry.”

“I’m starving.”

I took the plate of muffins from the counter. Fuck, it was heavy. Slick. My hands felt oddly slick on the clean, white ceramic. “There’s plenty,” I said, and my mouth seemed too small for my tongue. I felt the weight of it as it moved.

“Muffins are a sometimes food, dear,” she said in that sweet, oddly British voice. Her little hands reached out, taking the heavy plate from my hands. So fucking heavy. The room seemed to shift under my feet, my knees too weak to hold up my gasping body. My hand gripped the countertop, and it was shaking. Every finger trembling as the room tilted and tilted and slipped.

“I need more iron in my diet,” Mary crooned.

She looked so fucking weird. Hungry. And smart. Fucking precocious. I tried to move my mouth but the floor ripped up from under me. The tile under my feet become a wall, and I slumped against the counter. Slid to the floor.

Out like a light. ——- When I woke, I was on the couch. The big-screen plasma was tuned to the Gameshow Network, and I tried to focus as buzzers blared through the fog in my ears. My arms and legs were all heavy, numb. My whole body didn’t feel like mine, and I wiggled my toes and rolled my head with a sleepy snort.

My wrist was hot, but it was a nice kind of hot. When I looked down I thought there’d be a cup of tea, or a throwaway Starbucks cup, but it was Mary. Her hair was knotted in a bun, which was pretty cool for a kid her age to do all on her own. Her face was bent like she was kissing my arm. That was kind of weird for an eight-year-old, but kids mouthed stuff, sometimes. Maybe she needed one of those chew necklaces.

And then I thought “oh fuck that’s some blood”.

There was dark red trickling from my wrist, down my arm to the brown towel beneath me. Couldn’t really get my heartrate up to feel scared in the first place, but I sighed with relief anyway. “Dude, I could not have paid for this couch.”

Mary looked up, and as her lips left my hand they were stained dark red, shiny and wet with syrup-thick blood. There was a smear of blood on her chin, and my other fingers twitched to wipe it clean, but I couldn’t make them move. Oops. Bad babysitter.

She smiled, red-streaked on her teeth and tongue and she spoke, blood mixed with spit stretching in her mouth. “Don’t worry. It’s just the weekend. I’ll take good care of you, dear.”

I sighed, watched as she went back to my bloodstained wrist with small, childish sucks. Fuckin weird. Like being a wet nurse. Wet nurse to an eight-year-old. Rich people do that too - feed their kids milk until they’re twelve or some shit. My mind fuzzed as contestants on the screen shouted for no whammies. Colored lights flashed. I could fall asleep like that.

“Two grand’s a good price for blood,” I said, and it was. You didn’t get those selling platelets at the clinic. Two grand if I lived. That’d cover rent for a bit.

I closed my eyes with a little laugh and hoped Mary would let me have something that wasn’t a rancid organic muffin for dinner.

#writing #oc #prompt #vampires #tw blood #tw drugs #Anonymous

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

Teenage!Chucky x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: There Are Worse Things You Could Do

Notes:

This is, of course, based loosely on the song from Grease that Rizzo sings, ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is a repressed childhood memory. I know I watched it multiple times, but I forgot everything. This is only barely relevant.

I’m obsessed with teenage!Slashers x Readers... I don't think I’ve written for normal adult Chucky, oops.

Plot:

You’re having an emotional night, when all the things build up and you just feel like crap. And on the top of the list? Why, what everyone else seems to think of you, of course! Its always the way.

Don’t worry though, your no-judgment friend comes to lay out the law. There are worse things you could be doing, babe.

And, theirs also romance brewing if you read the bonus part XD

Warnings: Talk of slut shaming, sexual references, swears- a general PG rating though I think? Not worse then How I Met Your Mother I don't think, except it contains more swears.

~~~

“Hey, sexy legs. You’re usually in bed by now aren’t you?” Chucky’s voice calls through your open window and your phone, and you look over to see him there rather then at his home, talking to you on the phone. Your eyes widen from surprise, appropriately. As one would do when someone climbs through your window without warning.

“What are you doing here??” You get up quickly and close your bedroom door. Everyone else in the house is asleep, but you aren’t taking any chances, and lock it as well. You should be in bed, honestly. You’re in your pyjamas and everything -Oversized hoodie and undies, -. You know you would probably feel better about… the world in general, or more specifically yourself in this particular instance… if you did go to sleep for a while. You’re aware. You know this. But… no. Something in you says to just stay awake and suffer through it.

Its lovely.

You two sit down on your bed, getting comfy at the headboard beside each other as he explains, coarsely and shortly, that he doesn’t like talking on the phone. You don’t know why you’re comfortable with Chucky -he’s crude and reeks of bad decisions, -, but… eh. You started talking to him at the start of the year since he was the only other person in one of your new classes that didn’t have a friend there, and he stuck like a bad smell. You are pretty attached to it -him, - though, you guess. Gathering a pillow to your chest and raising your knees up to chin level, you chew the inside of your cheek instead of responding again. You don’t know what to say. He knows how you feel right now- maybe he’ll impart some wisdom onto you.

Peaking over at him and his frustratingly untaken care of hair, you roll your eyes. Yeah right. Chucky cant even take care of his, now, thicket of hair.

When he doesn’t say anything, just looks down the bed at your doona cover, you gather the courage to fish for an explanation. “Why are people so mad that I’m a-a... a… “Suddenly, the word ‘slut’ dies on your tongue as your heart makes a pained yelp about it. Usually, you don’t have a problem with the word. Why should you? Its’ just a word. But… but the looks you get from the people who say it, those hit a different hit a different way. And that’s what has messed you up tonight. Cold looks and disgusted mouths, like you’re a used rag… full of fucking STD’s, or something… Touching your lips instead to the pillow, you shake your head. “Why are they so mean?”

You’ve never hurt anyone. Any guy that you engage with is fully aware what’s happening; You never lead them on to think it’s anything more then just sex. And the last thing you would ever do is make someone uncomfortable- in fact, you probably do too much to avoid that possibility.

But people still… you don’t understand. You don’t understand. Why can’t you just do something you like? What do you have to do to make it okay??!

He rolls his head against the headboard to turn and face you. You don’t shy away from his dull, deadly serious gaze. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? People suck.”

“I, don’t suck.” You press your lips firmly together in a straight line. Even if you are feeling crappy, you wont sink into a puddle of self-despising gruel… even if that is, in fact, how you feel inside. Saying it would only make it real, and some things just don’t need to be made real. Fake it until you make it, cry-baby. You nod to him. “You don’t suck… “Then your lips quirk up a bit, to lighten the mood. “Much.”

“No, see, that’s why I hang out with you! So supportive and encouraging.” He forces a grin for your benefit, looking forward again but this time towards the ceiling. Why is he so down, you wonder?

You force a laugh from your chest. “Yeah.” Closing your eyes, enjoying a little bit the cold of the wood of the headboard against your cheek. “I just don’t understand- “

“Y/N.” The sternness and the steely annoyance in his voice suddenly, cause you to open your eyes and see what’s on his face- ah, it matches his voice. “The only thing you haveta’ understand, is that those people that talk about you because you fuck around, are worthless. Bitch,” You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes at the name he just called you and he let’s out a dry laugh, looking amazed for a moment as he thinks about those people. Then, leaning into you and talking like he has all the wisdom in the world in his head, he assures you. “There are worse things you could be doing. Trust me.”

Letting out a deep breath and the tension, your roll your eyes and turn forward, thinking about that. Its true, you suppose.

Hugging the pillow tighter and scooching over to collapse into his side, suddenly wanting his affection as well as his words, and because you’re drained, you sigh. “Sorry, I don’t feel much better, but thank you for saying that.” It may have been put kind of crudely… or very crudely… but you’re aware that he meant well. So, you are grateful. Wordlessly, like its somehow the most natural thing in the world, like you’ve done this together before which you most certainly haven’t, Chucky situates himself to make you both more comfortable. Raising his arm so you can fit under it and resting it over your shoulders and shuffling to fit better against you. “You want to watch a movie with me?” Honestly, you just don’t want him skipping off just yet.

Its nice to connect this way with your friend.

You didn’t realise how nice it would feel to spend time like this with him. You would be very, very discontented if he left now.

“Yeah, but I’m picking which fucking one. Leave it up to you in this state, and you’ll put in freaken Sound of Music.”

A few minutes later, after Chucky has thoroughly looked through and critiqued, -and you use ‘critiqued’, very loosely. He mostly insults your five movies, - your small DVD stack and put something in, and returned to the bed and your position from before -even throwing the doona over you both, saying his legs are cold. Which, to that, you give him a slow nod. Yeah right. Sure, - Disney’s opening scene plays, with the castle and Tinkerbelle, and you suppress a snort. But you can’t hide the grin, or stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “’Sound of Music’s bad, but ‘101 Dalmatians’ is okay?” The less you think about your feelings before, the less relevant they seem when you look back two minutes in hindsight. You feel more and more your normal self.

“It was this or fucking ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’, and that’s not happening. Your collection sucks.”

“My collection rocks, you dumbass.”

“Shush, its about to start, No talking during the movie.” His eyes are glued to the screen now, as the beginning credits roll. You grin, but scrunch up your nose too.

“Jesus Christ, you’re one of those? - “A wide, spiteful grin rips across his mouth.

“You betcha! Now shut up, theirs a punishment if you talk.”

Quickly, you turn to the TV. “Oh, jeez.” You shut up as he demanded, at the mention of a punishment.

OPTIONAL BONUS! The next morning- you had to see this coming

Waking up in the morning, you rub your eyes and look over to see Chucky’s blurry figure, still fully clothed from what you can tell including his jacket -hopefully not his boots, - you flash the sleeping boy a courtesy smile for how nice he was to you last night and move your stuff body slowly off the bed and out from under the covers. You imagine your stiffness if from staying in one position the whole freaken night- it was nice, but now your back and your arm are dying.

But… as you put up your hair in a quick ponytail and walk by the mirror, ready to get dressed and wait around for Chucky to wake up so you can see him off, you realise something is… missing, here. Looking down immediately, you realise what it is, and your eyes grow wider then ever before. Like, a full on ‘Oh-My-God-I-Didn’t-Even-Realise-Or-Remember!!’ face and you would have gasped loudly if you hadn’t thought quickly and pressed your lips hard together.

Your underwear. Your underwear is what is gone.

“Goddamnit Y/N, tell me you didn’t… “You whisper, panicking shortly as you pull on some clean ones, and then tip toe around the bed, looking for any sign that Chucky’s pants are anywhere but on him. When you don’t find it, you go ahead and pull up the blanket at the end of the bed and check -not pulling up high enough to see anything but his legs below the knee at first, - that his legs are covered in the pants. You let out more and more of a relieved breath as he continues to be covered all the way up to his waist. If anyone were watching this, they would laugh like a hyena at your antiques and your expression.

But, even as you discover that he still had his bottom garments on, memories come right back to you from the night and you realise how doomed you are.

It happened. It sure did. You and Chucky Ray fucked last night. Oh god! Oh, dear god!

“I mean, thank God I had condoms in here at least?” You mutter to yourself, sinking down on the bed and covering your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Ugh… “

Also, you think as you remember the events, face still in your hands, it was really good. Not the point right now, but you did learn an important thing last night.

It sure ain’t about size- what they say is true. It really is about what you do with it.

Y/N goddamnit that is absolutely not the point here.

“Aghhh, I knowwww… “You whisper back to your own thoughts.

A minute later, Chucky wakes up and you peak over your shoulder at him when he sits up, as guilty as a child with jam on your hands. You don’t actually have any jam of course, but there certainly is a stain somewhere. And a certain sticky sensation still under your underwear. “… Hi Chucky. Do you… happen to remember… what happened last night?”

He but smirks at you.

You respond by deadpanning. Well, in that case, you’re not embarrassed anymore either. Getting up, you scratch the back of your head and move to goon with your day. Shower, first of course. “Okay, well if you’re done here I gotta take a shower and clean up what is probably a nasty mess,” You squint pointedly at him. “That you left, wherever you dropped the condom.” You can’t imagine Chucky was courteous and found a bin for it.

“Goodbye kiss?”

“Wh- “You look back at him from the bedroom door that you were about to leave out of, see him grinning and roll your eyes. Ah, joking. He’s joking. Funny man! Not that you would have kissed him it was a legit request… aha, not at all! You didn’t want that! … hahahaha… “You’re very funny.” Then your eyes widen, and you rush back to your dresser for your body lotion. “Oh! I forgot my- “Focusing on rifling through your dresser, you don’t really pay attention to what Chucky is up to. You do hear him get out of the bed, but you suspect he’s headed for the window. When you find the pretty purple bottle, you go to turn and waive bye to him but end up stuck in place.

He's behind you, and his hands are on your hips again. Keeping you in place this time as you hug your lotion bottle and look like a deer in headlights, vaguely sceptical about this, and find his eyes in the mirror. “… yes?”

“Y/N, I was serious about that goodbye kiss.” A wicked grin catches his eyes that sends a surprising, new feeling down from your heart to… let’s just say another place... “Unless you want me to join you in the shower.”

For a moment you just pause and take in the moment for what it is- very arousing and also the beginning of a wonderful new chapter in your friendship. Then you scoff and smack him gently with the purple lotion bottle. “My parents are awake now, are you crazy? Now go home, I’ll text you later.”

You turn around, as if you’re going to fly past him and out the door but he manages to press forward in time and stick you to the dresser, hands on your waist and knee between your legs now. With the golden morning light slipping through the still open window from last night that he had crawled through, in the perfect light of day and not the secret stars, like you’re actually a couple, Chucky gives you a kiss that you reciprocate all too eagerly. Its just as good as last night, maybe better.

“… Hey Y/N? I have a solution to your problem last night that I think you’ll like. By definition, a slut is a woman who has many fuckbuddies. I have a special onetime only proposition for you babe that’ll grind that number down to just one.”

#Chucky x Reader #Charles Lee Ray #Chucky #Charles Lee Ray x Reader #Oneshot

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umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

A Palette Full of You (1)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd's lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Anna Irving, Kratos Aurion Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 1 of 6 Word Count: 6218 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 09/06/2021

Chapter Title: Castle Invaders!!

Chapter Summary: Colette and Lloyd enjoy a sunny day at the beach as children. A sandcastle is made, but does it continue to stand for long?

(Colloyd Week Day 1: Childhood Friends)

Notes: 1st chapter of my multi-chapter Colloyd week 2021 fic, featuring my headcanon of asexual Colette. It's also a modern AU set in Singapore.

Chapter list Full fic Next chapter

~~~

8-years-old

"Lloyd! The water's here!" Colette called out, setting down the heavy bucket filled with water next to Lloyd. Mission accomplished, and without a single hitch! Mostly. She wasn't going to mention how she nearly spilt all of the water when another girl's arm missed her by a hair's width. Or how her heart was still pounding from the close call. "We can get started with the sandcastle now." Lloyd was so occupied pushing sand into one giant pile that he hadn't even noticed her approach.

Having finally gotten his attention, Lloyd stared at her blankly for a few seconds before seeming to come to his senses. Scrambling to his feet, he began to shovel the pile of sand into the bucket. Overhead, a seagull's cry rent the air, barely audible over the screaming of all the children and adults on the beach that was packed to the brim, the two vastly different in tone. "Thanks, Colette! We might need another bucket of water, though. I don't think this is enough."

"Oh, I can -"

"Nah, I'll get the next one. It would only be fair!" Lloyd grinned a toothy smile at her, prominently displaying the gap from the baby tooth that had merrily vacated his mouth last week. She herself currently had a loose tooth that she absent-mindedly pushed at with her tongue, until she pushed too hard and caused a slight stab of pain. It would likely fall out soon.

"Come on, then! This sandcastle won't build itself alone!" Lloyd said, grabbing her hand with his, rough with the individual granules of sand sticking to it.

Colette giggled and joined him, attempting to lift some of the wet sand from the bucket to start making the base of their castle - only to find that the sand seemed to have solidified into one giant clump that refused to budge from its snug home. Every attempt to separate a tiny handful yielded a sucking sound that seemed to make the sand stick together even more, ever more determined to stay with their granular siblings. With a final huff, she put all her strength behind her arms - only to flop back down onto the beach with nothing in her hands.

"That's - hard!" Lloyd grunted, faced with a similar predicament and having no choice but to give up. The sand would remain in the bucket for the foreseeable future, it seemed. He wiped his hands on his red swimming trunks before offering it to Colette, helping her back up.

"Didn't think the sand would stick together this much," Colette muttered. This was why her father had advised them not to use a bucket, huh? She stole a glance towards the collection of colourful beach umbrellas that was close by, where their parents were taking shelter from the sun. They were sitting on the same striped picnic blanket where breakfast had occurred earlier, having a relaxed conversation over cans of lemonade while keeping a watchful eye on the two of them. Noishe was there too, taking a morning nap by the blanket.

Spotting Colette, her father waved cheerily, before taking another chug from his can.

She and Lloyd had been so excited to finally visit the beach during the March Holidays. They'd been jumping up and down on the car seats, sticking their noses into the window, and chattering non-stop on the journey here, giving Noishe, curled up on Lloyd's lap, no peace to sleep in. Her father, who had been sitting with them in the backseat, had just watched with an exasperated smile, having given up on asking them to calm down when his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

The two of them would finally get to see the breathtaking ocean they had witnessed multiple times when watching The Little Mermaid, their favourite movie to watch together. Lloyd loved the vibrant ocean and the possibility of an entire unexplored world full of magic under the waves. She liked the colours and the cute designs, and the absolutely beautiful story of true love overcoming all. They’d watched it one time too many, until Flounder and Sebastian easily visited her in her dreams.

Aunt Anna had made clear upon their arrival her two conditions for letting them in the ocean. Firstly, that an adult had to accompany them at all times. Understandable, given the terrifying power of the ocean with its roiling waves, that had only been impressed on her upon actually seeing it with her own eyes. Secondly, and expectedly, that they had to wait an hour after breakfast, the familiar argument of "You have to digest all those cheese sandwiches!" leaving Aunt Anna's mouth.

They might as well make the most of the one hour, so Colette had suggested building a sandcastle to pass the time. It was one of the activities that she thought was a must-do for a first-time beach trip. After all, where else were they going to find all the sand they needed?

Lloyd had happily agreed. She was glad to see him finally perk up after wilting a little at the reminder that he needed to wait - days were much better when they were both smiling, and it wouldn't do for Lloyd to spend his first time at the beach with a frown on his face. So they'd dug up the shovels and the buckets from the car's trunk and set out to make the best sandcastle ever, one that reached the sky! They weren't going to let their lack of experience hinder them!

Perhaps that goal was a tad too ambitious. But that sure wouldn't stop her from trying!

Having made zero progress in getting the sand out of the bucket, Lloyd resorted to upending the bucket and slamming on the bottom with his hands until the sand all came out in a single bucket-shaped mound. Colette spared a worried glance at the plastic bucket, which had let out a groan. She had no clue how sturdy it was. Hopefully, it wouldn't break.

"Come on, Colette, let's do this!"

"Yeah!"

Lloyd knelt to start tamping the sand into shape, and Colette joined him.

"Could you pass the shovel?"

"We're out of water again!"

"How about we try doing this?"

Those were the only words that left their mouths as they worked together, their hands brushing. There was also the occasional peal of laughter that slipped out of either of them at something funny the other had done. Otherwise, they were in perfect sync, without the need to talk. They could just adapt to the other's actions. She remained focussed on her task, tuning out the sounds of life around her and getting her hands covered in sand, until there was even sand under her nails.

The sun continued to get higher on its arc, its rays falling on all the bare skin revealed by her navy blue one-piece swimsuit. It felt like she was roasting alive. Sweat ran down the sides of her face and her throat was dry. A can of cold lemonade sounded really nice now. She was glad, at least, that their parents had insisted they put on sunscreen, and had helped slather the two of them in it from head to toe, Lloyd squirming the whole time. If not for that, she would surely have an excruciating sunburn by now. From what she'd seen of her classmates who had returned from last year's March Holidays with red and peeling skin, she was glad to avoid it.

They made steady progress, bar the few close calls where she nearly flung the shovel into the sandcastle. It slowly took shape with a few more water-gathering trips and repeats of the not very effective bucket-slamming tactic, until finally, it was complete. Even the bucket had survived all the abuse! Colette sat back on her haunches to observe their handiwork, a smile lighting up her face.

Their masterpiece.

Okay, it wasn't a masterpiece. It was nowhere near perfect, or even amazing.

A messy tower stood before her eyes, tapering from a wide base to a thin top. It was tiny at thirty centimetres high. From the middle onwards, the tower slanted to the side, a result of Lloyd pushing just a bit too hard. It resembled the Leaning Tower of Pizza now, but, just like that mysterious tower, their tower was still standing through some unknown magic. Using a random stick he’d picked up off the sand, Lloyd had etched a smiley face with wobbly lines into the side of the tower. He'd stuck the stick into the top to act as a flag, exclaiming that the Disney castle had a flag on top of the main building, so theirs would too! She'd also dug a trench, in which Lloyd had poured the extra seawater remaining in the bucket to create a moat. Now no villain could mount a successful attack on their castle! Not even the Goombas or turtles they stomped every weekend in Super Mario Brothers.

The moat had dried up in seconds as the surrounding sand had absorbed the water, but it was the effort that counted. And it looked cool for a while!

Their castle was pretty average compared to the other ones she could see on the beach, and most definitely was nothing compared to the grand, detailed designs she had seen that one time on TV. But she had fun building it, and it was something she'd made together with Lloyd, so it was worth being proud over. That was all that mattered.

It was nice to imagine their castle standing here for all eternity, even if she knew it wouldn't last once they left. She and Lloyd's castle, powerful and durable, even against the worst of enemies!

"Looks good!" A hand landed on her head, prompting Colette to look up and see Aunt Anna waving a polaroid camera around. She could see her reflection, wide-eyed and smiling, in the sunglasses resting on the bridge of Aunt Anna’s nose. Aunt Anna must really love that pair of sunglasses; she always wore them whenever she was driving her and Lloyd to school in the mornings. To protect her eyes from the sun, and to look stylish while doing so? Who knew.

Aunt Anna had put on a giant sunhat, the brim so wide that it cast a shadow over Colette's face. "Come on, let me take a picture of you two with the sandcastle!" Aunt Anna said, raising the polaroid camera to her eye and miming clicking the button.

After a bunch of poking and prodding from Aunt Anna to get them into the best position, with loud protests from Lloyd’s end, they were finally ready to have their photo taken. For the sandcastle to actually show up in the picture, they had to stand behind it. Lloyd looped his arm around her shoulder, while she gave Lloyd bunny ears with her fingers. She would never give up the opportunity to do so. "Say cheese!" Aunt Anna yelled, raising the polaroid camera with a massive smile and clicking the button, the camera emitting a flash of light that blinded Colette for an instant.

"Can I move now, Mom? And can we finally go swimming? Pleaseeeeee?" Lloyd whined, plopping back down onto the sand before he even received his answer. Colette blinked rapidly, still trying to get rid of the spots in her vision.

"Oh, the pictures are gonna turn out sooooo cute," Aunt Anna muttered, retrieving the printed-out polaroid from the camera and beginning to shake it, waiting for it to develop. She glanced at Lloyd, sulking in the sand, and gave him the thumbs-up. Lloyd perked up immediately and scrambled to his feet to run off, only to stop in his tracks after hearing Aunt Anna's next words. "Wait a moment, would you? Your father is gonna follow you and he's still coming over."

"Dad! Hurry up!" Lloyd yelled, impatiently hopping from one leg to the other as Uncle Kratos leisurely walked over. Noishe, having finally caught up on his beauty sleep, ran over too, barking in excitement. Colette giggled, crouching down and reaching her hand out for Noishe to bump his snout against with every round he made around Lloyd's legs. Would Noishe be joining them in the ocean? It was against the rules to bring dogs into the swimming pool, but there was no such rule here. Maybe Noishe secretly liked water! There was no better chance to find out!

And the more the merrier!

"No going further than the bobbing spheres, okay? And stay close to your father!"

"I know, Mom! I know! You told me this three times already!"

"Just checking," Anna replied cheerfully, ruffling Lloyd's hair and prompting a scowl to pop onto Lloyd’s face.

"You got it too, right?" Her father asked her, having come up behind her.

"Yes, Dad!" Colette replied, getting to her feet and preparing to run down to the ocean. "I promise I'll -"

Unfortunately, Colette didn’t get to finish her sentence. One small step forward and her foot caught instantly against the spare shovel still sticking up in the sand, which had completely escaped her notice. Everyone, even Noishe, stopped what they were doing. All three adults stretched out their arms in a desperate attempt to stop her fall, but they were too far away to have any hope of catching her. Flailing her arms, she fell, the world seeming to go by in slow motion as the tower of golden sand became increasingly larger in her vision.

Until she crashed right through the tower she and Lloyd had spent the last hour crafting, in her unstoppable path to face-planting on the beach. Her hand felt the roughness of tightly-packed sand as that sand exploded in every direction. Closing her eyes against the rain of sand, she threw her arms out to cushion her fall, finally landing on the sand.

The action now over, Colette pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing. No visible wounds anywhere. No blood. No lasting pain. At least the sand was somewhat soft.

Oh no… Heart sinking in her chest, she stared at the mess that had once been a glorious sandcastle, now just a sad misshapen mound of sand. The top of the tower had been scattered everywhere.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, an awkward silence arising even as noise continued to surround them. She'd ruined everything with her clumsiness again... She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to hide out here in the open. Maybe she could dig a hole in the sand and hide forever...

"Colette! Are you alright?" Lloyd’s voice broke the silence, a helping hand offered to her as he stared down in concern.

"Yeah." She took his hand, using her other to try brushing off the grains of sand now sticking to her whole body. There was so much... She'd never get all of it off. She opened her mouth, ready to apologise.

“Come on, there’s no time!” Lloyd interrupted before she could even say anything, tugging on her hand as he had done before. She was being pulled in the direction of the waves, stumbling a little in surprise at the sudden movement. “Our castle was attacked by enemies, and they’ve fled to the water! We need to pursue them! Right?”

Lloyd winked at her, a huge grin on his face. She could read the message in his actions loud and clear: there was no need to apologise. Just get back to the fun!

“Right!” She replied, wiping the hesitance from her expression and replacing it with a smile, worries already forgotten. The ocean would be one solution to all the sand stuck to her skin!

“Race you!” Lloyd yelled, letting go of her hand and abruptly taking off. She cried out indignantly in response, chasing after him as fast as she could, Noishe following hot on their heels with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, ears flapping up and down. Their yells about being first to get in the ocean reached Kratos’ ears, who simply sighed at their familiar antics.

~~~

“Here,” Lloyd said, pressing something small into her palm. He and Colette were both drenched from head to toe from all the swimming and water wars that had occurred. The tips of her hair brushed her shoulders, leaving tiny trails of water behind and causing water droplets to slide down her arms. Not even Noishe had been spared, shaking his matted fur furiously. The water had been colder than she'd expected, but all the running around had helped to combat it. In fact, she was exhausted from all the activity, the smile on her face so wide her cheeks hurt and her throat hoarse from all the screaming and laughter.

Now that they were on dry ground again, they were standing by the picnic blanket, waiting for their parents to return with towels. Whereafter their parents would hold the familiar ritual of smothering them with towels, squeezing each strand of hair dry.

In her hand was a seashell, rough against her skin - not the stereotypical blue ones that were always on the pages of the Chinese textbook whenever the ocean was mentioned, with its fan shape and equally-spaced out ridges - but rather an off-white colour, fantastically curved with little spikes sticking out of it to form a geometric pattern. It had a gaping opening that revealed its pink insides.

“Dad said it's called a conch shell,” Lloyd explained. “Snails hide in them, but this one is empty. I found it just now!”

“Oh, it’s so pretty! I haven’t been able to find any...” She’d been scouring the beach to no success. The most she’d spotted among the sand were tiny fragments of what had once been seashells, smashed to smithereens by the wrath of the ocean.

“Put it against your ear! I tried it, and it really works!”

“The sound of the ocean...?”

Colette lifted the conch shell, aligning the hole with her ear and closing her eyes to listen closely, covering her other ear with her hand. She and Lloyd had read about this many times before - how a shell contained the entire ocean within it.

And it did. It was a strange, mysterious sound - like there was water within the small shell lapping against its walls, somehow, even though that wasn’t the case, for any water would have leaked out of the opening by now. It was almost like she herself was surrounded by the ocean, as the shell in her hand must have been as it was carried by the currents to stop on this beach. What a lonely journey that must have been, alone in the deep darkness.

She opened her eyes to see Lloyd’s smiling face, his hand gently pulling hers away from her ears.

“Did you hear it?”

“Yeah. That was incredible...”

“Well, the shell is for you.” Lloyd gestured, grinning.

“Oh, really?” She gasped. “No, you found it, so it should be yours!”

Colette tried to pass it back to Lloyd, but he refused. He only closed her fingers around the shell with his hand before hopping just out of arm's reach. Infuriating.

“Nah, it’s fine! Keep it! I insist!”

Colette pouted, knowing Lloyd wouldn’t budge on the issue. There were times she wished he wasn’t so stubborn. There was no way she was going to win this.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you one in return… I can try and find one now!” she suggested, already scanning the beach as she took a step forward.

“No need for that!” Lloyd reassured her, returning to her side and grabbing her arm to stop her. “Mom said we aren’t staying here for much longer after we’re done cleaning up. You can just make it up to me some other time.”

“Alright! That’s a promise, then. Thank you for the gift,” Colette said, feeling the ridges of the seashell dig into her skin as she tightened her hold. They had gifted each other little trinkets like these many times before, mostly curious objects they came across whenever they played at the playground. She kept every single gift from Lloyd, just as she would this one. Anything she got from her best friend was precious.

Colette could see the adults walking over in the corner of her vision, holding the aforementioned towels and… Popsicles! Oh, those would be delicious. But it also meant her time at the beach was coming to a close.

Colette knew she wouldn’t ever forget this day. This sunny day, filled with joy, fun and wonder…

~~~

28-years-old

"Remember this one?" Lloyd laughed, pointing to the open scrapbook sitting in his lap. His finger sat on a polaroid that was held in place on the page by 4 pieces of cellophane tape, one of which was crooked, and another of which was starting to peel. Colette tapped her finger on the yellowing polaroid as well, recalling how she had gotten it from Aunt Anna and proceeded to stick it in her sketchbook. Words filled the rest of the page, denoting the events of the day, together with a doodle of a seagull sitting on a giant seashell. If she recalled correctly, this was one of the last pages of her scrapbook before she'd gotten too busy to keep it up. It was fun while it lasted, though, absolutely cramming the border of each page with a horrendous amount of washi tape.

She and Lloyd's happy faces peered up at her from the polaroid, a tiny, not very impressive sandcastle visible in front of them. The weather on that day, a foggy memory but not forgotten, for it could never be truly forgotten, couldn't be any more of a contrast to the rain currently slapping against the windows of their apartment, turning the world outside into pure white as the rain obscured all. The wind howled and caused the window panes to rattle in their housings. The air was chilly, fogging up the windows and further blocking their view of the world outside.

Colette should have been shivering on the bed in her denim shorts, but she was nice and toasty instead, legs covered by a thick blanket. She was resting against the backboard, legs stretched out, hair falling to mid-back in messy tangles. The blanket itself had the sewn pattern of dogs doing various things: jumping over fences, dozing off on clouds, running with bones in their mouths. It was adorable! And most of all, it reminded her of another dog who used to run circles around her feet and snuggle on the blankets with her, but who was no longer with them.

She’d even gone the extra mile and put on socks and a hoodie. Lloyd had taken one look at her and… hadn’t done anything else, because this was normal behaviour from her when she was cold. He’d long since accepted it.

Plus, she was leaning against the ultimate source of warmth! Lloyd, who was also under the blanket, legs pressed snugly against hers. Just as always, he could somehow survive the cold in just jeans and an old T-shirt, showing absolutely no signs of being affected. No shivers, nothing. It was impressive. He took "warm-blooded" to the next level.

Her entire body still felt tingly from the cups of hot coffee that Lloyd had brewed in the kitchen earlier. He’d done hers perfectly without even having to ask, the knowledge of how to do so having long been ingrained in his memory. “Precisely half a teaspoon of sugar and half a cup of milk,” he’d said in a sing-song manner, the warm orange of the kitchen’s ceiling light falling upon him and his gentle smile as she’d stood next to him cutting apples. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, the clinking of the metal spoon against the side of the porcelain cup, and the thudding of raindrops against the window had been the only sounds filling the kitchen.

They’d drunk the coffee first, backs against the countertop and their eyes meeting across the rims of their cups, his hand finding hers in the little space between them. The hot liquid had slid down their throats with ease, settling warm in their bellies. Having drunk his coffee all at one go as he always did, Lloyd had waited for her to finish. He hadn’t said a single word, preferring to maintain the comfortable silence. The only thing he’d done was rub her fingers with his thumb.

They’d then taken turns popping the apple slices in each other’s mouths, the flesh crunchy when they sank their teeth into it, the sweet juice from the fresh fruit a refreshing contrast from the bitter liquid they’d just consumed. Lloyd, as messy an eater as always, had left little bits of apple at the corner of his mouth like tiny yellow spots that she’d had to brush away with her fingers.

Today was Sunday, the day where they both didn't have work to do, unless they were handling some big project with a pending deadline, and had some time to themselves. Their favourite activities to do on this wonderful day of the week included marathoning Disney movies, playing video games together, and going out to their favourite destinations. They also weren't opposed to just lounging on bed together, or taking some alone time.

But today was also a rainy day. She'd actually been woken up by the first claps of thunder in the early morning. The rain had no business being this heavy after the conclusion of the monsoon season, but Mother Nature was fickle, and they could do nothing but accept their given lot. No going out to the Botanic Gardens as they'd originally planned. The only thing they could do was stay home, unless they wanted to catch a cold on purpose.

It was Lloyd who had found her old scrapbook in a corner of their room while aimlessly wandering around the apartment, the book having gathered a thin layer of dust that made her sneeze when he brought it over. She'd forgotten it was sitting on one of the shelves. He had suggested looking over it, since they had nothing better to do. They had just gone through Frozen, Tangled and The Little Mermaid last week - the plots were still fresh in their minds. More fresh than usual. She could recite the entire script of The Little Mermaid from memory if she needed to.

What better time was there to reminisce than with their second anniversary coming up? What better place to do so than in the bedroom they shared, its corners teeming with keepsakes and memories, absolutely overflowing with their love for each other? Just being in here for a minute was enough to make her heart feel warm.

The framed pictures hanging on the walls and sitting on the nightstand - of them and their parents; of the two of them under a sky full of stars; of them and their friends, laughing and popping bottles of wine, fitted in elegant dresses and stylish suits. There were many more pictures, kept in the various albums lining the bookshelf above the bed, which she occasionally took down to look through on days when she was feeling rather nostalgic. Staring up at her from the pages were contented faces from all throughout time, allowing her to track her progress from days long past to the person she was today.

The Siberian Husky plushie she was currently hugging to her chest. The soft fur felt incredible to the touch, and it was so comforting to just run her hands through the fur, tightening her fingers on tufts of it. Behind those beady black eyes were more, however, a significance that no one else but herself could see. A precious memory of a carnival and the time they were finally honest with each other; a step she had been terrified to take but which she’d mustered up the courage to, in order to join Lloyd at the other end of the open door and grab the encouraging hand he offered her. She had stumbled many times along the way, but Lloyd had steadied her every time. She’d gambled on the chance, but it had all been worth it - for she had managed to find her home in Lloyd, and it had all led to the beautiful life she led today, where she got to see his happiness every day.

The wall painted over with galaxies, swirls of pinks and purples and blues, and a single adorable dog in a spacesuit, which they had hand-painted when they first moved in until they were both splattered with paint and giggling.

And of course, the two matching, nondescript metal bands, one lying atop the other on the nightstand.

"You destroyed the sandcastle not soon after, right?" Lloyd said.

"Hey!" Colette pouted, poking Lloyd's side. "Don't tease me."

Lloyd shifted his body away from her attacking finger, still smiling warmly. "I'm not teasing you. I'm just stating what happened." He turned around and retaliated by poking her on the nose, sending her reeling back in a fit of giggles. "It was fun, though!"

"It was," she agreed, struggling to hold back further laughter, bubbling up within her chest like an uncontrollable fountain. “You gifted me a conch shell afterwards. Remember?”

“Of course I remember, silly. It’s sitting on your shelf right now.”

That it was. She’d kept it all these years, the passage of time causing its colour to fade. In all other aspects, it was perfectly conserved, looking just the same as it had on the day he’d pressed it into her hand. She lifted it up to her ear sometimes, just to listen to the sound of the ocean.

Colette flipped to the next page of the scrapbook, looking over all of the memories contained there. Her childhood had been filled with joy, in no small part due to Lloyd, who took every opportunity he could to make her days fun-filled and exciting as he strived to make her face light up with a smile. There were moments where she was suddenly overwhelmed with a great sense of gratefulness for the fact that, out of an infinite number of possible outcomes, she had met Lloyd when she was young. For she was so incredibly fortunate, more fortunate than most, to have met someone who loved and accepted her for everything that she was.

She placed one hand on his cheek, fingers splayed, and turned his head to face her, his warmth spreading through her cold fingers from that one point of contact. Lloyd leaned automatically into her touch.

“Colette...?” Lloyd whispered, leaning automatically into her touch. His eyes searched hers, as he slowly came to understand what she was about to do. This close, she could make out each individual eyelash, attached to the eyelids that fluttered closed over russet eyes. Most people would conclude Lloyd was plain. Average, even. There’d been people who asked her upfront why she’d chosen to settle for him, when according to their honest opinion, her beauty could have landed her much better. They didn’t understand. She was the one fortunate enough to know his love and the miracle of such an incredible person staying by her side when there were so many things she couldn’t give him. A relationship with any other person would have been easier for him, filled with far less of a need for compromise, but he’d chosen her in the end.

Besides, there was beauty in plainness. The daisies that were ignored in favour of the orchids, the mynahs that were overlooked for the orioles. There was beauty to be found there, in the most ordinary of things, the ones people saw every day and had ceased to notice. It was a beauty she itched to capture.

Lloyd, to her, was the most beautiful of them all, a rare treasure that had somehow landed in her hands.

“Shh,” she whispered in return, eyes fluttering shut as she closed the small distance between them. She pressed her lips against his slowly, trying to push behind this one action - the gift she was currently giving - every ounce of the love and appreciation she felt at the moment, enough to fill her heart to the brim. It’d been a while since she’d done this. Two months, maybe? It was a little overdue, having slipped her mind for a time as it always did, no matter how hard she tried to remember. If not for the reminder that had pinged on her phone this morning and made the issue fresh in her mind again, she might have gone another month. She’d have to give him more soon, as per her end of the compromise they had both agreed upon when they’d first started dating, which had served them well all these years. He'd said before that he was alright with getting nothing at all, but that didn't sit right with her. She didn't think it would be fair for him to be the only person giving something up.

Kisses and anything further were always up to her to initiate, since Lloyd, as he’d told her time and time again, wanted her to be comfortable in everything she did. He’d never forced anything on her, content to wait patiently for her to feel ready, whether it be in an hour, a day, a year, or never, perfectly willing to compose their entire relationship on quiet moments spent together and nothing more. She still occasionally struggled with the idea that he was far more than she could ever deserve, even as he gripped her hand tightly and told her she was worth everything. It was getting better with every day she spent in his loving company, the extensive wounds left on her heart in her younger days by a world that told her she would never be enough slowly starting to heal. There would always be scars, but those would fade one day until they were barely visible, until the twinges of pain could barely be felt.

Lloyd’s lips were a little chapped from the cold, unmoving against hers, still tasting faintly of the sweet apple slices from thirty minutes ago. All in all, a pleasant experience.

After a second of shocked stillness, Lloyd came to life again, a small sigh leaving his lips and brushing against hers. His hand came up to cup her ear, his fingers curling in her hair as he kissed her back with nothing but gentleness, always mindful of her boundaries and never pushing her any further. Of course, he had boundaries too. If he’d decided to pull back, she would have respected it. It was the bare minimum she could do for him.

Thirty seconds passed and she pulled away, though not too far, opening her eyes to stare into his. Their hands remained where they were, connecting the two of them.

“Where did that come from?” His words became butterflies, brushing their soft wings against her lips. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers stroking the skin above her ear with the tenderness he always showed her.

“I just felt like saying thank you.” For everything. For all their years together. For all the love he showed her. For the knowledge that Lloyd would continue to stay in her life, for the rest of her time on this wondrous Earth.

Not that long ago, she would have broken away and covered her face with the plushie that was still in her arms, cheeks flushed and too embarrassed to meet Lloyd’s eyes, preferring that he talk to the plushie instead of her. Much like the first kiss, unconventional as it was, that they had shared. Now she could stare unflinchingly with confidence to witness the happiness that bloomed like the most incredible flower on his face.

“Thank you. For the gift,” Lloyd replied, always seconds away from showing his appreciation.

“Shall we look through the rest?” she asked, removing her hand from his cheek to cover the one he had placed on her face, her fingers slotting in perfectly between his as she smiled sweetly.

Here was her sanctuary, where all she knew was serenity and the warmth of loving and being loved.

“Let’s.”

~~~

“Mm.”

Lloyd froze in the middle of flipping to the next page of the scrapbook, watching Colette with eagle eyes. Had he…

But she didn't seem to have awakened. Not really. She made no other sound, only tightened the hold of her arms around his midriff, her face buried in his side and the rest of her lying on her side on the bed. He'd resorted to holding the scrapbook up in order not to accidentally jolt her out of her peaceful sleep. So far, his arms had not started to hurt yet.

Lloyd heaved a sigh of relief, tucking the entirety of the blanket tightly around her shoulders, leaving himself uncovered. Now, swaddled in the blanket, she resembled a cocoon. Adorable. And also what tended to happen each night, as she ended up stealing the blanket eight nights out of ten.

Satisfied that Colette was soundly asleep, Lloyd returned to perusing the contents of the scrapbook, a small smile playing on his lips.

And silence reigned supreme, interrupted only by quiet breathing and the crinkle of paper.

~~~

Next chapter

#fanfiction #multi chapter #colette brunel #lloyd irving #kratos aurion #anna irving #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #day 1: childhood friends #tales of symphonia

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hiddendreamer67 · 4 years

Text

Find Out At Fleetwoods

Hello everybody, here’s the Secret Sanders story I wrote for @myfujoshifrenzy for the event at @secret-sanders-sized! (The event I was running as well, heh). I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3,320 words

Warnings: Pet AU, fear, I think that about covers it...?

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Logan sighed, looking up from his book to see the borrower was scowling as he sat down at the desk, clearly placing himself in Logan’s view for the sole purpose of gaining attention. “You’re pouting again.”

“I’m not pouting.” Roman argued as he continued to pout.

“What do you want?” Logan caved, closing his book to give Roman his full attention.

Immediately Roman perked up, giving his human a victorious smirk. “I want to go to Fleetwoods’.”

“Again?” To say Logan was surprised was an understatement. Fleetwoods was a… perhaps the kindest way to state it was to call Fleetwoods an eating establishment that had lacked sufficient funds for renovations for several years now. While still in operation, the bar was far past its glory days. It was on the cheaper side which made it accommodating to college students, but college students were rowdy. They were a major annoyance to Logan, and a downright danger to Roman.

“What has caused this obsession with Fleetwoods?” Logan murmured, partially to himself and partially looking for answers. Logan himself didn’t go there often, and bringing Roman along only made the experience all the more unpleasant. Roman had a nasty habit of running off, and Logan would spend the rest of the evening attempting to locate the borrower’s whereabouts. Quite infuriating, especially with so many threats present that could easily cause Roman permanent harm.

“I just- like to go out.” Roman shrugged casually, standing up. “It’s not like you really take me anywhere.”

“Upon your own request.” Logan reminded him. That was the other issue- borrowers weren’t exactly keen about being around a bunch of humans, even if Roman wasn’t a complete secret anymore (which was Roman’s own fault, Logan would remind him if the topic arose). “If you wish to explore the world, there are plenty of locations I can accompany you to that are far less greasy, or treacherous.”

“No, Fleetwoods.” Roman insisted, stubborn as ever. “We’re going to Fleetwoods, you promised.”

“I did no such thing; I merely inquired what you wanted.” However, Logan felt himself caving already when Roman’s expression fell. “...I suppose one excursion would be acceptable this evening, provided you agree to not run off as you seem prone to do.”

“I promise.” Roman hastily crossed his heart, bouncing on the tips of his toes. “Now come on, my Reluctant Ride, we’ll miss our table!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he got dressed all the same, placing a slightly too eager Roman into his pocket- “Stop struggling, I don’t want to to drop you-!” “Oh just stop dropping the ball and get a move on already!” - and with only minor bickering, they departed.

Fleetwoods was within walking distance, which did help to ease some of Logan’s concerns. If Roman was ever truly lost there was a possibility he could navigate his way home. Unless a wild animal happened upon his path first… Logan shuddered at the thought.

Truly, bringing Roman out into the world was often one of Logan’s least favorite activities, considering how highly the odds were stacked against borrowers. Logan had crunched the numbers himself time and time again, yet the survival rates he calculated indicated it should have been evolutionarily impossible for borrowers to survive. Roman liked to declare it was due to the ‘strength of the borrower spirit’, and considering stubbornness seemed to be Roman’s strongest tactic Logan was inclined to agree.

Arriving finally at the establishment, Logan headed back to what Roman had dubbed ‘their’ table. It was a booth, squished up against the wall and the bar. A tiny aisle-way had to be squeezed through to reach the seats.

“How incredibly convenient for you to pick the most inopportune location.” Logan muttered, not for the first nor the last time. He would never rest until the world knew of his distaste for the rowdy, unsanitized pub, and it seemed Roman would never rest until Logan was declared a true regular by the barkeep.

It seemed Roman’s goal was getting close, as the half-blind bartender looked over at them with a grunt. “The usual?”

Logan gave an almost sheepish nod. Roman snickered, but the moment those squinted eyes of the bartender fell to his head poking out of the pocket Roman kept his own gaze down. Not all humans were as kind as Logan.

Speaking of kind…. There was an excited gasp, a new contender entering the bar. “Logan?”

Logan’s gaze snapped up, surprised to see a familiar face navigating back towards their table. “Patton?” Logan asked incredulously, only by reflex now remembering to set Roman on the flat surface. “What are you doing here?”

It was always an odd sight for Roman to see the two brothers together as Patton squeezed into their booth. Though Logan and Patton shared an identical face, down to the specks of hazel in each of their eyes, the way they each held themselves made them polar opposites. Logan was serious business, neckties and school. Patton was bubbles, smiles and treats. Lots of treats, Roman remembered, grinning as Patton pulled out a few pieces of candy.

“Oh, just in the neighborhood, mind if I join you?” Patton asked, more out of courtesy. It was clear he was staying no matter what. “Butterscotch, anyone?”

“Don’t mind if I do~” Roman grinned, plucking one from Patton’s outstretched hand.

“Roman, you’ll do no such thing.” Logan scolded. “You’ll spoil your appetite.” Roman rolled his eyes, but put the butterscotch in his bag for later.

“Aww, lighten up Logan.” Patton teased, reaching out to ruffle Roman’s hair. “Roman deserves all the treats that are as sweet as he is!”

“Patton, how you flatter me.” Roman laughed, only a bit uncomfortable with Patton’s touch. While he was Logan’s brother, and Roman had interacted with him on occasion, Patton was far from the most experienced when it came to dealing with borrowers.

As the two brothers began to catch up, Roman found himself getting antsy. He glanced at the bar every so often, trying to subtly scoot closer.

Unfortunately, he should have known better than to underestimate Logan’s keen gaze; his eyes might have been replaced by those of a Hawk at birth. “I was under the impression you gave your word to not run off.”

Roman winced at Logan’s cold tone, sensing tonight Logan would not be so lenient. “I wasn’t running off, I was… walking off?” Roman tried pushing his luck. “Come now, I promise not to go far, and I’ll be back before we have to leave.”

“What is the point of coming here if you do not actually wish to partake in any of the meal?” Logan’s gaze turned suspicious. “Where do you plan on heading?”

“Oh, just, er, around.” Roman shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth. “Stretch my limbs, live life to the fullest.”

“Logan.” Patton tried to calm his brother down. “It doesn’t seem that bad to let him walk around a bit.”

“Patton, the trouble becomes Roman refusing to return.” Logan rubbed at the crook of his nose irritably. “I find the whole charade troublesome.”

“But he promised to come back! Didn’t you, kiddo?” Patton turned to the borrower.

Roman nodded eagerly. “I promise on all things Disney, I won’t lose track of time this time! Just a few minutes, pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Patton sucked in a gasp at the cherry on top- clearly, this was very serious business.

“...Can you stay in my sights?” Logan asked, breaking down his walls in front of the two individuals who knew him best.

“No promises.” Roman answered, knowing where he was going Logan’s eyes couldn’t follow.

Logan made a displeased noise at this development. “Then in that case, at least stay out of sight from other patrons.”

Roman gave an eager salute at Logan’s agreement, flashing both humans a dazzling smile before he began to scale the wall leading up to the actual bar.

“Oh, need a hand, kiddo?” Without waiting for an answer, Patton’s hand was underneath him, scooping the borrower up and depositing him on the counter. Roman only just held back a yelp.

“Ah, thank you, Patton.” Roman gave Patton a less dazzling smile, feeling a bit frazzled from the sudden ‘help’. He could feel Logan’s eyes on the back of his neck, heading down the length of the bar. The borrower was quick to duck behind a few spare bottles, hiding himself from the sight of the booth. The bartender was busy at the other end, dealing with some college kids who couldn’t hold their liquor.

Roman let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, creeping along the shelf until he came to one wooden panel that was differently colored than the rest. This he pushed open with ease, the loose board giving way to what appeared to be a small alcove hidden in the wall.

“Took you long enough.”

As Roman’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted the familiar dark figure waiting for him with a scowl. Roman gave him a sheepish grin, propping up the board so that the gap would still let light into the space.

“I got held up.” Roman shrugged. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world, convincing your human to come to a bar all the time when he doesn’t even drink. Of course I wouldn’t have to, Mr. Panic-At-The-Everywhere, if you would just-”

“Well I won’t.” The figure snapped.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“Oh come now, Virgil!” Roman groaned, having had this conversation for ages now. He had been coming here for weeks, trying to convince Virgil to come home with him. The only reason Virgil even continued to acknowledge his presence was his clear desperation for any contact; ever since word had gotten out about Roman’s discovery, most of the borrowers in town had fled. It was only by chance Roman had found Virgil holed up in here alone the first time Logan brought him to Fleetwoods.

“It’s not all you’re making it out to be, truly.” Roman listed off the perks on his hand. “You get all the food you could ever want, your muscles aren’t sore from climbing, there’s less stress about being discovered, you have free time- can you imagine? I’ve watched movies now!-”

“Uh huh.” Virgil crossed his arms, unimpressed. “And in exchange you’re demoted to being a human’s personal plaything.”

Roman gave a princely noise of offense, his hand pressed to his chest. “I’m not a toy!”

“A pet, then.” Virgil shrugged. “Or a servant. Or something. I mean, there has to be a reason the bean keeps you around.” Virgil squinted, his dark mind turning suspicious, not for the first time with the peculiar borrower. “Maybe he’s just training you to brainwash the rest of us.”

“He doesn’t even know you exist.” Roman insisted. “I’ve been careful, cross my heart.”

“Then why do you keep coming back?” Virgil argued. “I’m not going to come with you, no use in trying to weasel it out of me.”

“Well…” Roman bit his lip. “Even if you don’t want to make the obviously best choice, I’m not about to abandon my favorite Emo Nightmare.”

Virgil frowned, looking almost upset. “I thought I was your only ‘Emo Nightmare’.”

Roman chuckled at that, pulling out the butterscotch. “Peace offering?”

Virgil peered down at it. “Did that come from beans?”

Roman didn’t bother answering. They both knew the truth, anyhow; where else would Roman get it? Seemed these days Roman got everything handed to him on a silver platter by doting human beans.

“If it’s poisoned I’m going to kill you.” Virgil assured him, but he begrudgingly stuck out his hand. Roman grinned, knowing Virgil was a sucker with a sweet tooth.

“I knew you’d come around.” Roman handed over the treasured candy.

“Oh give me a break.” Virgil muttered.

The two sat down, shoulder to shoulder as they shared tastes of the butterscotch. Logan was right; all that sugar quickly spoiled Roman’s appetite, but he didn’t much care so long as he got to spend time with Virgil. Outside the clinking of glasses and scrapping of silverware continued on, human life continuing without even noticing the two of them.

“I miss this.” Roman said quietly.

“Hmm?” Virgil glanced over at him.

“Ah, well you asked earlier why I keep coming back.” Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess a part of me misses the whole- hiding away in the walls like a creep thing.”

Virgil snorted. “Not a pet, huh?”

“It’s just instinct.” Roman huffed. At least… that’s what Logan said. “My life’s obviously better now, it’s just… I mean I was in the walls a long time. Kind of hard to forget it. And of course, it’s- it’s kind of nice to be around another borrower once in a while, even if it’s someone as repulsive as you.”

For once, Virgil didn’t snark back with some comment about how Roman was just as irritating; instead, Virgil took a moment to process what Roman said. “Did you live with anyone before you were…?”

“Oh, no.” Roman assured him. “Believe it or not I was just as lonely and closed off as you, once upon a time. I’d left my family to go out in the world and find my purpose.”

“Oh.” Virgil cleared his throat awkwardly. “Did you… find it?”

The question caught Roman off guard. “Well how would I know?!” Roman protested, getting defensive. “I mean I’m only 24, I’ve still got time!”

“Do you?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Because seems like you’re kind of trapped in your life now.”

The way Roman immediately stiffened made it clear that Virgil had gone too far. He swore under his breath- what was he thinking, saying something like that? It wasn’t helpful, even if it was true there was nothing Roman could do about it.

“I’m not trapped.” Roman said softly, and the way he said it sounded like an automatic lie to Virgil’s ears.

“Sure you’re not.” Virgil awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“I’m not.” Roman insisted. “I can do anything I want, I have everything now.”

So long as your human bean approves. Virgil thought to himself, not wanting to depress the closest thing he had to a friend further. With ironic timing, Virgil heard a human’s voice calling outside for Roman to return.

“Sounds like your time is up.” Virgil slowly took his hand off Roman’s shoulder. “See you soon?”

Roman paused, looking at the doorway. “You know what? No.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “No?”

“No!” Roman repeated. “I’m going to prove to you that I’m in no danger, and- and I’m a grown borrower who can do what I want!”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get him mad-” Virgil tried to reason with him.

“I think it’s a fantastic idea.” Roman argued. He needed answers just as much as he needed to prove Virgil wrong. “I can keep Logan waiting for as long as I please, and all that’s going to happen is he’ll be irritated tonight.” And, most likely, it would take more charm than usual to convince Logan to come back to Fleetwoods.

“No, Roman, don’t.” Virgil insisted. “I don’t want you to get hurt over this.”

“I’m not going to get hurt.” Roman assured him, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to comfort him. “Just trust me.”

Virgil didn’t like this plan one bit, getting quite antsy as the calls for Roman to return got louder and more frequent.

“Maybe I’ll just spend the night here!” Roman gasped. “We could have a sleepover!”

“You’re insane.” Virgil hissed. “You’re gonna get me discovered if he tears this place apart looking for you.”

Seeing Virgil’s point, Roman had the decency to back down. “Alright, just a few more minutes then. I mean it’s not like Logan owns me.”

He kinda does. Virgil argued internally. His grip on Roman’s hands tensed, almost more terrified when the calls stopped. “...is he gone?”

“What? No, Logan wouldn’t just leave.” Roman frowned to himself. “Right?”

Virgil wasn’t certain, but he was certainly too antsy to keep sitting here like a duck in a barrel. “I’m gonna go check.”

Meanwhile, back at the table, Logan was positively fuming. His bouncing leg indicated his rising irritation paired with anxiety.

“Logan, calm down.” Patton sighed. “It’s probably just taking him a minute to walk back. He could have gotten pretty far, and he has little legs.” Patton walked his fingers along the table as if to demonstrate the size of Roman’s legs.

“He is quite agile, this was more than adequate time for his return.” Logan muttered, abruptly standing up. “I shall patrol the perimeter for any signs of a struggle.”

“Oh dear.” Patton murmured, watching Logan hastily rush towards the other end of the restaurant and begin scouting out potential areas where Roman could have gotten stuck. Well… he might as well help with the search. Patton grabbed his coat, putting his first arm through the sleeve as he stood up.

“Hold it!” Patton’s head whipped around, startled when a clamor started up behind the bar. “Ah, what in tarn’- get back here, ya darn varmit!”

“Um… can I help you?” Patton asked, his heart beginning to sink with dread as he leaned over the counter.

“Yeah just a sec ya whippersnapp’- GOT EM!” There was a slamming down of a glass, and then the bartender reappeared with a creature trapped underneath said glass, a coaster covering the bottom. “‘Yer little rat got behind the bar again.”

“My little…?” Patton realized two things at once: The bartender thought he was Logan, and that borrower was not Roman. Patton gasped.

“Well? C’mon.” the bartender shook up the glass, throwing around the borrower as he held it more out. “You just left this here, I just wanted to return it. You’re lucky I don’t just throw it out the back with how you let it off the leash, if I ever find it back here again-”

“Yes, I get it!” Patton held out his hands, eager to rescue the borrower from whatever fate the barkeep had in mind. “Thank you, I promise he- they?- will be no trouble again.”

The bartender just grunted, dumping the contents of the glass into Patton’s outstretched hands. Quickly Patton cupped his hands around the little kiddo, feeling how much the figure was trembling even as the little limbs pounded to get out. It made Patton’s heartbreak, wondering if this is how Logan usually held Roman and how he dealt with the guilt.

Logan… oh good lord he needed his brother. Patton rushed over to Logan as best he could, hyper aware of how sturdy he kept his hands. Even with his caution, Patton could feel the moment the borrower switched from fighting his grip to trying to hold on.

“...please be gentle.” A little pleading voice went completely unheard in the busy restaurant, Virgil barely holding onto his sanity through this insane turn of events. How did that blind as a bat barkeep even see him? Virgil was being as careful as ever! He was, wasn’t he? Or… maybe he had been a little less careful, relying on the chaos of customers to cover his tracks… and maybe he had been too distracted by Roman’s problems to really focus properly…

Oh god, he really screwed up this time, didn’t he? All that time he spent scolding Roman for getting caught, and he ended up doing the Exact. Same. Thing.

“Uh, psst, Logan? Logan!” Patton stage whispered, coming over to the older Sanders sibling. “We have a problem.”

Logan glanced down at Patton’s cupped hands, calculating. “You discovered Roman- is he injured?”

“Um, not- not really?” Patton took a deep breath, slowly opening his hands enough for Logan to see. “I found a borrower, but… it’s not Roman.”

#g/t #sanders sides #borrower!roman #borrower!virgil #human!logan #human!patton #secret sanders 2019 #pet AU #borrowers #borrower

178 notes · View notes

papergirllife · 4 years

Text

Cheers To Us

A Mark Lee Oneshot

Part 1

" Stop looking like you're in the verge of death. "

" But I am, I'm getting bored to death. "

We didn't used to need to do this. My mom and I used to spend Christmas watching old movies in the living room, drinking away mugs of hot cocoa.

That is until she got married, my mom was exhilarated to be married, it's not that the bloke she chose isn't a good one.

It's the family Christmas gatherings that suck. They really don't lack formality when it comes to it, and a pinch of drama here and there.

" You should really stop being this anti social and get to know our family. "

" Your family, mom. I'm just here because you threatened to cut off fifty percent of our WiFi. "

" Hi Charlotte! "

There she goes, leaving me to fend for myself in this sparkly hell hole for some aunt of someone.

After she left her seat, someone plopped down the sofa.

" Hi I'm Mark. Nice to meet you. "

The boy in front of you has fluffy black hair and glittery eyes, dressed in an oversized sweater and sweat pants.

" Y/N, and I have no idea how you're supposed to be related to me, so enlighten me. "

" Supposed? Well if you like to put it that way. Your mom married my uncle, so you're supposedly my cousin. "

" Right. Since you're around my age, I'm just going to be curt. I'm a bore and I don't like fake socialising with people that I will probably only see once a year. So it would be better if you found someone better to talk to. "

" But I don't feel like talking to people that I would only see once a year either. That's why I'm here. "

" How are you so sure that you would be seeing me more than once a year? "

" Because your step dad and my dad are quite close, and we live nearby your place too. "

" Gossip much? "

" Your mom was really keen on getting to know me is all. "

" Of course she is. " You said with a roll of your eyes.

" She's nice. Way better than Aunt Karen. "

" The one with rine stones on her glasses? "

" That's the one. "

" She judged my whole being when she saw me, and all I did was yawn. "

" When she saw me she said ' Mark Lee, your hair is messy as usual, and underdressed . ' "

" What a bitch. Did you say anything back to her? "

" I told her that the other relatives complimented my good looks, and that her glasses are the ones that are messed up. "

" Oof. "

"She gave me the worst stink eye I've ever seen. "

After dinner, the both of us went to the backyard as the people inside were starting to get on our nerves.

" It's always the same questions. ' Why don't you have a girlfriend yet Mark? ' ' How's school, Mark ? ' "

" Don't they always. "

" Hey, you wanna go clubbing later? Since we live close by, I can pick you up. "

" Sure. I'd love to sneak out the house with you. My mom can't even get angry at me since she made me attend this. "

" Sounds rendezvous. "

" It's nothing compared to my other adventures. "

" Y/N?! It's time to head home. "

" Coming mom! "

" See you later. "

" Can't wait. "

" You look different. " Mark said as you open the door of his car.

" Good different or bad different? "

" Neither. You look nice in both styles. "

" Thanks. "

" My friend and his cousins will be there afterwards, is that alright? "

" Why not? The more the merrier. "

" Y/N, meet Johnny and his cousins, Wendy and Yeri. "

" Hi, nice to meet you guys. " I said as we shook hands.

" It's nice to finally have another girl in the clique. Your other guy friends just suck, it's either they want to get into our pants or talk about beer kegs. "

" They aren't that bad, sis. "

" I don't care, Y/N is an upgrade from that loud guy you introduced to us. "

" Lucas? He is really loud, can't defend him there. "

" Come on guys, let's get a table and do some shots for starters as we have a new warrior amongst us. "

Johnny, I realized, is pretty extra.

" You better not get the cheap ones that taste like shit. " Yeri said as we sat down.

" Yes, ma'am. That was 2 years ago. "

" So Y/N, are you single? "

" Yeah. "

" Wendy, you should save the questions for truth or dare. "

" Oh my jesus. Not that again, Yeri. "

" Yes, again. "

" Okay, same rules johfam. If you don't answer a truth, one shot. If you don't do a dare, two shots. " Johnny announced as he came back with two trays of shots and an empty beer bottle.

The first question asked was about Yeri's wildest rendezvous.

" So you're saying that you and a guy you picked up at Disney had sex during one of the shows you watched? " Mark asked with wonder .

" Yeah, cuz it was kinda boring that one, and we sat far behind, so no one was at our row. "

After a few slight mundane questions it was the first dare of the night when Wendy dared Johnny to seduce a man.

Johnny was so good at it that he had to apologize and leave at one point, faking he had an emergency at home.

As the game went by, funny memories were made and many shots downed.

" Y/N. Truth or dare? "

" Dare. "

" I dare you to give Mark a lap dance. "

" Good one sis. " Yeri high fived Wendy.

" Easy. "

As I sauntered my hips to Mark's seat, his eyes had a hint of panic and curiousity.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back for wearing shorts instead of a dress.

I dropped my body in a near sitting position in front of Mark's slightly spreaded legs.

My clothed crotch and his were nearly touching. I wrapped my hands around his neck and started rotating my hips while going upwards.

My eyes traced his body from his crotch till his face to see that he had his bottom lip in his teeth, it made me wanted to take a bite at it as well.

I made a turn and faced my back to him, I dropped the upper half of my body down to my toes and slowly dragged my hands up my thighs, my fingers slightly pulling at the holes of my fishnets.

As a finish up act, I lowered my butt slightly to twerk a few times, then pushed it up just right under his nose.

After my little act was done, Mark sat frozen at his seat, his boner hard against his washed jeans.

" Mark, she's your cousin. "

" It's only through marriage Johnny, shut up. "

" Does that make you feel better when you guys get laid? "

Mark just hid his face in his hands, too embarrassed to answer Johnny's snarky remarks.

" Lay off him for a while Johnny. Look at how he's already suffering just from the show. " Wendy said.

" Fine, now if you'll excuse me ladies and gentleman. I'm going to look for a one night stand candidate. "

" Ugh men. Come on Y/N, Wendy, let's go dance on the dance floor. "

" You guys go first. I still want to catch my breath from my action back there. "

" Sure. "

I sneaked a peek at Mark, he was looking down, hands clasped together.

" Mark? You okay? Too many shots? "

He gave a light chuckle, red was dusted against his cheeks as he looked up to you.

" No I just um, I didn't want you to see this. "

His eyes shot down towards his crotch. He quickly grabbed a pillow that was laid on the sofa to cover up his boner.

I got up and stood in front of him.

" Why not? "

I took Mark's hand and dragged him to the dance floor before he could answer me.

" Wait, no Y/N, we don't have to do this. "

" Relax. We're just going to dance. " For now, You thought.

Mark was barely able to function on the dance floor, he kept being flustered by the way my hips move.

His moves stilled whenever I gave him a sultry look of my eyes. After I moved my way towards him, I placed his hands on my waist, and wrapped mine around his neck.

It felt nice, just to have his body swaying next to mine. I shifted my eyes to his, I just noticed how big and bright they look .

Then I dropped my gaze to his lips. Those oh so kissable lips were so tempting.

I quickly moved my eyes back up, not wanting to make Mark too uncomfortable.

As I looked up, I saw Mark staring at my lips as well.

" Mark, my eyes are up here. "

" Sorry, I was just-- Actually, can I kiss you? "

" Sure. "

The kiss was feather light at first, the both of us still shy.

It started escalating deeper as Mark pulled me closer. A hand went lower and placed on my butt, the other went up to my cheek, holding my face in place.

He bit my lower lip, distracting me as we fought for dominance. His tongue sliding into my mouth, exploring an uncharted territory.

My head started to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen, Mark must've felt the similar feeling as we both began to pull away.

A trail of saliva connecting the both of our lips formed.

" Sorry. That's a bit messy. "

He wiped our drool off my chin, a slight grin playing on his lips.

" Why don't we get a drink? "

Mark nodded at your request, and took your hand tightly in his, leading you to the bar.

77 notes · View notes

adoredontour · 4 years

Photo

every fic that left a lasting impression with me this year. sorted in order of when i read them!!

buckle up lads, it’s a long one

nicotine by krisstylinson 32k

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

like candy in my veins by littlelouishiccups 31k @littlelouishiccups

Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for

worth dying for by whoknows

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

damn your love, damn your lies by ifthat

“Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy Harry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface @disgruntledkittenface

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

a thousand miles from comfort by littlelouishiccups

In which Louis is a closeted gay actor and a recovering addict with a troubled past. Harry is the personal trainer who helps him get his life back in shape.

smaller than me by checkthemargins

Harry's just finished his first year of uni on his way to becoming Dr. Harry Styles, Neurosurgeon. He's young, he has endless potential, three amazing best mates, a new love and the world at his fingertips. The fact that his new boyfriend may or may not be a sex-worker, of course, throws a wrench into the works. But it's not true. Really.

Probably.

It most definitely might not be entirely true. And that's all Harry needs to know.

escapade (i was late to the game shut up) by dolce_piccante

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

oh glory by alivingfire @alivingfire

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain's newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he's assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry's childhood crush.

it’s all brand new because of you by supernope

AKA, Louis starts a new job as a summer camp counselor at the local aquarium and Harry is a biologist who really likes teaching people about the ocean.

this wicked game by cherrystreet @cherrystreet

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

do not go gentle by afirethatcannotdie @afirethatcannotdie

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

to brim with fright by hereforlou @hereforlou

The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

have you coming back again by whoknows

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

i put a spell on you by bethaboo @bethaboolou

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

naked & proud by kiwikero

In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

take me under the blue by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

paint the sky with stars by kiwikero

the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

truth be told i never was yours by justfortommo

(or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.)

into the badlands

Louis is Q. Harry is a double-oh agent who thinks that making knock-knock jokes around foreign embassy delegates mid-mission is a good idea.

swim in the smoke by whoknows

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

resist everything except temptation by domesticharry @domestic-harry

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

pray till i go blind by el_em_en_oh_pee

Louis is (kind of) a preacher. Harry is (probably) a demon. Of course, nothing's as simple as that.

This is not a love story.

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones by flimsy @flimsi

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

i love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

alien roadtrip! by helloamhere @helloamhere

roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous.

treat mothman with kindness by flowercrownfemme @lesbianiconharrystyles

In which Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn are amateur cryptozoologists and Harry is the creature they find in the woods of a small north-western town. ft. lots of glitter and shrieking and a whole shed full of lesbian cats.

just me, you, and this box of matches by tomlinsunshine

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

close to nowhere by angelichl @angelichl

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

magical soup by gloria_andrews

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

sainted taints and velvet vices by toomanytears

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

run like the devil by benzos

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

be with me so happily by briamaria

[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

come together by bottomlinsons @bottomlinsons

Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven't talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that.

what this world is about by isntrio @bloubird

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

once upon a dream by thedeathchamber

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

forever and always by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom (again, thank you!!!!!!!)

OR the one where Harry’s neighbour is a crotchety old witch who hates vampires, Niall is the unsuspecting human who ends up inhabiting Harry’s body, and Louis is the caseworker who is assigned to swap them back. How it ends up a love story is anyone’s guess.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

tangled up in you by missandrogyny

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

Louis is thirty, single, and a bit of a workaholic. He's happy with his life, but then his mother decides to buy him tickets for a Singles Cruise. Appalled that his family thinks he can't handle his own love life, he steps aboard the ship determined to have a terrible time.

That is, of course, until a persistent brunet keeps offering him drinks.

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

bring out feelings in me i never show

“I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.”

“Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading.

I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

remember you well by fondleeds @fondleeds

“Um,” Harry starts. He looks out of place. Louis can’t really believe he’s seeing Harry like this, so unsettled, so unlike himself. He holds out his hands. “Should we–. Should I, um. Did you wanna, like, cuff me to the bed or something?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Do I need to?”

i love you most by stylinsoncity

friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn't.

ready to fall by whoknows

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

#rec

47 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 5 years

Note

Cosmos

Thanks for playing! ^o^

cosmos: what’s one thing you wish you could say to someone you are no longer friends with?

Wow. Going for the really hard ones, huh?

Uhm. So. I cried throughout the whole thing and this turned far more serious and personal than... expected. But... these are things that have been burning in my mind. TW for suicide threats and self-harm mentioning.

My... now former best friend, who was very capable of not seeing any blame in herself. I’d like to tell her just how much she hurt me, how much she pushed me further and further away, how she systematically cut me out of her life and made me feel like a nuisance and burden just for asking her anything, how much it hurt me that she just... didn’t care about me, about my life, at all toward the end of our friendship.

Living with a trauma, with PTSD, with chronical pain, I understand that it shifts your perspective. I understand that you prioritize yourself, but... you can’t use all of your own suffering as an excuse to not care about your friends anymore, especially not when they put all their energy into trying to help you get better. You don’t get to be the one to only reap the benefits of the friendship and then call the other person a leech behind her back - because that’s what people who consume your time are to you. Leeches who suck off your energy.

Well. Friendships mean that you will have to spend some energy on them. It means to also care about the other person. And if... if that act of giving even half a fuck and of making time to see your supposed best friend at least once in a year when we live literally half an hour apart, if all of that is asking too much of you because you need all of your energy only for yourself... you really can’t blame me for also taking some energy to focus on myself.

Because this friendship was sucking the energy out of me. I’ve been tip-toeing for months, I’ve tried to ask how you are, to help you in any way I possibly could. I became so fucking meek and tentative and careful when asking you to spend time with me, because I knew the answer would be no - either because you already had plans or because you had had plans in the week before and now really needed a me-weekend. And... And that’s fair. Needing me-time is important. But you found so much time to spend with other people and I... somewhere along the way I stopped being one of those other people. I became one of the people you needed to find excuses to not see because what, spending time with me was no longer productive enough for you?

And I just... stopped being a part of your life. And that’s not on me. I ran after you like a lovesick dumb puppy, I tried absolutely everything. Even after the fallout between us, I still tried to reach out. But you couldn’t even be bothered with more than one sentence answers.

And when asked for one clear answer, if you think that this friendship is still worth saving, if you had any intention of doing so, you told me it’s too much energy. And no... No, after ten years of being best friends, after having you at my side during my mom’s heart surgery, after spending sometimes five outta seven days a week together and talking daily, no, I will not take the blame for the end of this friendship, because I tried and tried and I tried reaching out to someone who didn’t care to reach back anymore.

This. Was. Not. My. Fault.

I’m not a leech who tried to suck your life-force out of you just because I wanted you to give half a shit about me, just because I wanted to see you once within a whole calendar year, just because I expected you to care a minimum about the shit I was going through when my family was playing family feud because my grandma was developing dementia and when my mom had a stroke and when I started self-harming again and when I was having my own triggers and anxiety attacks on a regular base.

No. That’s not on me. That’s not asking too much, just any attention at all, just any care at all. I’m not a bad person for wanting my best friend, the person I had been in love with for five years, to give a damn about my life.

I’m not a bad friend for wanting you to be a friend in return and for no longer wanting to feel like I’m a burden, tip-toeing around every little word I said to you, afraid to make you angry or upset or to make you feel bad.

You tried to emotionally blackmail me after our fight by telling me how that made you feel like you wished you weren’t alive at all. You know what. Fuck you. All I did was ask you to please be a bit more considerate with what you say to me because you tend to unintentionally hurt my feelings - and your reaction to that was to deliberately dig a knife in where it hurt me the most, where you knew it hurt me the most, and then you ghosted me for half a year and then you tell me this? Your reaction was completely blown out of proportion for the situation at hand and I... I deserve better than to be treated that way, I deserve better than to be treated like my emotions don’t matter, like you had a lot that bothered you about me but you never brought up because “real friends don’t try to change each other”, like I was the one who made you feel like you couldn’t have an opinion but oh no that is one of the things you never brought up.

You know what, real friends do try to change each other. For the better. When my friend hurts me, I should be able to tell them to stop without having it turned against me, without emotional blackmail and months of no contact.

But fuck it all do I miss you. I miss you every single day. I miss the person you used to be. I miss the girl I used to visit after school to hang out with. The nerd I used to talk to about Doctor Who and Disney. The one person I trusted most in the world. The one I contacted when I was at my lowest and knew I could trust. The one who held me and just let me cry when my cat died, even though I never cry in front of other people. The one who came over every day of the week for two weeks during my mom’s heart surgery. The one I wanted to move in with. The one I was in love with. The one I could spent hours just talking about bullshit, watching Disney movies and making fun of them. The one who trusted me, who came to me first to tell me anything important in her life. The one I trusted, who I came to first and told everything important in my life.

And it took me... it took me so long to realize that you’re not that person anymore. that what you went through changed you and made you... calculating. You started calculating how much energy other people took from you and then you blamed them for not being good enough friends.

Guess I’m not a good enough friend anymore, because I don’t... I don’t have any more energy to give to you, because I gave you all and more. And you gave nothing in return.

#About Me #Friendship #tw: self-harm #(mentioning)#tw: suicide #or suicidal thoughts or threats #I'm unsure but I think the threat made #could be triggering sor someone #sooo #Anonymous

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longliveninokuni · 5 years

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Love Letters

Part of the EOA Ship Appreciation Week on Discord.

It's time for the Festival of Love: where Avalorans give letters to the people they love. But what happens when Naomi gets a letter from the anonymous person who usually gives her one asks her to meet in person? Will she meet them? Who could this secret admirer be?

Ff.net link if you prefer: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13207795/1/Love-Letters

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Also, I'm sorry that I'm getting this story to you just now, yesterday's story was tough to write. So, I'm saying I just finished this story. Today's theme is "Valentine's Day," but I don't recall if the Ever Realm celebrated it. So I came up with another holiday to compensate. Enjoy! And hopefully, tomorrow's story will also be finished tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, fan-based, fanfiction. Elena of Avalor is owned by the Walt Disney Corporation and Craig Gerber. Lady Elma is my OC; thus she belongs to me. Please support the official release.

"Aww, did the loser not get any letters for the love festival? Boohoo. Hahaha!" Said one of the many bullies Naomi must deal with daily.

In Avalor there is currently a festival going on for the day: The Festival of Love. No, not the one associated with Dia de Los Muertos. This one, this is associated with showing love to those who have meaning to you, be they friend, family, or lover. And at the end of the day, there is always a ball where the people can gather and dance with the people they love and cherish.

But before that, every citizen gives letters to the people they love, be they platonic or romantic. It helps sets the mood for the ball.

Naomi, however, has never gotten any letters, except her friends and parents. She was always sad, especially during her first festival. No one from school gave her letters.

But then she got her first letter that wasn't from her friends or her parents. "You look better when you smile." It read, and in the bottom corner was a drawing of her smiling. No one signed it, and she didn't recognize the handwriting. It was her favorite letter. And when she showed it to everyone in the palace, they were all thrilled. Estéban however only came up with a snarky remark but kept it in his usual teasing tone.

Her second one, she got another letter from the same person. "Did you have to score the winning point in olaball? Now I have to be impressed." Then there was a drawing of her scoring the winning point in olaball. It was still her favorite. But while she did get a letter on her third one, this one complementing her book smarts with a drawing of her sleeping face down in a book, she got another letter from a guy in her school who wanted to dance with her at the ball. She was excited and said yes, making some of her female bullies jealous.

During the ball, the two danced and were having fun, but then the guy pulled her out of the ballroom to a random hallway and tried to push himself on her. He only wanted to bed her. Naomi didn't want it, she tried to push him off, but he had a knife. He cut her cheek a little, enough to draw blood, and warned her to stay still and let it happen. Before he could use his knife to cut her dress, his hand was stopped by another one, and it was squeezing the boy's hand painfully tight. When the two looked over, it was Estéban who had stopped the boy's hand. And he was giving the guy a death glare. "If you don't want to spend the rest of your life in the dungeon for assaulting a member of the Grand Council, then I suggest you stop what you're doing right now and leave." He said in a low, threatening voice — all while tightening his grip. The boy shakenly nods his head and was in tears.

Estéban scoffs and lets's go of the boy, letting him run off. He then turned to Naomi, who's been crying tears of fear. Estéban pulled out his handkerchief and carefully wiped her blood and tears off of her cheek. "Let's get this blood off you, get rid of the tears, then make your schoolmates jealous of your dancing." Naomi raised a brow. "You don't think I know what's been going on? When it comes to unnecessary pettiness, I think I take the crown." He smirked at Naomi's small giggle then holds out a hand. "Shall we?" And the two danced better than everyone from her school.

That was a good year, but now Naomi faces a new dilemma. "I want to meet you face to face tonight at the ball. Meet me at the fountain in the palace gardens at 6:00." Along with the info was a drawing of a rose in bloom. Naomi has no idea what to do. Should she meet him? Well, of course, he could be the love of her life. Or she. She's not one to judge.

"Ms. Turner, if you could so kind as to stop focusing on your letter, and start focusing on the task at hand, that would be splendid." Estéban just had to ruin her mental conversation, but he was right. Right now, they were discussing new ideas for tonight's ball.

"Hey, blame whoever left the letter here on my section of the table." Naomi found her letter here in the council room, along with everyone else.

Estéban growls but backs off and went back to discussing what ideas could be included in this year's Festival of Love.

Naomi tried to focus, but she couldn't. She kept thinking of who the author of these letters could be. Sure, there were only four, but she's already smitten with whoever wrote them. I wonder if they're anyone I know? She thought.

"MS. TURNER!" Ah, she's been caught daydreaming again.

"Naomi, we should get you a new dress for tonight's ball." Elena said out of the blue after the meeting. The only thing they could add to the ball this year was new food and a showcase of the letters given hanging from the ceiling.

Naomi raised a brow. "What? Why?"

Elena winked. "Because I want to see you in a new dress. You wear the same big purple dress to all the formal balls, and while it looks good, you can do better."

"But, you also-"

"No time to argue, I know of a new boutique that has gorgeous dresses. Let's go!" Elena said in a rush, leaving no room for Naomi to argue or refuse as she pushes her along.

When the two reached the shop, they were both amazed by the sight: dresses in different colors, body types, style, and most notably…

"No hoop skirts." Naomi stated. Yes, none of these dresses have the hooped skirts that most formal dresses usually have. All these dresses seem to fit the bodice from head to toe. "What is this?"

"The future of dress fashion." Said a voice. Then a woman came up from the back of the store. She has short dark green hair, glasses, blue eyes, wearing a plain orange apron, slippers, a long-sleeved yellow shirt, black pants, and is sucking a lollipop. She gives the women an intense stare. "Hoop skirts are out. Old fashioned. Dead. These dresses will make any man, or woman, crumble to their knees at the sheer beauty anyone would give off when wearing my designs."

Naomi was getting nervous. "Uh, Elena…?"

Elena however just pushed Naomi to stand in front of the woman. "Hi, I'm Elena, and my best friend Naomi needs a dress for the ball tonight!"

The woman looks over Naomi with a critical eye. "Hmm." She strikes her chin in thought. A few moments later, she snaps her fingers. "I got it." She grabs Naomi's wrist and pulls her. "Come! Fashion waits for no one!" And the two disappear to the back.

An hour later, the store owner came out with Naomi to show Elena the dress. "Well?"

Elena's eyes lit up, and she smiles big. "Oooh, Naomi, when your secret admirer sees you, they'll be fawning all over you!" She then turns to the store owner. "Thank you so much Lady Elma."

Lady Elma pushed her glasses. "Of course, I do my best." She then gets angry. "To rid this world of THE DREADED HOOPED SKIRTS!" She yells. She then feels a pull on her sleeve. She calms down and turns to the source, Naomi. "Yeah?"

"Uhh, where's the corset?"

"There isn't one. Those things are dreadful and unnecessary. My design is made to be sure of that." Lady Elma explained.

Naomi whimpers while Elena pays for the dress and thanks Lady Elma again.

It was now an hour before Naomi meets her secret admirer, and she's nervous. Especially with her dress. It seems too revealing; it leaves her whole back uncovered, and the only thing keeping it up is the tie at the back of her neck. She's blushing hard. "Elena, are you sure this dress isn't too...risqué?"

Elena smiled. "No, not at all, your secret admirer would fall to their knees and beg you to be with them."

Naomi sneered. "Elena, why are you so insisted that they'll react that way?" Then she gasps and points an accusing finger at her. "Do you know who it is?!"

Elena shifted her eyes. "Whaaaat? Nooooo. I don't know who it is." She scoffs, then stands. "Well you should get going, you're about to see the love of your life, bye!" And she ran.

Naomi groans and looks back at the mirror. "Well, guess I should get going." Then she leaves.

It was now 5:58 PM. And Naomi's starting to doubt herself. What if this person is pranking her? Or worse, what if they only want her for other stuff? What if they were in love with her then decide not to be once they see her in person?

It was now 5:59. Naomi takes a deep breath. "Okay, no need to panic. If they turn out to be a jerk, kick them in the shin and run." That's what Estéban told her to do the next time someone assaults her. Naomi cracks her neck, then looks at the time.

It's now 6:00 — time to get out there.

And when she does, her eyes widen in surprise, and she gasps. Standing in front of the fountain is Estéban. And when he looks at her, his face is immediately covered in a blush.

Naomi's stammering. "Uh, eh, Estéban? You wrote the letters? You?" She's also blushing.

Estéban cleared his throat and looked away, but still blushing. "...Yes." He said quietly, but Naomi still heard.

"Wha-What? Huh? Why? Was this all some sick prank?" She was starting to panic.

Estéban looked back at her, shocked. "What? No! It- well- ugh." He groans. He takes a deep breath, then exhales. "I was only trying to help."

During the first Festival of Love since Shuriki's supposed demise, Estéban immediately gave his letters to his family. Forty-one years of not seeing them and thinking one of them was dead can really do a person in. And after each letter was given, he'd give the family member a hug, which surprised all of them, but they returned the gesture. He didn't feel the need to give any more letters to anyone else.

But then he saw Naomi. She was down since no one from her school gave her a letter, probably due to jealousy. She didn't argue with him on anything, no matter how much he teased her. It gave him a strange feeling, seeing her so down. He deduced it to either pity or relatability. Yes, there was a time when Estéban never got letters from people other than his family. These days, he knows that the family ones are all that should matter. But Naomi? She's a teenager; it matters to her. Might not matter later, but it mattered at the time.

So, he decided to leave an anonymous letter for her. Anonymous because he doesn't want her teasing remarks about him caring about her or something like that. It's only so she can focus on Council meetings...and maybe their usual banter. Same thing for the second year, but this one he meant. He really was impressed with her winning the olaball match. But he would never admit it aloud.

But things changed when the third year happened. He wasn't jealous when she got a letter from a supposedly popular boy in her school; he was happy for her, which was weird because he didn't really care about her personal life. Must've been the festival. He didn't feel anything when he saw them dancing together. But when that boy pulled her out of the ballroom, he got a bad feeling. He didn't know why he just did. So, he followed them. So, when he saw that idiota forcing himself on her when he saw her bleeding, her terrified face, her tears, something in him snapped. He. Was. PISSED. Before he knew it, he had grabbed the boy's hand in a painful grip. And when the boy ran off, he was surprised that he helped clean her face. Even more surprised that he offered to dance with her. And when they danced, he realized why he cared, why he wrote the first letter, why he kept writing them, why he's dancing with her now to make her schoolmates jealous. He wasn't pitying her, or because he related to her situation. He likes her. No, he loves her. But he can't love her, she's too young, and he's too old! They would never work.

Then Doña Paloma noticed him sulking a couple of weeks after and pressed for information. The response…

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA! YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH NAOMI?! AHAHAHA! What's next, you ask her to marry you?" She continues to laugh for ten minutes.

Estéban growled. "You don't need to laugh; I already feel awkward about it. And no, I'm not going to marry her. I won't even seek a relationship with her!"

That got Doña Paloma to calm down. "Really? I thought you would."

Estéban looked at her wide-eyed. "Have you lost your mind?! I'm too old for her! She's too young for me! It would never work, much less be appropriate."

"NOT TRUE!" Yelled a voice from the back of the store. When they both turned, they saw a lollipop-less Lady Elma, who back then was just Elma. She then pointed to Estéban. "Love like yours can be very appropriate and can work! I've seen it back in my old kingdom. I've met it back at my old kingdom. The King has done it back in my old kingdom."

Estéban looked at Doña Paloma. "You know her?"

Doña Paloma shrugged. "She came in looking for fabrics."

"DO NOT SPEAK LIKE I'M NOT HERE!" She yelled.

Estéban sighed and turned to Elma. "Okay, how were these people able to do so?"

"Simple, just need to know three things." She held up three fingers.

"And those things are?" Doña Paloma asked, now intrigued with the situation.

"One: Do you love her?"

Estéban is silent, but his face is super red. "Uhh, maybe?"

"Maybe is not an answer; yes or no only."

Estéban groans then covers his eyes with his left hand. "Yes."

"Two: Is she a legal adult in terms of your laws?"

Estéban sighs. "No, but she will be in May."

"And three, and this is the most important part: Do you intend to harm her in any way, shape, or form?"

Estéban looked up at her with wide eyes. "What? No! Even if I didn't have these feelings, I would never want to harm her!"

"Then why are you questioning on what to do? You just answered your problems." Elma said.

Estéban and Doña Paloma stood dumbfounded. This random woman came up and solved Estéban's problem as if it was a simple question. Huh.

Elma then turned to Doña Paloma. "Also, do you know where I can find crystals that can be sewn onto fabric?"

So, now that Estéban acknowledges his want to be with Naomi, he's developed a plan. It won't happen in May, that's too soon. No, it'll happen the same way he did for the past three years: The Festival of Love.

And that's how he came up with the plan: Plant the letter on her table section, meet her in person, and see if she also wants to pursue this relationship. There was just one flaw in the plan.

"ESTÉBAN?! YOU'RE NAOMI'S SECRET ADMIRER?!" Elena yelled. Yup, Elena walked into the Grand Council room early so that Estéban wouldn't chew her out for being late.

Estéban stood there blushing, not knowing what to say. What to do. What to think. What will Elena do now that she knows Estéban is Naomi's "admirer?" "Are you mad?"

Elena grabbed the letter from him, grins mischievously, gave the letter back, and then ran out of the room.

"And now I see why she grinned so mischievously." He motions to Naomi's dress. "You look...beautiful." He's still blushing.

Naomi, however, is still standing in the entranceway to the garden in shock. Estéban, Estéban, wrote the letters. All of them. He's in love with her, her. She doesn't know what to do.

Estéban notices her hesitance and confusion, then sighs. "I get it. It's too much. We usually argue and tease each other, what good would a relationship be between us? And the age gap, it must be too much for you. I'll accept your rejection with dignity and leave you to your own devices for the rest of the night." He bows then turn to leave to another exit.

"Wait!" Estéban stops and turns to Naomi, who walked outside into the moonlight, making Estéban's breath escape him.

Her dress is a floor length, ocean blue dress that has the straps tied to the back of the neck. But what stunned him were the crystals that glimmered in the moonlight, making the dress and Naomi shine. It was astonishing. She was astonishing.

When Naomi finally reached him, she spoke. "Don't assume what I think just because I didn't answer! I was just...shocked that you wrote the letters."

Estéban smirked. "Because of who I am?"

"With me."

Estéban raised a brow.

"I know you write letters to your family every year; I know you aren't incapable of having feelings. I saw how you were last Navidad. It's just; we always do three things: fight, bicker, or tease each other." She looks down while blushing. "We rarely have moments where we're completely civil with one another; so of course, I was shocked."

Estéban shifted his eyes away. "And, the probability of us...courting?"

Naomi keeps looking down. Does she want this? Does she want to pursue a relationship with Estéban? She may have developed some feelings for him at last year's ball, but is it enough? Should she do it? Then a thought came to mind, and she smirked. Then she raised her head while smirking. "I don't know? You haven't asked me."

Estéban blinked. "Eh?"

Naomi snickers. "You didn't ask me out; you only wrote to meet you here at 6:00. And what's with all the 'probability' talk? You want my answer, ask me out."

Estéban stood shocked before also smirking and doing a partial bow. "Naomi?"

"Yes?"

"Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball this evening?"

Naomi raised a brow but was smiling coyly. "Just the ball?"

Estéban still smirked. "Well, I can't ask to court you before having an outing, now can I?" He offers his hand to her.

Naomi giggles. Then she meets his partial bow and grabs his hand. "Then yes, I will go to the ball with you."

Estéban smiles and kisses her hand. Then they both went to the ball.

The next year, Estéban personally gave his letter to Naomi.

"This has been a wonderful year, but should we possibly take it further?" And in the bottom corner is a drawing of a ring.

When Naomi lowered the letter, Estéban was on one knee holding out a ring.

The only answer he got was being tackled to the ground while getting kissed.

A/N: Finally! It's done! Now I just need to write the last one, and hopefully bring it to you guys before the day is over. Forgive me for being late! Hope you enjoyed the story, and try not to get yourself killed. ;)

#eoa ship appreciation week #elena of avalor #esteomi #chancellor esteban #naomi turner #Princess Elena #dona paloma #my own oc #lady elma #look at this story #it's late #but still GLORIUS #sorry it's late #Happy Valentine's Day

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singingisfun · 7 years

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Accidents Happen - Chapter 2

Hello lovely readers! No, you're not seeing things. I'm back! Nearly two years later, I've finally finished the second part to this story - never say I don't keep my promises!

Many of you requested a follow-up and here it is... finally. It's the same story as the first chapter, only now it's from Emma's perspective. If you haven't read part one, you might want to before reading this one (sorry, I don’t have the tumblr link for that). I added some scenes and expanded on some others and I really hope everyone enjoys it.

Thanks for all the incredible reviews and comments. And for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Changing Tides, I promise I'm working on it and I will finish that story as well (and like I said, I keep my promises - no matter how long they take).

Enjoy!

AO3

ff.net

Emma enters her apartment and immediately kicks off her shoes – the damn things have crushed her toes until she’s afraid she might see blood if she looks down, but it was worth it. That bastard with the smart-ass mouth – ‘What would you know about family?’ – is behind bars where he belongs and her checking account is thankful for it.

She limps toward the kitchen, stretching her aching feet with each step and carefully lays the bakery bag in her hand down on the counter. She empties the contents and grabs a lighter, placing the blue star-shaped candle precisely in the middle of her treat and lighting it.

"Another banner year," Emma whispers to her empty apartment, leaning over and watching the glow of the lone candle on her cupcake. She didn't buy a whole cake. Why would she when there wouldn't be anyone else to have a piece? This cupcake is the perfect size for someone like her.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

I wish I didn't have to be alone.

It’s an impossible wish and she knows it. It’s not like someone is going to come knocking on her door out of the blue. Still, she blows out the air in her mouth and opens her eyes. The candle is no longer lit, smoke billowing up from the blackened wick, and she stares at it for a moment, waiting for… something. Of course, nothing happens and she sighs to herself.

What a way to spend a birthday.

Huffing out a breath, she straightens and her eyes catch her image in the mirror across the way.

And what are you going to do about it, Emma? she thinks in irritation. You know the only person who can do anything about it is you, so get your ass out of this apartment and do something.

She picks a little bar she's never been to before. It's small and cozy and nothing like the meat markets she usually frequents when she's looking for company for the night. A quick glance around the room tells her maybe she should have gone somewhere else. The place is practically empty but she approaches the bar anyway and orders a drink because while some of her other haunts would definitely provide a variety of choices, she's just not in the mood to listen to thumping bass tonight.

The bartender is a sweet, portly guy who smiles appreciatively at her without leering. She likes him instantly. In between waiting on the few other customers in the place, he strikes up a conversation with her, telling her cute little anecdotes about his wife and daughter and she's suddenly very happy she picked this little hole-in-the-wall for her evening. It’s laid back and easy and she realizes this is exactly what she needed, just casual conversation with another human being.

She's sipping at her second rum and diet coke when he walks in.

He's alone, which strikes her as odd because the guy is absolutely gorgeous, jet black hair and immaculately trimmed scruff, but she just figures he's meeting someone. He sits at the other end of the bar and orders a beer. When he glances her way, he doesn't leer either, which solidifies her suspicion that he's probably waiting on a woman.

The bartender makes small talk with him as well while the guy munches on some peanuts. He seems nice. Normal. Not some sleazeball out for a wild night of partying, just a guy waiting on his girlfriend while chatting quietly with the bartender and watching the basketball game on the TV behind the bar.

She smiles to herself when she hears the bartender start talking about his daughter’s obsession with fairy tales and jokingly says that if he hears ‘Let it Go’ one more time he might throw his DVD player through the window. The guy chuckles softly and she doesn’t know how it happens but suddenly she’s sucked into a debate on which Disney movie is best.

The next thing she knows, the guy is sitting next to her defending Peter Pan’s Captain Hook like he’s personally affronted by the pirate’s villain status. And for the first time in several years, she realizes she’s actually smiling – not the calculating smile she uses to lure a mark in, not the fake smile she uses when she’s on the prowl – but a real smile, the kind that makes your cheeks ache because you can’t seem to stop. And not only smiling but laughing because the guy, Killian is his name, admits sheepishly that Peter Pan is his favorite movie of all time.

They move on to other subjects after that, the basketball game that’s still playing, the recent storms that left half the city in darkness… She keeps expecting a woman to walk in and join him but the night goes on and no one shows. She’s surprised and a little disappointed when the bartender announces last call because she doesn’t want to give up his company just yet. He hasn’t made a move, hasn’t so much as casually put his arm on the back of her chair. So it’s a complete shock when they’re standing on the sidewalk outside, both waiting for cabs, that he surges forward and kisses her like he needs to breathe.

His eyes are soft (and did she mention stunningly blue?) when they break apart, his fingers running through her hair as their noses bump. She knows she’s playing with fire when she suggests going to his place but, fuck it, it’s her birthday and it seems she’s gotten her wish to not be alone.

It’s easily the most incredible one-nighter she’s ever had.

His eyes burn with passion one moment and melt with tenderness the next. And it scares her because she’s never felt something like this before. She’s never wanted to take her time and enjoy the foreplay he lavishes on her. She’s never watched a lover’s eyes as he slid into her or held his hand as the passion exploded through her body. She’s never wanted to make it last like this or hold a man close afterward.

But she does tonight. Maybe it’s because it’s her birthday or maybe it’s because of the way her body seems to know his. Or maybe it’s just those intense blue eyes or the way he calls her ‘love’ in that sexy British accent. But whatever the reason, she finds herself holding both his gaze and his hand when she falls over the edge.

After, he tucks her into his side and plants a tender kiss on the top of her head, his hand stroking up and down her back in a way that should make her panic but somehow doesn’t. Instead, it makes her feel safe and precious. She doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep but she awakes in the middle of the night with his arm still wrapped around her.

And that’s when the panic sets in.

It feels too good. It feels too easy. And that’s a dangerous combination.

Quietly, she slips out of the bed and dresses, forgoing shoes because the floor is hardwood and she doesn’t want to wake him. Still, she can’t stop herself from watching him sleep for a minute. How he can still look that sexy even when he’s snoring like a freight train, she’ll never know, but it terrifies her even more because she’s tempted to crawl back into the bed with him, especially when he makes a grumbling sound, flips over into the space she’d vacated and hugs her pillow with a sigh.

With more than a little regret, she silently makes her way out of the apartment, being sure to lock the door on her way out.

***

She thinks about him more than she should, considers more than once going back to that corner bar to see if she might run into him again. But she doesn’t. Maybe if it had felt like just sex she would have been able to but, more often than not, she doesn’t think about the sex. She thinks about his smile and the sparkle in his eyes and the way he’d helped her with her coat and –

No, it’s better to keep it what it was: A birthday wish that came true. She doesn’t want to ruin it by making it more than that. It was a rare and beautiful night and it’s better to save that memory than risk the inevitable pain that would rain down if she tried for more.

Fate, however, has its own plan.

She waits two full weeks to buy the test. She already knows what it’s going to say but she still can’t help holding her breath while she counts down the seconds. It’s the longest and shortest two minutes of her life.

When the second blue line pops up, her heart jolts with so much pure joy that it takes her by surprise.

She’s going to have a baby.

She’s going to have someone who is completely hers. A child she can coddle and spoil and share all of the wonderful things with that she missed out on when she was young. They’ll go to the movies… and the park… and the zoo… and Disneyworld… and it’s going to be perfect.

She sighs happily when she settles into bed that night, realizing that her birthday wish not only came true, but somehow managed to turn into a lifetime of having someone with her on her birthday. Inevitably, her mind drifts to Killian. She’s going to have to tell him. A thrill creeps up her spine at seeing him again but then doubt takes root. Will he be happy? Will he be angry? Will he accuse her of trying to trap him? He’s the one who’d supplied the condom so he can’t really make that argument.

Maybe she shouldn’t tell him. Maybe he’s forgotten all about her. A man who looks like that would have no problem finding female company. He’s probably had a dozen women since then.

And that thought brings on the next question. What if he gave her something other than a baby? If he did, she’d be obligated to tell him, wouldn’t she?

The next morning, she goes to the doctor and has a battery of tests done. He confirms the pregnancy and also confirms everything else is fine. She doesn’t know why, but she feels vindicated on Killian’s behalf that he was clean. Her first instinct had been that he doesn’t sleep around and she knows this isn’t exactly proof but still…

But now she has to wrestle with the question of telling him or not. If she tells him, she’ll have to see him. And if she sees him, she runs the risk of damaging an incredible memory.

But she wants to see him. And that thought is absolutely terrifying. She wants him to be happy with her. She wants him to be a father to their child because no matter how happy she is that she’s about to be a mother, that scumbag she caught on her birthday was right: She doesn’t know anything about family and she needs help.

She goes to his building one day and sees him walking out chatting happily with a woman and even though they part ways on the sidewalk, it’s enough to make panic seize her. She stands stock still as climbs into his car, her mind inevitably calling forth all sorts of questions that she’s not sure she wants the answers to. What if he doesn’t remember her? What if he’s involved with someone else? The memory is too good to risk. So she just stands there, paralyzed with fear and letting him drive away without saying a word.

She decides to write him a letter instead. That will work better. If he doesn’t answer, she’ll be fine and she won’t hold it against him. She’ll go on with her life and do her best just to be thankful to him for giving her this gift.

She works herself into a frenzy on her way over to his place – nerves and pregnancy hormones are a terrible mix – and as she clutches the letter in her fist, she can feel tears threatening.

When she makes it to his door she’s suddenly paralyzed again, this time with indecision. Should she slip it under the door? Stick it in the jam? Under the door? In the jam? Before she can make up her mind, fate rears its head again and the door swings open in front of her, revealing the man who has dominated her thoughts for the past six weeks.

He freezes when he sees her, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and breathes out her name (at least he remembered it) and she feels the tears sting even more.

He asks her in and she says something – she’s not really sure what – then shoves the letter into his hand and makes a break for it.

She gets home without letting the tears fall and tries her best not to stare at her phone. She fails. Twenty minutes later when the unrecognized number pops up, she’s so relieved that the tears threaten again, but she pushes them down and keeps her voice steady as they make plans to meet the next day.

She’s so nervous that her palms are sweaty when she gets to the coffee shop. Her heart thuds when he walks in but she ignores it and takes a deep breath. She wants him to be happy… And she wants it a little too much. Once they sit, she barely lets him get a word in because she knows if she stops talking, if she looks into those piercingly blue eyes, she won't be able to hold it together. So when he presses his thumb to her mouth and tells her he’s in this, his voice low and adamant, relief floods her veins before she can stop it. He’s looking at her with tenderness, his thumb warm against her lips and it takes her a second to remember what she was saying.

Oh, right, she was going to tell him the date and time of the ultrasound.

She doesn’t hear from him again until he walks into her doctor’s office a few weeks later and she can’t deny she’s shocked to see him. He notices, of course, but he doesn’t mention it, instead taking the empty chair next to her with a reserved smile and a quiet, “How are you feeling?”

His smile isn’t so reserved when the technician leaves the room – they’re having a baby girl! – and she panics because her hand is in his and she doesn’t even remember putting it there.

(Never mind the warmth that flooded her when he pressed a tender kiss to her head.)

The next time she sees him, he’s the one in a panic. He bursts through the door of the hospital room and practically crushes her in his arms. She tries to calm him, telling him it’s okay but he doesn’t seem to hear her.

She’d overreacted when she’d seen the blood that afternoon (pregnancy hormones must cause temporary insanity) and she’d been frantic when she’d called him because the thought of losing this baby had spiraled into an all-out anxiety attack. She’d be alone again if that happened. She wouldn’t be able to lay in bed at night and talk to her stomach anymore. She wouldn’t be making any more plans for the future – because for the first time in her life, that’s what she’s been doing, planning for more than a week or a month at a time. Now, she’s planning years in advance.

And now, seeing him in nearly the same state she’d been in earlier, floods her with both guilt and affection, so she strokes his cheek in an attempt to sooth him, apologizing and telling him that the doctor said there’s nothing to worry about. But he still doesn’t release her, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath coming in harsh pants against her lips. She closes her eyes and leans into him and it’s amazing to her how much better she feels just having him by her side, having someone to worry with and take comfort from.

“I just got scared,” she tries to explain, “It’s silly, I know. Maybe the hormones are getting to me. I really am sorry to make you rush all the way down her for nothing except my paranoia.”

“Stop apologizing, love. It’s no trouble. I want to be here.”

He pulls back to look at her and his eyes are filled such truth that hope floods her system, leaving her paralyzed when he leans toward her mouth.

It’s one of those moments in time that freeze, one of those moments when everything stills to a halt and blurs at the edges of your vision because the importance of what’s happening in front of you takes over and nothing else matters. She gets caught in it for a second, his lips drifting closer even as his eyes search hers, giving her plenty of time to turn away. And, at the last second, she does because it terrifies her how much she wants to, how much she already needs him.

“We can’t do this, Killian.”

He stiffens for the briefest moment but he doesn’t pull away and she realizes it’s because he can’t – her traitorous fingers have curled themselves into his coat. She clenches her eyes shut, but doesn’t release him, the warmth of his breath on her lips too good to let go of just yet.

He doesn’t seem to mind and, if anything, his touch becomes more tender, his fingers tracing along her jaw.

“Why not, love?” he asks, his husky voice threatening to send a shiver down her spine that she barely manages to hold at bay.

He’s still perfect in her eyes, he’s still the kind, attentive stranger she met after that jackass called her out for knowing nothing about family. He’s still the man who made her birthday an incredible memory instead of a night of loneliness and despair. And if she risks this and she messes it up, it’s going to break her. She wants him to stay perfect. And more than that, she wants him to stay in her life. But at the same time, she wants to kiss him so badly that her heart stutters in her chest. So, she keeps her grip firm and grinds her forehead into his, indecision holding her frozen while his thumb strokes lightly against her cheek, the unspoken plea a direct contrast from how tense the rest of his body is as he waits for her decision.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she surprises even herself with her honesty, “but I’m not good at this… I don’t do relationships. And with you… We’re going to be parents. You say you want to be part of our daughter’s life. And I… I want you to be. So if we try this and it doesn’t work out…”

She can see the conflict simmering in his eyes when she eases back, still clutching at his collar, but before he can speak the nurse walks in to discharge her.

His eyes dart in her direction at least a dozen times as he walks her to her car, the air tense. So she breaks the silence before he can, asking if they can be friends. She holds her breath while she waits for his answer and she can tell he doesn’t want to agree but in the end, he does and she’s not sure if she’s happy or disappointed.

***

Having Killian Jones as a friend is probably the best thing that has ever happened to her. He listens intently to everything she says, even when she drones on about stupid things like movies and grocery shopping. (And if the fact that her system goes into overdrive every time she shows him where the baby is kicking, that’s her problem, not his.) He makes her laugh when she complains about sitting behind a desk at work and he even offers to help her paint the baby’s room.

The night he comes over is nerve wracking for her. She’s never had a man in her apartment before. In fact, outside Mary Margaret, she’s never had anyone over before (and the only reason she lets her in is because the woman is a force of nature). And it’s not until he’s standing in the middle of the baby’s room that she realizes how overboard she’s gone on the baby items and toys. But he just looks at her in that reassuring way and tells her it’s perfect and the tension leaves her in a rush of relief.

As it turns out, it’s kind of nice having a man to help move furniture and set up ladders and, really, she’s the size of a bus and she won’t admit it but she should have done this months ago. They work well as a team, him meticulously painting the borders with a steady hand while she rolls the walls and it’s not long before she’s laughing because she glances his way to find pale pink paint stuck in his eyebrows. He laughs too and then he does that eyebrow raise thing that usually sends electric shocks through her system but this time he looks so ridiculous that she just laughs harder. In fact, she’s laughing so hard that she almost doesn’t hear the doorbell when Mary Margaret stops by to deliver some cookies, telling them both they deserve a break.

Two weeks later, she enters the waiting room of her doctor’s office and is surprised that Killian isn’t already there. The man has got to be the most punctual person she’s ever met and he’s never once been late before. She takes her usual seat and picks up one of the baby magazines off the table, telling herself not to worry, that he’ll be there soon. But as she waits, her leg starts to fidget, the ingrained insecurities creeping up her spine. By the time she’s called back to an exam room, her heart is pounding, glancing toward the door in an almost desperate way.

He’s not coming. She knows he isn’t. He’s finally figured out that she’s not worth the effort. He’s finally decided that her crazy mixed signals are more trouble than he’s willing to deal with. She’s going to be alone again; she’s going to have to figure out how to raise a child by herself. And she’s going to fuck it up, she’s sure, because she’s a mess and she’s got no idea what she’s doing and she’s pushed him away and one day she’ll have to explain to her daughter why her father isn’t around and it’s her fault because she’s –

The door swings open in a rush and there he is and she’s hit with a wave of relief so intense that she can’t breathe. He’s saying something, but she can’t hear him over the hollow buzz in her ears and it’s mortifying because she’s crying – crying over a man she barely knows because she already needs him, him and his stable presence at her side, him with his kind eyes and reassuring words.

He doesn’t miss the tears – of course he doesn’t, he notices everything – and guilt eats at her while she frantically dashes them away even as he bolts across the room to sit next to her, panicked because he’s worried that something has gone wrong with the baby. She keeps her eyes averted when she tells him the doctor hasn’t been in yet and tries her best to get herself together, the strong hand on her jaw only serving to make her eyes sting worse.

An abyss isn’t deep enough for her to crawl into when she sees the understanding cross his features but he doesn’t get angry – even though he has every right. Instead, he draws a deep breath and then he’s telling her about how his father abandoned him and how he and his brother didn’t believe it and his voice breaks and it’s so close to her own story that she freezes, her heart aching and her hands shaking. He doesn’t look at her as he speaks but she can’t look away from him, the pain in his posture and her own memories bubbling to the surface and threatening to choke her.

After he finishes, he finally meets her eyes, and they’re nearly black with intensity. His hand is gripping hers, locking their fingers together. “I’d never do that to my child, Emma. Never.” And in all her life, she’s never believed anyone more. Hope and gratitude mix in her chest and then she’s hugging him, whether to thank him or to comfort him she’s not sure, but she does know she never wants to let go.

He hugs her back, burying his face in her neck and when she replies, she puts every ounce of conviction she can in her voice. “Our child is very lucky to have you as her father.”

His arms tighten, seemingly at a loss for words, and she finds herself very disappointed when the nurse comes in and they have to break apart.

***

He’s nearly giddy during those last few weeks, calling her every day he doesn’t see her just to check on her, to make sure they have a plan in place for when she goes into labor. He’s smiling like a fool when Mary Margaret drops her at the hospital, and she is too, excitement to see their child outweighing the contractions.

But it doesn’t last. The contractions get more intense and holy shit, how stupid was she to do this without drugs? Because her body is being ripped in half and she’s not dilating, and this kid is never going to come out. She tries to be brave at first, tries to keep quiet when the contractions hit but after hours of intense labor she gives up, allowing the shouts free reign, no matter how guilty it makes Killian look. To his credit, he stays for every single one, standing steady beside her even when she shoots daggers at him. In fact, the more irritable she becomes, the gentler he gets, doing everything he learned from reading those damn baby books to make it easier on her.

Finally, it’s time to push and she knows she’s squeezing his hand too hard but he doesn’t even flinch, supporting her back when the pain tears unrestrained screams from her throat. Everything fades out, and just when she thinks the agony is never going to end, she feels the relief of her daughter finally greeting the world. Time freezes, the image of her baby girl filling her vision and it’s all she can do not to weep with joy. Because this… this moment… it’s everything she’s ever lived for, everything she’s ever dreamed of and her heart fills with so much happiness that, for the space of several heartbeats, it overshadows the pain.

She hears Killian’s gasp from beside her, his hand in hers strong and steady and right. But then the baby is swept away to be cleaned and weighed and the exhaustion returns in full force. She swears every bone in her body hurts, her muscles useless as she collapses back onto the bed; but Killian is there to catch her, his chest lined up behind her to keep her upright so she can watch the nurses clean up their little girl.

His arms come around her waist, his breath gentle next to her ear when he thanks her for his daughter and she reaches back to wrap her arm around his neck, overwhelmed with gratitude that he's here, that he stayed through the entire thing and put up with her. His arms tighten when they bring the baby back and she can't see his face but it's easy to imagine that soft glow in his eyes when he strokes the back of his finger against their daughter’s cheek. It’s pure beauty, this moment, euphoria and love warming her from the inside and Killian’s gentle embrace warming her from the outside.

He suggests Hope when they discuss baby names and she nearly tears up again. Because it’s perfect. Because hope is exactly what he’s given her – just like he gave her this beautiful baby – so she agrees instantly, snuggling closer into his arms. She realizes in the next moment that he's near tears as well when she tells him she wants his last name included, and she closes her eyes when he kisses her temple, so content and happy that her heart swells.

****

Being a mother is terrifying at first. She frets over every decision. (Should she spring for the hypoallergenic diapers just in case? Is this swaddle too tight?) She even goes so far as to worry over the idea of putting Hope in her car seat the first time she needs to go to the store for fear that they’ll get into an accident during the five-minute drive. Which is why she’s so relieved when Killian knocks an hour later sporting three grocery bags filled with every single item she’d dictated to him right down to the specific brand of baby rash ointment she’d insisted on.

She expects him to be annoyed at being appointed her errand boy, but he’s smiling wide when he walks in. He takes the bags to the kitchen, then instantly disappears into Hope’s room. After she’s unpacked everything she crosses the hall, leans against the door frame and watches him gently run his finger over Hope’s bald head, humming a soft melody as he does it.

He misses her, she realizes. It’s been three days since she got out of the hospital and he hasn’t been over since he dropped her off so, naturally, he jumped on any excuse to come by. Her eyes well with tears and she turns away, heading back to the living room while she yanks her emotions in check. Of course, he misses her. He’d spent nearly every waking moment at the hospital with her and, when he’d brought them home, he’d stayed to help, even going so far as to send Emma to bed for a nap so that she’d be rested for the inevitable overnight feedings.

It’s a bit later when he wanders into the living room, looking slightly disappointed and somehow, she knows exactly why.

“She went down about ten minutes before you got here,” she tells him apologetically.

“Yes, well, she’s sleeping like an angel,” he says, his eyes lowering to the carpet and rocking back on his heels. Silence descends for a moment and then he shuffles around, scratching at the back of his ear. “Is there anything else you need? I could – ”

“You can stay,” she interrupts. “You don’t need an excuse. Have a seat and I’ll throw together some food. I’m starving.”

His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas and then he’s motioning for her to sit back down. “No, let me. I make a mean chicken and vegetable linguine.” When she hesitates, he hurries on, “You’ve been forfeiting your sleep to feed our little girl. The least I can do is feed you in return.”

She’s a little shocked she manages to hold in the choked sound that threatens to escape. He cooks, too? How is he even real?

“Sure, but I don’t have…”

“Oh, no worries, I got my own groceries while I was shopping for yours. Just let me run to the car and grab them.” He practically skips to the door and it’s not until he walks back in that she realizes she's been starting at it the entire time, completely dumbfounded at how perfect he is.

She follows him into the kitchen and starts pulling pans out, intending to help, but he shoos her away, telling her to relax. “All the parenting books say you should sleep when the baby is sleeping, Swan. Go rest, I've got this. I'll fetch you when it's ready.”

She capitulates easier than she usually would. Having a man putter around in her kitchen is not something she ever would have thought to allow before, but she's exhausted and he's already humming again, rifling around in the drawers until he finds the cutting board and carving knife.

It's not a desire to hear him singing softly that has her muting the TV when she settles on the couch and it's not because she’s imagining how amazing it would be if this was actually their life. She’s just taking his advice: Sleep while the baby sleeps.

(But that doesn't account for the smile she wears as she listens.)

It’s dark when she opens her eyes again, the smell of something delicious filtering through the air. She walks to the kitchen to find two full plates of uneaten food going cool on the counter before she hears the soft murmur of his voice coming from Hope’s room. She enters just as he applies the second piece of tape to the diaper he’s just changed and watches him brush his nose over Hope’s forehead.

“There’s my little lass,” he whispers to her, “feel better now that you’re clean and dry?” Hope gurgles and he nods as though she’s answered in the affirmative. “Good.”

Gathering his daughter up, he turns and spots her in the doorway and a grin breaks out to match her own. “And how about you, love? Feeling better now that you’re rested?”

“Yeah,” she replies, surprised at how throaty her voice sounds. “Thank you.”

“Well, why don’t you feed this wee one while I warm up our dinner?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

When she joins him a few minutes later, he’s got the table set and has moved Hope’s swing to the space in between their chairs. He spends the entire meal with a happy smile on his face and his eyes on his daughter while she describes every mundane detail of the last three days.

And, yeah, the man can definitely cook. She polishes off the plate and even uses a piece of garlic bread to soak up the remaining sauce, drawing his gaze when she moans at how incredible it is. His eyes darken with outright greed for an instant, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip, but he covers it immediately, averting the dazzling blue back to Hope.

Three months later, he shows up again at her request, this time with a prescription bottle and, strangely enough, a bouquet of flowers. (How on earth did he know it was her birthday? Because she’s sure she’s never told him.) He sets the flowers on the table without a word and pulls a fussy Hope from her arms, heading straight to the kitchen to measure out the bubblegum flavored antibiotic and coaxing Hope to drink it. Her frayed nerves are completely forgotten as she stands in the doorway, her eyes flitting between him and the flowers.

“How did you know?” she asks.

He turns, a bit distracted as he wipes the dribble of pink medicine that Hope didn’t swallow from her chin. “Know what, love?”

“That it’s my birthday.”

His eyes shoot to hers and his brow furrows. “It’s your birthday?” he asks in surprise.

The intensity of his gaze is unnerving and she shuffles. “Yeah.”

“I… I didn’t know.”

Her stomach drops to her shoes, realization blooming that the flowers aren’t for her. She must have interrupted a date or something.

He’s staring at her with a wrinkled brow when she finally has the courage to look at him, Hope perched on his shoulder while he idly rubs her back. Then, inexplicably, his face morphs to a tender expression, his words soft when he replies, “I got them to celebrate the anniversary of… Well, it was a year ago today that we… met.”

Understanding dawns on her, not just about the flowers, but why Killian’s eyes are suddenly so full of compassion and empathy. He’s just realized how she spent her last birthday (and nearly every other one she’s ever had)… sitting alone in a quiet bar, not a friend in sight. Shame washes through her and she escapes to the bathroom before he can say anything else.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it when she finally reemerges, but he brings flowers on her birthday every year after that – along with a cake that is big enough to feed more than one person.

***

They fall into a rhythm over the next few years, working together to raise Hope. There are still times when she looks at him and her blood races (okay, it’s nearly every time she looks at him), but she never acts on them. Mostly because she doesn’t see that same feeling crossing his face anymore (okay, she sees it occasionally but not nearly as often as she used to). And, besides, this is how she wants it.

Right?

Her life is nearly perfect. She’s got a sweet and bubbly daughter who wants for nothing and a man who loves their little girl as much as she does. And they make quite the team – as Killian likes to say. And somewhere along the way, she’s even amassed a group of loyal friends.

Yes, her life is more perfect than she’d ever dared hope for and risking that… well, she’s not sure she wants to risk that…

Then again, she thinks to herself, staring a hole into the head of the redhead across the playground, maybe there’s something she would risk… Like a quiet murder… Because there is absolutely no reason that… woman needs to flaunt her obvious boob job quite so… blatantly.

Tightening her hand into a fist, she crosses the playground, barely stopping to wave to Hope who is at the top of the slide. Killian is a huge fan of the park. They meet here on a regular basis to drop off Hope since it’s central between their apartments and it’s certainly not the first time she’s shown up for their swap to find him talking to some bimbo-looking-single-mother but there’s something about it today that makes her hackles go up. It probably has something to do with the way Killian shuffles on his feet while he chats with the woman – and did he just scratch behind his ear?!

That endearing but tell-tale sign nearly stops her in her tracks and she has to grapple for breath because she’s never once seen him do that to anyone outside their tight circle of friends. And it’s only slightly mollifying when he sees her approaching and his eyes light up.

He immediately introduces her to the redhead – Caitlin is her name – and she’s the mother of one of Hope’s classmates.

It’s a miracle that she’s able to keep her voice polite.

“I was just telling Killian how much Abigail enjoyed the story he read to the class last week. Did he tell you about it?”

“No, he didn’t,” she replies while snakes snap around in her stomach.

“Yes, well, remember the day Hope left her coat at my place and I ran by the school to drop it off? Mrs. Gibson caught me in the hall and insisted I come in and before I knew it, I was holding a book of fairy tales. She’s quite the formidable woman and turning her down didn’t seem like a wise choice.”

Emma almost laughs at that. Almost. Under normal circumstances she would. And under normal circumstances she’d tease him about what a pushover he is. Because, yes, while Hope’s teacher is formidable, Killian probably jumped at the chance to read to the class. He absolutely adores reading aloud to Hope. But today, with these snakes taking bites out of her stomach, she just raises an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Peter Pan, right?”

And if she feels like it’s a victory when he shuffles and scratches behind his ear again before dashing away to gather Hope, she’d never admit it.

Her eyes follow him as he crosses the playground and she sees the woman beside her doing the same – along with several other women watching from the scattered benches circling the jungle gym.

She wants to excuse herself from and go after him, to grab him by the lapels of that black leather jacket and stake her claim on him in no uncertain terms, but the woman draws her into a conversation about the upcoming festival at school and she can’t be that rude. So she’s stuck chatting for a minute, which turns into several minutes when the kids beg Killian to play pirates and princesses and, pushover that he is, he agrees.

To be honest, now that she’s talking to the woman, it feels like an innocent exchange. She seems nice, like someone Emma would hang out with if she’d met her under different circumstances. But her eyes keep drifting back to Killian every so often and – wow – she’s really got to get ahold of her murderous tendencies.

(Not that she can blame her. He’s a stunning man and he’s friendly to everyone. I mean, even the grandmothers fluff their hair when he’s around and he treats every one of them, young or old, with the same gallant cordiality.)

It’s not until a few months later that she realizes her murderous tendencies might just win after all…

Emma and the girls are out celebrating Mary Margaret’s (finally) engagement. They’re at a club around the corner from Killian’s apartment that he’d recommended to them and who should walk in but ‘little miss redhead’ herself.

She’s obviously a regular here. The bartender calls her by name and she doesn’t even have to give her drink order before a longneck bottle of beer is opened and in front of her. And if she’s a regular here, then there’s every possibility that Killian learned of this place from her. Have they hung out here together before? Did they play pool together at that ancient pool table? Did he sit next to her at the end of the bar where she plants her generous, tightly-denim-clad –

“Earth to Emma,” Ruby’s voice breaks into her thoughts. “What are you looking -- Wow, she’s hot. Thinking of switching sides, are you?”

Emma immediately blushes, looking away, horrified when the other girls turn to check out the woman over their shoulders.

“I don’t know what you’re – ”

“Isn’t that the woman who lives in Killian’s building?” Mary Margaret chimes in. “The one with the little girl… Abigail, I think.”

Emma tries not to, but she can’t stop her jaw from turning to brick with how hard she grits her teeth, which earns an interested look from Ariel.

“You don’t like her, I take it.”

“I don’t know her well enough not to like her,” she retorts and Ruby sniggers.

“You don’t like her because she’s hot and she lives in Killian’s building.”

When Emma remains stubbornly silent, Ruby nudges her arm. “Come on Ems, admit it: You’re jealous.”

She sends her a glare, “No, I’m not. Killian can do whatever, or whoever, he wants.”

“And you think he’s… doing her?”

Emma just shrugs because she doesn’t really know how to answer, glancing back to the woman as she walks over and picks up a pool cue from the rack on the wall, her traitorous mind conjuring up more images of Killian bending over the pool table with her to help her line up a shot, or bending her back over the pool for some other reason…

“Emma…” It’s more the touch of Mary Margaret’s hand landing on hers than the sound of her name that has her drawing a sharp breath. “Honey, please tell me you know better than that.”

But she doesn’t. Maybe at one time she did – years ago – back when he used to look at her with heat simmering in those ice blue eyes but now… Now she’s not so sure. It’s been a while since he’s looked at her like that and… and maybe he’s gotten over it. Maybe an uncomplicated woman who laughs easily and doesn’t carry all the baggage she does is just what he needs.

The silence grows heavy and she looks up to see all her friends staring at her with concern and she realizes she’d just said all that aloud.

“I can’t blame him,” she goes on. “He’s entitled to be happy…”

“Well, he’s not doing her,” Ruby says confidently.

“How do you know?”

“Girlfriend is on the prowl,” she explains, nodding in her direction. “And you’d know better than me, of course, but I get the feeling Killian’s the type to satisfy a woman so well that she wouldn’t feel the need to look for… alternate company.”

Pure relief runs through Emma. He is. He’s absolutely that type. Still, it doesn’t completely diminish the doubt. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not considering it.”

“He’s not considering it either,” Ariel says sardonically.

“How do you know?” she asks again.

She can practically hear their eyes rolling. “Because he loves you, Emma,” Mary Margaret puts in.

And mortifyingly, that has tears springing to her eyes. “He… doesn’t. Why on earth would he?”

“Oh Emma,” Ariel takes her free hand. “He absolutely adores you.”

“He does,” Ruby agrees.

“And you love him,” Mary Margaret adds softly.

Emma wants to deny it – or possibly sink into a dark abyss to get out of admitting it – but they’re all looking at her with such understanding and patience… and these women – these women know her – they know her in ways no one else does. And they know Killian. And they look so sure of themselves that the truth slips from her mouth before she can stop it.

“Yeah, I do.”

Then there’s a moment – a moment when all of their expressions turn from concern to pride, a moment when she realizes just how blessed she is to have these women in her life. Women who never judge her, never push her. And she meets each of their eyes in turn, realizing that not only are they proud of her, but she’s also proud of herself.

Mary Margaret breaks the moment, releasing her hand and sitting back in her chair with a blinding smile. “Well, now that you’ve finally admitted it, what are you going to do about it?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Jump his bones,” is Ruby’s suggestion and they all laugh.

***

It’s a few days later when he calls to ask if she’d like to join him and Hope for a trip to the children’s museum and Emma feels butterflies in her stomach. But… It’s not a date. He’s not asking her out. They do this sort of thing all the time. They both treasure Hope too much to miss any of her ‘firsts’ and this outing just falls under that category.

But she does go out of her way to look nice. She does leave her hair down because he made a casual comment a while back about how lovely her hair looks that way. And she does put on her most expensive perfume.

She watches him carefully the whole day, still plagued with doubt no matter how sure her friends are. He’s not acting interested. He’s just Killian. Sure, he smiles and teases her a bit but his focus is almost completely on Hope – which is exactly where it should be.

It’s not until they sit down to watch the dinosaur film that she notices it. She’s hyper-aware of him now, so when his fingers unnecessarily brush her skin as he drapes his arm over Hope’s shoulders, she glances his way and catches the little glimpse of tenderness that she would have missed before. Then later, at the pizza place, he does it again when he helps her with her coat, an unnecessary but slight graze of his fingers on the back of her neck.

But she still isn’t sure. So she decides to test him.

They make it back to her place and she fidgets around the living room while he puts Hope to bed, surprised with how nervous she is. It’s just Killian. This isn’t something they haven’t done a hundred times before. All she has to do is offer him a beer and he’ll stay. There’s no need to pace this floor trying to come up with a reason… She’ll offer him a beer and –

And there he is, walking back into the living room, completely relaxed and comfortable in her home and for the first moment in maybe her entire life, she can see exactly what she wants her future to be.

She realizes she’s smiling, her nerves momentarily forgotten and he smiles back.

“She’s asleep?” she asks.

“She was asleep before I even laid her down,” he tells her.

That makes her chuckle. “Yeah, she had a full day. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

It’s an off-hand comment but her heart flutters at his sincerity and she turns away, grabbing at a few toys to keep her hands busy. It’s a near thing when he meets her at the toy chest with a few toys of his own, but she manages not to suck in a breath at his sudden closeness. God, does he have to smell so good all the time?

She puts some distance between them because she needs air that doesn’t smell of him if she’s going to put together a coherent sentence, her mind grappling for some reason to get him to stay and, thankfully, she comes up with the perfect excuse.

"Mary Margaret told me that you're planning David's bachelor party."

He hesitates for half a second and her stomach plummets. "Yes, well being the Best Man and all, it's my job. And you're planning Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, I hear. No worries, lass, I know it's my night to have Hope and I've already arranged a sleepover for her with one of the mothers from her class so that we can both fulfill our duties."

"Oh? Which mother?" she asks.

It better not be… "Abigail's.” Of course it is… “You've met them before. She lives two stories down from me. She's a nurse and I've helped her out with Abigail a few times when she's had to work over, so she was happy to repay the favor."

Her confidence takes a knock as she mumbles under her breath, but she doesn’t let it deter her. "Ruby said her mother would be happy to keep her, if we need it."

"While I'm sure Hope would love that, she's already excited about staying over with her friend, so maybe next time."

Let it go, Emma. Let it go, now. "Well, it was just a thought… Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Ruby and I wanted to do something special and we need a, ah… co-conspirator from the men's camp."

He raises that ridiculous eyebrow of his. "And what, exactly, would we be conspiring about, Swan?" he asks.

Her nerves are immediately abated and she snags a couple of beers before they settle on the couch so she can tell him her plan.

While she speaks, a slow and devastating smile blooms on his face that has in heart fluttering again. "Never knew you were such a romantic, Swan."

"I'm not," she denies, "It was Ruby's idea, not mine."

But her denial is futile. The man can read her like a book. "Uh huh," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes on her.

"Okay fine, maybe it was my idea. They've just been really good friends to me and I wanted to do something special for them."

His grin widens. "I do believe you've gone soft, darling."

Oh, if he only knew… "So, will you help?"

"Of course I will, love. I don't deny being a romantic."

No, he doesn’t. Why else would he bring her flowers every birthday?

"I know," she replies drawing a deep breath for courage.

This is it. This is the test.

Watching carefully, she takes his empty beer bottle, making sure to brush her fingers along his when she does it. And there it is, the slight darkening of his eyes that she’d been hoping for.

She smiles in victory as she walks to the kitchen to place their empty bottles into the recycling bin and takes a minute to catch her breath before she goes back to the living room.

Wow, that look had been pure sin.

***

She thinks about that look for the next week, visions of it creeping into her mind at all hours.

He wants her. There’s no question. But, wanting isn’t the same as loving. And maybe the reason he’s never acted on the wanting is because that’s all it is.

He’s an honorable guy. And he adores his daughter. And he’d never do anything to endanger his relationship with her mother over something so shallow as simple sex.

But… but maybe he just knows her that well. Maybe he realizes how damaged and broken she is. She’s never told him how similar their histories are but maybe… Maybe that’s why he’s never asked.

It’s terrifying when she thinks of it, putting her heart out like that, laying everything on the line and giving him the power to crush her. Every other person she’d given that power to has done just that: crushed her.

But she can’t deny it anymore. She loves him and she’s going to have to do something about it before some other uncomplicated woman comes swooping in to take him away.

Drinking will help.

Mary Margaret’s bachelorette party is tonight and drinking will definitely help her work up the courage to find out exactly how he feels about her.

(And, if she doesn’t like the answer, she can pretend tomorrow that she doesn’t remember anything.)

(Yes, she realizes how fucked up that is.)

(But isn’t the reason she’s in this mess because of how fucked up she is?)

It goes exactly as she plans. She drinks and drinks and her inhibitions get lower and lower. She’s got the courage to lean her head on his shoulder while they watch David and Mary Margaret dance together, and she doesn’t even hesitate to warn off the simpering brunette who seeks him out not only once, but twice – even after he blew her off earlier in the night.

She lucks out that there are only two empty chairs when they return from the bar with drinks for everyone. His brother, Liam, takes one and she’s not about to pass this up, so she pushes Killian into the other and settles on his lap. It’s a thrill when she notices how his knuckles go white on his glass and she doesn’t miss the low groan that rumbles in his chest when she plays with his hair.

She also doesn’t miss the looks her friends send her.

(Maybe she should have gotten their opinion on this little plan of hers, but she really wasn’t in the mood to listen to them tell her how stupid it was. Because if they knew how calculated she’s being, those looks would be disapproval instead of encouragement.)

(The thought sends a sharp pang of guilt through her system and she reaches for another shot.)

The DJ announces the final ballad and she drags him to the dance floor with her. Sitting on his lap had been encouraging but it was hard for her to spy on his expressions that way, so she really wants to be face to face with him for a while. He tries to keep some distance between them while they sway to the dreamy song but she’s not having it tonight. Tonight, she lines her body up to his and grips at his hip to keep them close together. The song is nearly over when she realizes her intention to watch his expression has been completely forgotten, her eyes closed and her forehead resting against his the entire time. It feels perfect, though, so she doesn’t pull away, but she does open her eyes just enough to examine the mouth that is so close to hers, noticing the quick intake of breath he takes when she runs her hand up his arm to settle it on the back of his neck.

The car ride back to her apartment is another matter. It’s cold outside and the whipping wind that hit her before they climbed in sobered her a little. But she’s still a little hazy, so she leans against him – he’s so comfortable – and closes her eyes while the city lights streak by out the window.

She’s nearly drifted off to sleep when they arrive at her apartment and she admonishes herself for it because this whole plan will be for nothing if she passes out now. Thank god for how much a gentleman Killian is when he catches her just before she faceplants on the pavement and thank god for the biting Maine wind that serves to sober her even more because, dammit, she doesn’t want to actually forget what happens.

She concentrates on sobering further during the elevator ride. His hand is warm in hers and she doesn’t let go, her drink addled brain making her think that maybe she can pull some of his soberness from him if she hangs on.

She pulls him toward the couch as soon as they enter her apartment because her body is thrumming with the need to tuck herself into him without all their friends watching. She wants to bite that perfect neck of his that has tempted her too many times to count over the years. But he’s directing her toward the kitchen first, insisting that she take some aspirin, and really, he thinks of everything.

And there’s that neck, with its muscled cords tempting her like the fucking poison apple in the Garden of Eden and she just can’t help herself. Her inhibitions are down enough that she’s already up on her toes before she realizes what she’s doing, inhaling his scent and barely resisting the urge to run her teeth over the sexiest freckle she’s ever encountered in her life.

She hides her disappointment when he thrusts the glass into her hand like a shield, obediently plucking the aspirin from him and tossing it back.

When she lowers the glass, she catches the way he’s watching her, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows like he’s worried about how drunk she is, so she does her best to sound in full control when she thanks him for taking care of her.

"You'd do the same for me, Swan," he replies, scratching behind his ear.

It’s the ear scratch that gives her the courage to go on. "I'm not just talking about tonight. You're always there when I need you and I don't thank you nearly enough. I know you do most of it because of Hope but - "

"I do it for both of you," he cuts her off.

And that’s it. She’s completely sober now. Because she realizes that’s exactly what she needed to hear – and she didn’t even have to trick it out of him. He cares for her as much as he does for Hope – who she knows he adores with every cell of his being – and he said it like it was simple fact.

So she dives for him, meeting his mouth with hers for the first time since the night that still haunts her dreams. And she does it without a single doubt in her mind.

His arms are strong and sure when they engulf her, his mouth as avid as hers when he returns the kiss but, gentleman that he is, he stops way too quickly.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows he’s right to put on the brakes but she disregards what she knows and because this moment is too important and she doesn’t want it to end yet, so she resorts to begging – please, Killian – and putting enough pressure on his collar to bring their foreheads back together.

He groans low and deep and that’s all she needs to press her lips back to his. Then he takes the kiss and runs with it, pulling her flush against his body and burying his hand in her hair. She glories in the fisting of his hand on the back of her sweater and in the way his body slides against hers when he dips his head to catch her bottom lip, her hand planting firmly on his back to slip her leg between his.

And, god, he’s already hard, she can feel the erection even through both layers of clothes and the knowledge leaves her gasping.

And then he’s pulling away again, grounding out her name like it’s a prayer and – jesus, she loves the sound of her name on his lips.

His eyes are impossibly wrecked, blown wide with want and confusion, and she’s suddenly reminded of the way he looked at her on the night they met. It was the same look then. Like he didn’t quite believe she was real. It’s the look that scared her even when it gave her hope. The same one that had chiseled out the first brick of the wall she’d built around herself. And seeing it again now makes her understand that he’s managed to whittle away every single brick, scattering them in every direction. Slowly and steadily, he’s demolished her defenses and she never wants to erect them again.

She almost tells him (Christ, she wants to tell him), but she holds it back – not because she has any doubts left but because he would doubt it if she said it right now. She’s drunk and he knows it and no matter how lucid this realization is, he’d never believe it when she’s this impaired. So she goes with another confession instead.

“Do you remember the night we made Hope?”

His eyes darken to nearly black and his breath catches, planting his forehead against hers before he answers in a gritty voice, “I remember every detail, love.”

“So do I… I remember everything,” she admits. And she does. She remembers every single detail, “I dream about it sometimes… about what it was like to be with you.”

“I dream about it, too,” he confesses, the severity of his accent telling her how true the words are.

She can’t stop herself from kissing him again and she wouldn’t want to try. Her body is starved for him, memories of the last time they did this rushing into her mind. But it’s not only those memories that have her directing him toward the couch. There’s also the memories of him smiling at her from across the room, winking at her over Hope’s head, extending his hand to her to help her down a wobbly flight of steps. And with each memory, the tug in her stomach gets stronger, the emotions all-consuming.

His hands are everywhere, cupping her cheek one second and grabbing at her ass in the next. His mouth is open to hers and she nibbles at his upper lip even as he bites down on her lower one. They’re perfectly matched, just like that first night, their bodies instinctively knowing where to touch and how much pressure to use to drive the other into madness.

She doesn’t know where on earth the lamp comes from but she’s pretty sure it’s not the alcohol that has her tripping over it. Still, it’s enough for Killian to slow things down, telling her that she’s drunk and they shouldn’t be doing this right now.

She tries to convince him that it’s not the liquor – because it’s not, and please, she doesn’t want to stop now… Her head is fuzzy with love and she tries one last time to tempt him by rubbing her hand over his throbbing erection but… well, he’s Killian and he’s too damn honorable.

“Tomorrow,” he gasps, putting firm hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eye, “Tell me this tomorrow. I want you, Swan. All of you. And if we do this and you regret it in the morning I... Tell me this when you're sober and clear-headed and I promise, I'll give you everything, everything I have to give.”

He looks desperate. And guilty. And while she’s pretty sure she could talk him into this, she also knows he’d beat himself up for it afterwards. Because while she knows it wouldn’t be just a quick fuck, he wouldn’t – not for sure, anyway. So she releases his collar and walks away without another word before she changes her mind.

She’ll tell him tomorrow. She’ll convince him tomorrow. Because now, she’ll have to courage to do it ‘sober and clear-headed.’

But tomorrow there’s a wedding. A wedding they both have to attend.

***

She hydrates like a madwoman as soon as she wakes up, downing a near gallon of water and several more aspirins. It takes a great deal of restraint not to call him immediately but while she’d like to, she doesn’t want to rush this conversation and… there’s a wedding today that they can’t be late for.

She manages to fend off her friends’ questions regarding last night while they get the bride ready – today is about Mary Margaret, not her – but Ruby sends her a knowing glance when Killian drops off Hope because there’s no mistaking the tension in his shoulders when he catches a glimpse of her.

She wishes she could chase after him to relieve that tension but Mary Margaret needs help with her veil and she is the Maid of Honor, after all.

He watches her with unmasked adoration as she walks down the aisle and she tries to waylay his nerves with a smile of her own. But it seems their history still has him disbelieving and there’s nothing she can do about it until she can get him alone.

But she can’t get him alone yet. They’re in the middle of a wedding. Still, she tries again when they’re walking out, her arm linked in his.

“Later,” she whispers to him, hoping he understands that it’s the promise she means it to be.

And maybe that’s enough to convince him since his eyes soften to a cool blue that has her stomach somersaulting. Or maybe not, since they’re back to questioning when they get ready for their dance – and this time she doesn’t have time to reassure him before Hope is there, begging to dance with her daddy.

She’s going to have to do something more blatant, she thinks to herself. And when she comes up behind him, her heart melting at the way Hope’s head is laying against his shoulder while David and Mary Margaret climb into their fairy-tale looking carriage, she goes for it.

She wraps her arm around his waist while they wave goodbye to the newlyweds, then takes it a step further by brushing her lips over his and asking for a ride home, making sure to add that she’s only had one glass of champagne.

He looks stunned but delighted and he agrees, carrying Hope to the car and opening her door for her before buckling Hope into her car seat.

They both stay quiet during the drive so that Hope won’t wake up and they put her to bed together when they arrive back at her place. He still looks nervous and she realizes she’s nervous now, too, but she takes his hand anyway and pulls him along with her to the couch, determined to be brave tonight even without liquid courage.

But the nerves are suddenly overwhelming and she can’t make herself meet his eyes, so she traces the hand she’s still holding and looks at it instead. “I'm sorry about last night. You were right. I was drunk and I never should have put you in that position.”

“It's alright, love. We can pretend it never happened if you want.”

His answer not only stuns her but also brings back every fear she’s ever had to the surface, her heart freezing in her chest as she looks away. “Is that what you want? To pretend it never happened?”

“God, no, Emma. I just…”

Oh, thank god.

“I told you a long time ago I'm not good at this.” And she’s not. She sucks at it. “I'm not good at… at talking about… But I never… I never told you why.”

Then she tells him about her past. Something she’s never shared with anyone. She tells him how she was abandoned when she was a baby, and abandoned again when the Swans sent her away – and she can see the molten fury on his face before he pulls her forward into his arms, his voice hoarse with sympathy when he tells her how sorry he is.

She takes comfort from his warmth and swallows hard before she continues, “I was moved around a lot after that. I was never in one place for more than six months until I aged out of the system.”

She puts pressure on his chest so she can look him in the eye while she tells him the last of it because this is the most important part, even if she has to stutter through it.

“I never had anyone I could count on. Never. I was always alone… until I met you. And you… You changed me. You made me want to trust you. When I found out I was pregnant, I almost didn't tell you. I was terrified because even that first night you made me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't not tell you… And then you were there… every time I needed you, you were there… and I told myself it was just because you wanted Hope, not me, because no one has ever wanted me but I think maybe, maybe you do? And maybe – ”

“I do, Emma. I do want you… in every way possible.”

She’s so stunned she can’t think of a single reply but, as always, he comes to her rescue, leaning forward to rub their noses together.

“And I don't just want you, darling. I love you… more than anyone I've ever known – except maybe our daughter – and if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

And this time the reply is easy. “I love you, too.”

His face lights up, his smile blinding as she urges him to his feet and walks him to her room.

Their first time together had been intense – and more meaningful than any other sexual experience Emma had ever encountered – but tonight…

Tonight, it’s a thousand times more. Every kiss carries a message, every caress a declaration. They’re letting go of their painful pasts and looking ahead into a brighter future. It’s slow and dreamy and everything the phrase ‘making love’ is supposed to imply. Because that’s what it is. It’s love in it’s truest form. It’s the stripping of souls to lay them bare in front of the one person that you know will treasure them. And they do treasure them. They treasure each other like fine porcelain, gently and reverently building the passion until it bursts through them.

She’s deliriously happy when she floats down from her second high, Killian breathing heavily into her neck in the wake of his own bliss. And the words are out of her mouth before she even considers what she’s saying.

“Where are we going to live?”

She’s caught him by surprise but she doesn’t regret the words, so she continues as though his shoulders haven’t gone suddenly stiff, rubbing her lips over his forehead, “Your place is closer to Hope's school, but Mary Margaret and David are going to be living in her apartment now and it would be nice to have a couple of built-in babysitters a door away.”

He stays quiet for another second and she thinks maybe she’s pushed too far, so she opens her eyes to meet his. “Too soon?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer with words – but he does use his mouth, delivering a kiss so enthusiastic that she giggles.

“While I liked that answer, it really doesn't answer the question. Where do you think we should live?”

He’s grinning like a fool and, when he finally says something, it’s her who’s caught by surprise. “Marry me, Emma.”

She doesn’t answer with words either, and by the time they break apart they’re both laughing.

“While I liked that answer, it really doesn't – ”

“Yes!”

Their chests are still shaking with laughter when they fall into the pillows together and she snuggles into his side.

“I think we should live here,” he whispers into her temple.

***

They announce their new relationship to their friends as soon as David and Mary Margaret return from their honeymoon two weeks later.

To say their friends are happy for them is an understatement. The girls take her out to lunch a couple of weeks after that just so they can grill her for all the details. It’s a fun afternoon, full of girl-talk and teasing and no one seems to notice that she doesn’t take an actual drink from the champagne flute in front of her.

When she gets home, she’s cleaning up Hope’s room when the picture on the wall catches her attention and she stares at it while emotion fills her lungs.

Faith, Hope, Love.

Years ago, when she bought that, she’d had none of those things in her life, and she’d bought it to remind herself to make sure her child had all three.

Now, though, her life is full of hope. Killian had given her that years ago. And it’s full of love. He’d given her that, too. But the most important thing he’s given her is faith - faith enough that she was able to take that hope and love and make the biggest and most important leap of her life.

And, of course, it was Killian who’d caught her.

She reads the words again as her hand unconsciously drifts to her stomach. She already suspects she’s pregnant, but she hasn’t said anything to Killian yet. She wanted to wait until she’d picked up a pregnancy test before telling him and she still hasn’t had time. But, suddenly, she’s impatient. She wants to know now. So she texts Mary Margaret and asks if Hope can come over for a little while so she can make a quick trip to the store. (It really is nice to have a babysitter next door.)

On her way back from the drugstore she texts Killian to make sure he’ll be home on time. And she tries to wait until he gets home but that pink box is calling to her like a siren and she can’t wait any longer.

She’s standing at the sink in their bathroom, holding her breath as she watches the display when she hears Killian’s voice.

“Emma? Is everything alright, love?”

Is everything alright? Everything is perfect, she wants to tell him, but she can’t seem to wrap her lips around the words because that second blue line just popped up and…

“Emma? Are you…? Is that a… a pregnancy test?”

He's looks as shocked as she is when she turns to him, and she feels the smile spread across her face. "I guess we're batting a thousand, sailor."

He's smiling back instantly and then rushing forward to pull her into his arms.

"If it's a girl, I think we should name her Faith," she whispers into his ear.

"Faith, Hope and Love," he replies and rubs her nose with his. "That's perfect… love.”

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #accidents happen #sorry it took so long #but i never gave up

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pen-masta · 7 years

Text

Peace and Coffee Part 3

Part 3 so close to completion one more left!

Briefly PG-13

1 2 3 4(Complete)

His plan to distract himself was not as easy as he had thought. His mind would wander during the day, reveries of their embrace playing through his thoughts. The inappropriate desires of his early adolescent years coming back with a vengeance. His mind was no longer a safe place to be. He focused every fiber of his being on work, on his family, his brothers, his nieces and nephews, his girlfriend anything he possible could to leave no time for ideal fantasies.

It was working. His brain buzzed with all kinds of topics and people that did not involve Joy. The only time he ever even thought about her now was Wednesday mornings. Of course he did have times when he wondered how she was doing on the other side of the world…but he didn’t let his untrustworthy mind stay there for too long.

Days were a struggle but he managed. Nights proved to be worse. At night he could monitor his thought patterns, but it was harder than it was during the day. Everyone he spoke to or spent time with during the day was asleep at night. He didn’t have that distraction. And if he dared to sleep he was doomed! His subconscious was a true Benedict Arnold!

He had finally laid to down to sleep one night and had a dream that made him never want to sleep again. It was so intense, so real, so heated. He was naked, in his bed, and was entangled with her. He was kissing her deeply. Her hands running over his heated skin, pulling at his hair. Her moans filling his ears. In his mind he imagined it was Martha, but when he had opened his eyes—he was staring at Joy.

He had shot awake instantly. Panting. Sweating. His boxers uncomfortable wet. He moaned and curled up in a ball. Not only were his own thoughts a battle zone, but now he couldn’t find any release in slumber. Gosh he has so many issues! He doubled the coffee and tripled the energy drinks to stay awake for as long as he physically could. And when he crashed he was out for about two or three hours, no more. Overwhelming incongruous dreams waking him from his rest. When he woke he left no time to reflect on his sick dreams. He immediately drowned himself in work churning out five new products within seventy-two hours. He managed to save face for the video chats and never talked about himself, always kept the conversation steered in the direction of her life in the Philippines. She had tried to that to him as well not trusting her words and emotions, but Castel was a headstrong, forceful, stubborn guy. He refused to answer any questions that he couldn’t answer in five words or less. The tension was back, it was underlying and neither wanted to address it—a limited video phone call not really the best form of communication to discuss such an intense matter.

Not wanting to face the taunting occurrence, they both suffered with their inner turmoil in their own ways. Castel repressing it and not sleeping, Joy spending as much time as she could with the people of the village and her Peace Corp groupies. Eventually it all passed. The feelings, the dreams, the longing—distance will do that they each guessed. They had fallen back into familiar comfort by the time Joy had come home on break for Christmas.

She had hugged him and he held her, happy to have her home again even if it was for a short time. As he had promised he took out to dinner in exchange for her setting him up with Martha. He had taken her to a restaurant they hadn’t been to in years—Dave & Busters. The only one near them was about a two-hour drive north, but neither of them cared. The drive was spent filled with laughter and singing along with the tunes she blasts from her playlist—from rap to country to hip-hop to Disney they sang it all.

When they got to the restaurant they weren’t that hungry just yet so Castel buys a bunch of tokens for them and they play in the arcade. Joy dominates the ski ball game and does her signature victory dance as Castel glares at her in mock anger that he lost, but he truthfully doesn’t care. He’s just happy to have his best friend back. They both dance and jump around as ‘Alone’ by Marshmello plays. Some people look at them funny, but neither of them care. They play the crane game; Joy’s skilled hand directs the crane over the prize she wants. Castel leans against the machine holding it still so the crane doesn’t shake around—a trick they had learned about the crane game years ago—as Joy grabs a mad scientist looking teddy bear. They watch the crane swing around and it wobbles a little just as it reaches the prize slot.

“Wait,” Joy says watching the crane with such intensity Castel is certain the metal will spontaneously combust under her gaze. “Waaaaaait.” She says and waits until the crane shifts to the right threatening to drop her bear just before the prize slot, “Now Cassie!”

Castel pushes hard against the machine lifting it up off the ground just enough to rock the crane to the left. The crane releases and drops the bear into the prize slot. Joy squeals and takes the bear out of the slot as Castel rights the machine again.

“I can’t believe after all these years they never caught on,” Joy giggles and hugs the bear.

“Well it’s just supposed to suck your wallet dry,” Castel smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. “It always drops your prize just before the slot. It’s a scam.”

“Unless your smart like us,” she grins and winks at him.

“Very true Jo-Jo,” he smiles and nods. “Are you ready to go eat?”

“Food sounds great right about now,” she bounces on her toes. “Lead on Casanova!”

The sit down at a booth and look over the menu for a few minutes. The waiter takes their drink orders and leaves.

“What looks good?” Castel asks Joy, looking at her over his menu.

“Hhhmmm,” she hums chewing her bottom lip. “How about we get the sampler?”

“For an appetizer?” He asks and she laughs.

“No for our meal,” she smiles sweetly at him. “Don’t you remember we used to love having appetizer dinners?”

He blinks as the memories flood his brain. He remembers always having mozzarella balls, jelly meatballs, mini corn dogs, pizza rolls, and mini quiches for dinner some nights as kids. He smiles as the memories cause a warmth of happiness to pool in his chest.

“I do,” he nods and smiles at her. “I’m sorry Martha has gotten me into the habit of always ordering you know, an actual meal.” He closes his menu, “I forgot how much I loved having just finger foods for dinner! It sounds great!” He laughs.

She smiles brightly and closes her menu as well, “Sweetness!”

In truth he hadn’t forgotten at all, but he hadn’t had just finger foods for dinner since he started dating Martha. He had ordered the sampler for his meal on their second date and she kind of made fun of him—called him a big kid. Since then he’s always ordered a burger, or steak, or something a little more…“grown up” as Martha had put it. Joy was never like that though, she always loved doing crazy and fun things. She didn’t care if it made her look like a kid she just enjoyed herself.

Martha was actually the complete opposite of Joy. She wasn’t loud and crazy, she didn’t tell dirty jokes to make him snort and turn red. She really didn’t like the whole greased up skater boy look he had going on. “You’re a celebrity now you need to dress like it” she told him as she tossed his Optimus Prime shirt into the ‘get rid of’ pile a few weeks ago.

Joy never cared how he looked. In fact, she had bought about half of the t-shirts he owns…owned. Now his room is cleaned and organized, no trash, no crumpled pieces of paper lying everywhere. His closet is jam packed with suits, cardigans, dress shirts, sweaters, all kinds off ‘dressy clothes’ that he can’t really say he liked…but Martha was happy so he was happy.

Joy smiles and looks Castel over as he places their order for two samplers. He looks very…different. His beard has been cut into a thin, trim goatee and his sideburns are very prominent now that his hair is cut. She was really thrown when she first saw him; his curls are gone. His hair is now cut sleek and even; his bangs are spiked up a little so his forehead is bare.

No t-shirt. No flannel. No sneakers. No wrinkled jeans. Instead he sits across from her in a navy blue shiny shirt, which is tucked into black dress pants complete with a black belt. Navy blue desert boots dawn his feet and…his cologne! It’s changed! He no longer has a sweet woodsy musky scent about him. No now he smells like…well she can’t quite place it, but it’s like a bitter citrus scent—she doesn’t like it.

This is not the Cassie I left, she thinks to herself. He turns from the waiter to smile at her. His eyes. They are the only thing that connects him to the Cassie of the past. Even though he looks so unlike himself, his eyes are still as bright as she remembers. Their deep chocolate color sparkles a little in the light of the lamp above the booth. No, no this is still Cassie. It’s still him.

“So,” she smiles and rests her chin on her hands. “What’s up with the whole extreme makeover look you got going on?”

He smiles, “Hah, just figured it was time for a change.”

“Really?” She quirks a brow.

He shrugs, “Well now that the business is growing so rapidly I’m going to more interviews, press conferences, I even have a photo-shoot coming up for Time.” He smiles, “And Martha said because of that I need to look more like a business man than a scruffy adolescent.”

Ah so this her doing!

“Oh,” she says feeling something curling in the pit of her stomach.

“Yeah,” he nods and sips his unsweetened iced tea—Martha’s orders no more, sugary drinks. “Gotta look good for the press darling” her voice rings his head. He clears his throat, “Yeah new wardrobe, cleanliness, new look, new—”

“Hair cut?” She asks cutting off his rambling.

He blinks and notes the slight hostility in her voice. But he doesn’t address it, “Yeah. She ah said I needed a cleaner look. My curls made me look like a seven-yea-old!” He chuckles and shakes his head, “My curls were an unruly mess anyway,” he says and shrugs. Although he kind of says that last part more for himself than her.

She made him cut his curls!? He did not look like a seven-year-old he looked cute! So what if they were a little unruly? The bed head looked for him! Wow…what’s Martha’s deal? I didn’t peg her for a control freak…why is she trying to change him? Shouldn’t she be dating him for who he is? Isn’t that why you date someone, cause you like them? What does she see him as her project? Wow…maybe I’m not that great of a match maker…but Cassie seems alright. Maybe I’m just overthinking this.

She nods and sips her soda before clearing her throat, “So Cubs Industry is soaring high in the sky, hm?” She smiles.

He chuckles, “Yeah! I’ve got about fifteen different items on the market. I’ve got so many buyers!”

“Sounds like that big brain of yours is racking in the dough,” she teases.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’m actually moving out of my parents’ house.”

“What?” She asks and her voice cracks a little, but she manages to hold her smile. “You’re moving?”

“Yeah,” he sighs a little remember the discussion he had with Martha last week.

“It’s time to grow up,” she had said to him. “No celebrity lives with their parents. And now that you’re rich you can buy your own place.”

He shakes his head and smiles, “Not far though. Just a few streets over.” He says and stirs his tea. “There’s this huge house on James’ Street. It’s really nice.” He chuckles, “It’s got like twenty rooms! I have no idea what I’m gonna do with all that space!”

Her heart tightens. “Why do you want to move Cassie? I mean nothing for nothing but you are only nineteen. It’s not bad to be living with your parents still.”

He looks down into his tea, mesmerized by the slowly melting ice cubes. “Well…Martha suggested I get my own place now that I’m a big name.” He slowly stirs his tea again with his straw, “She had gone house hunting with me. She really liked this one and I don’t mind. It’s not that far from home I can walk over for a visit if I really want to.” He shrugs, “She really likes the house.”

“So is that why you bought it?” She asks careful to not snap.

“Well no, no I liked it too.” He looks up at her and smiles, “Lots of space that I can…do something with…” He trails off.

Oh my gosh…what have I done to him! I’ve hooked him up with this controlling, man changing chick! And Cassie just wants to please her, so he’s doing everything she tells him to do. My poor sweet Cassie! What have I done?!

She chews her bottom lip. This isn’t good. This is bad. This isn’t what I wanted to happen. He’s just coming out of his shell…only to get bossed around by this chick!

“Is everything alright Cas?” She hears herself ask.

He looks a little startled by the question. His eyes are wide and almost scared, and the way he looks at her makes her heart crumble.

No everything is not ok! He yells in his head, Yeah I really like Martha. She’s funny and smart and pretty but she’s really bossy and demanding…nothing like I thought she was when I started pining for her in high school. But it’s okay, everyone has flaws…but I don’t like all the changes…and I don’t know how to tell her that! I like making her happy…no. No you don’t. You’re only focusing on Martha to smother your darker feelings for the other female in your life. You have to love Martha. She’s the safer route…and change is good. Change is alright. You’re okay. You’re okay.

Words catch in his throat as he wants to tell her everything that’s been happening. How he feels, how unhappy he is, how he’s forcing himself to be happy with Martha. But if he did that she’d ask why is he staying with her? And that’d be a flaming ball of disaster because he’d have to reveal the reason he’s trying to learn to love Martha. Because isn’t that what good boyfriends do? Learn to accept you for who you are flaws and all? Even if those flaws happen to be overwhelming controlling over his life.

No he can’t say any of that. And honestly he could just break up with Martha…but then he’d be alone again. And it took him so long to finally ask Martha out! Who knows how long it’d take to ask another girl! Not that there are any other girls that like him. Most of the women he’s had in his life thought he was too nerdy, over the top, dramatic, insane, too intense, and an overall joke. And he is really liking the fact he can say he has a girlfriend…he doesn’t want to go back to being alone.

He grins and nods, “Yeah everything’s all good Joy.”

He’s lying. She knows he is. His eyes always shift everywhere else but the person he’s speaking to whenever he lies. Maybe he thinks she hasn’t noticed it, but she has. She always does. She looks down not sure what to do. Should she pry and get him to tell her the truth? That could end in a fight if he’s stubborn. Nope scratch that. Should she leave it be and wait for him to open up? Cassie is good at ignoring issues and masking his true feelings. Waiting for him to open could take months before he’d actually break down.

She looks up at him again, she opens her mouth not sure what’s about to come out but she’s cut short when the waiter walks up with their food. They thank him and smile at each other before digging in.

He pops a mozzarella ball into his mouth and smiles at the warmth of the dough, and the gooey creamy cheese that oozes out as he chews the little ball. Wow he really missed this—more than he thought. He looks up at Joy who nibbles on a mini quesadilla, her eyes are trained on her plate. She’s in deep thought, he knows because her one hand is twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

He smirks a little and clears his throat. She jumps slightly and looks up at him and…gosh that look. She looks really surprised, her caramel brown eyes stare up at him, her finger has stopped mid-twirl letting her hair drop against her shoulder. She holds the quesadilla in between her teeth and it hangs down covering her bottom lip. Her eyes are so wide, her cheeks are tinted pink, and she just looks so…cute.

His heart starts pounding in his chest as he stares at her. Thoughts spin through his mind rapidly. Thoughts of his fantasies, daydreams during his alone time, his R-rated dreams, their kiss…Dang it! Stop! No! Why is that still there!? It was months and months ago!

He swallows on reflects and ended up gulping down his half chewed glob of cheese and dough—he gags a little having swallowed it way too soon. He sips his tea and clear his throat as his thoughts relentlessly replay their kiss, his sex dreams, every inappropriate thought he’s ever had about Joy. He runs his hands up and down his legs trying to stop it all, but it wont. It wont stop!

She feels his tension…although she’s not sure what’s got him suddenly so worked up, but she can feel his stressing. She decides to stay quiet thinking about everything Martha has changed about her best friend in the short time she was gone. She doesn’t like it, not at all.

Martha shouldn’t want to change him. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s the sweetest kindest person she knows. He’s such a loveable dork, why would she want to form him into someone else? I would never do that. Not to anyone. Not any boyfriends. Not Cassie…wait. She pauses her thoughts and looks back at Castel—who is avoiding eye contact, still looking like he’s fighting himself.

Cassie isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my best friend, the other b word. He’s Martha’s boyfriend not yours. She practically shoves the entire mini quesadilla into her mouth as she mulls that thought over. He’s not yours. He’s Martha’s no need to get possessive…but what if he wasn’t Martha’s? Would I want him to be? Would it make things awkward? Why would it? Isn’t it better to date someone your friends with? Someone you already know; someone you already love? …do I want his relationship with Martha to not work out?? Wowie Joy when did you start getting selfish.

Her mind starts to wander as she remembers their kiss. Even after all these months it still plays in the back of mind. It haunts her dreams. Her heart starts to flutter as she remembers all to well what it all felt like. She bites her lip. Should she bring it up? Maybe not. But could he still be thinking about it? She should bring it up. They need to talk about it. She doesn’t even care what his response is but she needs to talk about it.

“Cassie,” she says and he jumps her voice startling him out his now nearly X-rated thoughts. She smiles a little, “I know it was a while ago but…can we please talk about it?” She plays with the hem of her shirt, “We’ve been drifting in and out of these awkward moments since it happened and…I don’t want it to be awkward.”

His eyes are wide and the look in his eyes—he looks like a wounded and scared animal. She chews her bottom lip. Sugar! She shouldn’t have said anything…no! No they need to talk about this no matter what happens they’ll still be friends, that much she can count on. But he looks so nervous and scared. She looks down and sighs a little.

She wants to tell him how their kiss affected her. She wants to tell him how she’s been thinking about it nonstop. She wants to tell him how much she loves him…maybe a little more than friends. She wants to tell him that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same, because after all he has Martha. She wants to tell him that no matter what she’ll always love him, that she will always be his friend. She wants to break through this awkwardness and tell him everything…but the scared look in his eyes is just too much for her.

If she were to open up to him anything could happen! He could say he felt the same, that he’s been thinking about it to. He could say he loves her more than just friends. There are so many happy endings to this! But there are more bad endings to this as well. He could get mad that she’s bringing it up now. He could get upset because why wouldn’t she tell him before. He could not want to break up with Martha. Would he really leave Martha for her? Does she want him to? He always gets himself so worked up over little things and it is possible if she reveals how she feels that he could panic because he just got with Martha…no, no she can’t do that him.

I’ll just let him off the hook, she thinks to herself and smiles sweetly at him. She decides to tell him what she has been practicing for months to say.

“Cassie it’s ok,” she says and he blinks a little stunned. “I just wanted to say that we can let it go alright? It’s causing so much tension between us even after all this time and…I don’t want it to be like this.” She looks down at her soda, “It was the heat of it all. We were both really emotional and we got a little caught up in it.” She smiles at him again, “It happened but it didn’t mean anything. We can let it go. You’re still my best friend and I’m still yours, I don’t want that to ever change.”

He stares at her really taken back. She has just said everything he’s been repeating in his mind. And even though he agrees with her it doesn’t change the fact that it really kind of hurts when she says ‘it didn’t mean anything’. He looks down at his tea then back at her. He smiles a little and nods.

“Alright,” he says. “I agree. It was just a mistake fueled by wild emotions.” Ouch, ok that still hurt, she thinks to herself. He pauses a moment, “I never want us to not be friends either.”

She smiles a little and nods, “So we just forget it?”

“Consider it forgotten Jo-Jo,” he smiles as he feels the tension in his chest release.

She smiles and breaths out, Good. It’s alright, as long as he’s still my friend that’s all I need. I can be happy with that. As long as he’s still here.

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